There were some guys, the old guards, who weren’t going to follow Gian. He was only thirty years old, young in the world of Italians. He wasn’t married, which made the older men distrust him. They thought him to be young and unstable, but they misread him, he’s more cold and calculated.
Gian adjusts the cufflinks on his suit jacket and leans casually back against the bar.
“La fata di questa famiglia sono aperti.”
The affairs of this family are now open.
The announcement gains the attention of any man who had not already silenced themselves for Gian. And honestly, it also made his intentions very apparent.
Gian is the boss now.
“I bet you’re all wondering why I called you here tonight.” the men stand in silence but he has their attention now. “It seems we’re lacking leadership with Massimo’s death, and let’s be honest, he set us up for failure.”
A few men grunt their agreement. One even whispers bastard. It’s no secret that Massimo was hated, especially in this group. Not one of them batted an eye when he had been killed months before by a New York boss.
“So I think it’s time for a vote. We need a new leader. Someone who will protect our values. Someone who will make sure we have money in our pockets and steaks on our tables. Someone who will ensure that our families are safe, and that our daughters are cherished.”
There were men cheering now. They were enticed by his words, his promises.
“I want to be that man for you. In fact, I am that man tonight. If you stand behind me, I will not let the Irish thugs control our city. I will not take losing our earnings to Boston. I will take care of us.”
“Any objections?” I called out.
No one raised a hand. Not a voice chirped to object.
Gian nodded appreciatively. “Saluti.” he raises his glass.
“Saluti.” The men responded in unison.
The games had begun.
The Alibi was the first business Gian, and I opened together. As soon as we were old enough to earn, we were out on the streets. Once we were initiated, the money was flowing. Dirty money needs to be washed, plus a W2 is a pretty necessary thing to have. So we opened The Alibi.
The name was a promise between us. Being born in this life there’s always a chance that one of us will get picked up. The Alibi is our unspoken rule that we’ll always be each other's alibi. Also, it was a nice fuck you to the cops when we get to say our alibi is The Alibi.
The bar is a mix of rustic meets speakeasy. Our sister had a filled day decorating the place. That girl loves to spend other people's money. The exterior walls are red brick and the newer built walls that section the place into rooms are painted a sleek gray. The bar itself is solid wood with a concrete top coated with epoxy giving it a nice smooth finish. The lounge areas house leather couches and high-back chairs with 20s themed artwork. Providence made a lot of money during the Prohibition era, including our grandfather who ran his own speakeasy. This is our nod to him, to our roots.
No matter how many businesses we opened over the years, this one would always be my favorite.
“Skip,” Tony’s voice sliced through my thoughts.
“Tony,” I run a small crew, with only three other men. Tony Cervelli is one of them. He looks nervous, wringing his fingers together. He glances briefly at the other two members of my crew standing behind him. Big Frank DiNonno and Charlie Massero.
“Spit it out, Tony.”
“Well, me and the guys, see…” he trailed. “We’re, uh, itching for work, ya know?”
Yeah.
I know.
I’ve been slacking since my mother's death.
Depression is a bitch. Not that I would tell them that.
“Shit, yeah. I know.” I tell him, scrubbing a hand down my face. “What about the Pearce job?” The Pearce job is something we’ve been planning for a while now. It’s a little personal to me, but sometimes personal works out well. It makes me more motivated when there’s more than money on the line.
In la Famiglia my crew is known for having a specialty. We’re good at a lot of things, but we’re really good at stealing things.
I’m not talking pickpocketing or jacking trucks. Though, we do that too.
I’m talking about the big money.
Diamonds.
I had a mentor, another made man, who caught me stealing at a party once and took me under his wing. They called him the Ghost, he taught me everything he knew before he died. Now, I run my own crew.
I treat them good and in return, they get shit done which leaves us all with money in our pockets.
The system works.
When we do, that is.
I had money to fall back on, but my men have less. So it’s understandable that they are itching for work while I’m laying in bed.
“Ran into a problem,” Tony whispers, setting his hands down on the bar top. The men behind him come in closer, so they can all hear. “There is one entrance on the roof, and we’re not getting through it.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“It’s small. We’re too big. I mapped it out with Charlie seeing as how he’s the smallest but he’s not gonna fit. Plus, it’s a drop. And the doors are all going to be heavily armed, and Charlie’s good but this alarm system they have is really good.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “So we need to figure out a new plan then?”
The men nod in agreement.
I take another chug of whiskey. I need to get my shit together, for my family and for my crew.
But right now?
Fuck it.
