14
Luca
The first chance he had, my father walked away from us. There was something broken inside of him that made him weak. Made him incapable of understanding the concept of loyalty. Loyalty to his wife. Loyalty to his children. When times got hard, he turned his back on us for an easier path. A man who grasps loyalty and honor, not just the ability to recite the definition, but someone who truly understands the concepts, that man could never abandon his family. That was the conclusion I’d come to over the years when I’d wracked my brain, trying to figure out how my father could have left.
From what I could recall of him, he was a decent father, aside from his tendency to bail at the slightest struggle. He would take me to get ice cream and taught me how to shoot dice, but there were also plenty of times he wasn’t around. I could only assume he’d been a shit husband. I was only five when he left, which meant I wasn’t privy to the details of my parents’ marriage, but I would never forget the screaming fights he’d have with my mother. Their relationship must have been rough; there were countless nights I’d wake to the crash of glass breaking or my mother’s raised voice chewing him out for coming home late.
One Friday night, he never came home.
I worried endlessly about my father for the first few months, wondering if something awful had happened to him. My mother tried to reassure me he was fine, but I never could believe her. Not until I happened to see him walking into a restaurant years later with a woman on his arm did I accept he’d chosen a different life over us.
My dad walking out had been tough, but it meant no more late-night fights, and Ari and I still had Ma. The woman had been a saint—not the Mother Theresa type—she was too tough to be that angelic. My mother devoted her life to raising us kids. She kept a roof over our heads and food on our plates, but more than that, she taught us respect and self-discipline. Ma never let us get away with anything, but she was also our greatest ally.
She was our rock.
Never in my teenage brain could I have comprehended how quickly she’d be taken from us.
When I found my mother’s lifeless body on the sidewalk, a part of me died there with her. I crossed the bridge to manhood that day, but it wasn’t to become the man she’d been raising. I became something else. Something my mother had worked long and hard to eradicate from inside me.
She might have been disappointed, but I was glad. The man I’d become had enabled me to arrive at this single moment in time. Months of discretely asking questions, getting myself into unsavory places, and talking to dangerous people—all to get answers. Those answers had led me to a small rundown house in Jersey City.
Led me to vengeance.
It turned out my mother had been killed by a gangbanger upset at a rival for allegedly hitting on his woman. A petty argument over a girl who probably spread her legs for money had cost my mother her life.
I couldn’t allow the crime to go unpunished.
I had tracked down the asshole responsible, learned everything I could about him, and now, I was there to dole out justice. I had wondered how I’d feel in this moment and was pleasantly surprised to find myself steady and determined as ever. I didn’t think I’d turn chicken shit, but I had my father’s blood in my veins, so there was always a chance.
I acquired a gun from a local pawn shop and had immediately taken it to a range to begin familiarizing myself with the weapon. I wasn’t about to run headlong into a situation that would get me killed or locked away. Ari was counting on me to take care of her. I was the only family she had left, and I had no intention of leaving her alone in the world.
I watched the house for hours as I’d done on a number of other occasions. I watched as my target came home in his shitty grey Buick LeSabre, nearly lost his sagging pants as he exited the car, then walked inside the unlocked house. I wasn’t sure if he thought there was nothing worth stealing inside or if he was so confident in his badass reputation, he assumed no one would intrude on his space, but he was in for the surprise of his life.
I waited until almost midnight. The lights were still on in the house, but the street had gone quiet, and my nerves were cool steel. I double-checked my weapon, taking the safety off and making certain the chamber was loaded, then stepped from the deep shadows and walked directly to the front door. As suspected, the door was unlocked.
I helped myself inside and found the worthless gangbanger asleep on the couch with the television blaring, a bag of chips resting on his chest. Not wanting to take anything for granted, I silently maneuvered through the small house and checked for any other occupants. Once I had verified he was alone, I walked to the couch, pointed the gun at him, and kicked his foot to wake him up.
He startled awake but quickly froze when his eyes landed on my gun, held perfectly steady in my firm grip. “Who are you, man?” His eyes darted around the room, searching for an answer.
“To you, I’m nobody, just another man on the street.”
“Then why you holdin’ a gun in my face?” he spat back, displaying forced bravado.
“Because you don’t deserve to live. I’ve been watching you, Jacob Martinez, or should I call you Squeeze?” Night after night, I’d followed Squeeze to seedy bars and dark street corners where he did his business—sold drugs and pimped out girls, some that looked no older than Ari. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t possessed a single redeeming quality.
Droplets of sweat beaded on his brow as Squeeze began to grasp the intensity in my gaze. “Yo, man, what d’you want? I got money, man, just put the gun down.”
“Money’s not going to fix this, Squeeze. I want something you can’t possibly give me.”
“Then what? You just gonna kill me?”
“Yes.”
The night air rang out with a satisfying blast as a bullet buried itself deep into Squeeze’s skull. Blood and brain matter splattered all over the sofa and nearby wall, just like my mother’s had pooled on the cold winter sidewalk.
His life for hers.
It wasn’t a fair trade, but it would have to do.
I took one more casual glance around the room, stuffed the gun in the back of my pants, and left the scene just as easily as I’d arrived. This time, I left from the back of the house, sticking to the shadows as I rounded to the front and made my way to the moonlit sidewalk.
I thought I’d feel different after the deed was done—either as a product of guilt from taking a life or relief from enacting the justice I’d sought for the last six months. I had been wrong. I felt no different now than I had an hour before. If anything, I felt somewhat lost. My attention had been so focused on identifying, locating, and killing Squeeze, I hadn’t considered what I would do next.
Not that I had many options. I had secured a job at a local steel plant and petitioned for custody of Ari as soon as I turned eighteen. I’d found unexpected help at the Attorney General’s office—a kind older lady who had helped me get in touch with legal aid. Ari was now my sole purpose.
I would be relieved to get her back, but the prospect was also daunting. How would I support both of us with my meager earnings? How the hell was I supposed to raise her? I had no idea what I was doing, but I was not my father—I would not run from my responsibilities. I clenched my fists in determination as I eased down the sidewalk when a voice called out behind me.
“Hey, kid. Wanna tell me why you did that?” The voice belonged to an older man and didn’t sound particularly upset, but his words froze me in my tracks.
I slowly turned to find a man leaning against the car I’d just walked past. He was an average build and wearing a suit, but that was about all I could make out. Where the hell had he come from? Did he know I’d just killed a man? Or was he asking about something else entirely?
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” I shot back, attempting to remain calm.
The corners of his lips pulled up with amusement as he stood and approached, signaling for us to continue wa
lking. “I’ve been watching Mr. Martinez over the past few days.”
My veins all turned to ice at the mention of Squeeze’s name, but I kept my lips sealed.
“My associates and I had suspected he was stealing from us,” he glanced over at me pointedly. “Which would have been rather unfortunate for Mr. Martinez. As things stand, you seem to have eradicated my problem for me. What I’d like to know is, who are you and who are you working for?”
My steps slowed to a stop, and I debated my answer. This man knew what I had done—if I told him who I was, he could go to the cops. On the other hand, it sounded like he had been working with Squeeze, and in that case, he was a criminal himself. Was I willing to kill him if he demanded my name and it came down to a fight? The answer was a resounding no, which left me with few options.
“Luca Romano.”
His eyes narrowed. “Romano. As in Salvatore Romano?”
“Assuming there’s not more than one, yes. My father is Salvatore Romano.” My distaste at uttering those words was palpable, and the man’s brows lifted in surprise.
“I wasn’t aware he had any kids.”
“That’s because he left my ma when we were little, never came back.”
“I see. He was never a particularly honorable man, so I’m not surprised.” He peered at me more intently. I could see in the dim moonlight as a series of questions crossed his face. “What business did you have with Mr. Martinez?”
“He killed my mother.”
He nodded sagely as if everything now made perfect sense. “So, this was a personal matter. Am I to understand you were working alone then?”
“Yes.”
“It’s no light thing, taking a life. You seem to be handling it rather well.”
“He was scum—didn’t deserve the air he was breathing. I did the world a service.”
The man burst out laughing and patted his thick hand against my back. “You are a pip, you know that?”
“Thanks,” I said wryly. “I appreciate the compliment, but I really should be going. The police could be here any minute, and it would probably be best if we both got lost.”
“Why should they come? No one in this neighborhood is gonna call the cops. Even if they did, you’re fine here with me.” My newfound friend gazed at me questioningly, his eyes light with amusement. “You believe in fate, Luca?”
The question caught me off guard. Did I believe in fate? If I did, would that mean my mother was supposed to be killed? “I’m not sure I do.”
“Well, I do. And you know what else I believe? I believe you and I have met here tonight for a reason.” He held out his hand, and I hesitantly clasped mine in his. “My name is Michael Abbatelli, and you and I are going to become very good friends.”
15
Alessia
“Alessia, wait up!”
I paused, turning around at Jackson’s voice just outside the entrance at work. “Hey, Jackson. Twice in one week—you sure you’re not following me?” I teased as he caught up to me.
“Nah, the judge says I’m not allowed to do that anymore.” Those dimples. He was such a flirt. “Can you spare a minute to walk with me? Won’t take long, promise.”
What’s this all about?
“Sure.” I motioned him back toward the sidewalk. “What’s up?”
He glanced behind us at the building, then peered back at me sheepishly. “I know I already said something, and I should probably keep my mouth shut, but I’m not good at doing what I should. I saw you yesterday … with the Italian.”
I peered at him uneasily, my stomach starting to churn with trepidation. “Yeah. I know you said he was dangerous, but I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions.” Was he still trying to talk me out of dating Luca?
Jackson pulled me aside into an entryway alcove, glancing around as if he’d stolen something and expected to be busted any second. “I’m putting my neck on the line here, but you need to know,” he said in a hushed whisper. “That man is in the mafia—you need to stay away from him.” He stared at me, pleading earnestly with his eyes, but I just stared back blankly.
“That’s absurd. Just because he’s Italian doesn’t mean he’s in the mafia. My family is Italian, and we aren’t in the mafia—that stuff doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve been watching too much TV.” I was incredulous. His allegations had come so far out of left field, all I could do was scoff at him.
Jackson pursed his lips and lowered his head, his face inches from mine. His chocolate eyes were no longer warm and inviting, instead, they were laden with shadows, dark and ominous. “That stuff is still very much alive. You know I’m Irish—some of my family is involved in a similar organization as the Italian.”
“Organized crime?” I cut in. “Are you telling me your family is part of the Irish mob?”
He didn’t answer my question, but I could see the truth in his cutting gaze. “I’ve heard things through the years. I know who key players are, especially in this area. That man is part of The Five Families.”
“What’s that?” I asked hesitantly.
“The five ruling families of the New York Mafia—Russo, Lucciano, Giordano, Gallo, and Moretti. They run the city.”
“Luca’s last name is Romano; he’s not one of them.”
“Alessia.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “The family names are simply the organization names—it’s not an actual family. For example, the Gallo family is run by a guy named Stefano Mariano with his underboss, Matteo DeLuca. I guess there may have been a Gallo way back when the families formed, but that’s not how it works now.”
“Oh. Well, that still doesn’t mean he’s a gangster,” I insisted, not wanting to buy what Jackson was saying. Some of my incredulity was a natural defense mechanism to deny something I didn’t want to hear, and some of it was well and truly disbelief. I’d lived in the city all my life and never heard even a whisper about the mafia.
“I don’t know what I can do to convince you, but I’m not making this up. That man you’re seeing, he’s a made man—a mafioso. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m telling you things I could get killed for talking about. You choose not to believe me, that’s your call.” He was clearly frustrated.
I wasn’t trying to be ugly, but what he was saying was so absurd, I didn’t know how to wrap my head around it. “I don’t know what to say … this is all … Luca has money, but that’s because he’s a banker. He’s not a mobster.” My voice shook, confusion and uncertainty rattling my nerves.
“He’s not a banker, Alessia, he’s a loan shark. That’s like saying a stay at Guantanamo prison is a beach vacation. I’m a banker—I don’t charge people 150% interest, then break their kneecaps if they can’t pay.”
My hand flew to my mouth, my stomach roiling, and bile threatening to come up. It couldn’t be. My Luca couldn’t do what Jackson was describing. An unwanted image of his scarred, bloodied knuckles floated into my mind. He’d had a sound excuse for them, but now I had to wonder—did he use those fists for more than exercise?
I stepped away from Jackson, holding my hand out to keep him from coming closer. “I appreciate you trying to help me, but I need to go.”
Jackson didn’t fight me. He simply nodded before I tore off toward the building. When I walked through the front entry, my steps faltered when I spotted the security guards on duty. My eyes tracked from one to the other, wondering which of them Luca had paid. Could they tell what I had learned? Would they tell him they saw me?
Realizing how panicked I’d become, I berated myself for being overly dramatic. There was no proof Luca was in the mafia—I wasn’t even sure it still existed. The mob hadn’t been in the news since back in the 90s, outside of fictional tv shows and movies. Maybe Jackson was misinformed. Maybe he was just trying to get me to stop seeing Luca.
Before I jumped to any conclusions, I was going to do some research and look at the facts. Walking distractedly through security, I skipped my
normal escalator ride and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Once I was in my office, I booted up my computer and pulled up Google, starting a search for the New York Mafia.
What I learned was mind-bogging.
For two long hours, I read articles about the rise and fall and recent resurgence of the American Mafia. I learned the federal RICO Act had strangled the life out of organized crime over a period of decades, but before a killing blow had been dished out, September 11th happened. When the terrorists launched their assault on our homeland, the crime-fighting resources previously concentrated on organized crime were redirected to fight terrorism.
Since the 2001 attacks, the mafia had seen a resurgence, adapting to modern-day technology and growing quietly underground. Just like Jackson had said, New York was ruled by The Five Families—five separate crime families who had split the city into sections, making money illegally in every fashion they could conceive.
I was stunned speechless.
I felt like I’d just learned there really were aliens secretly stashed away in Area 51. The mafia still existed—and not just small-scale thugs—billion-dollar operations, each with hundreds of men.
If mobsters still existed, could Luca be one of them?
He fit the mold, if there was a mold. He fought, had money, came from the streets, and he definitely had secrets. After my mother died, I was adopted into a new family. The words Luca had said to me came back now, and I had to wonder if he’d meant something far different than I had assumed. Had he meant he was taken into the mafia after his mother died? A young kid needing money, stuck raising his younger sister—I could see how turning to crime would feel like the only option.
And what about the mention of blood for blood—what had that been about? I didn’t have to know the details to realize the caller hadn’t been talking in code. He was talking about violence, maybe even people dying.
In my gut, I felt the truth.
I didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to believe it, but it was there, staring me in the face.
Forever Lies (The Five Families Book 1) Page 11