“I’m going home. Lock the door behind you when you leave, please. This is my livelihood. I know a man like yourself, someone who keeps an excess of Armani in the trunk of his car, probably doesn’t understand the importance of that. But when you’re sleeping in that car because I’ve evicted your ass, you might.” I shove past him, grabbing my purse from behind the counter and walking toward the back door.
“Oh, and the next time you feel like committing felony breaking and entering, let me know in advance. The sheriff has a thing for me, and I’d love to see you in cuffs.”
four
Three weeks in this town.Three weeks of near radio silence from Matteo as to what’s going on within my organization. Last night I received a text.
Folly Beach Pier. 6 AM.
Nothing else, no number, no name. Outside of the associates I have in this town, no one but Teo knows I’m in South Carolina. Maneuvering my black Lexus through the back roads towards the beach, I force myself to believe it will be him meeting me this morning.
I tried to choose my least ostentatious car when I left, but this is still a two door, luxury sports car. I may be the most business minded Arsenio to lead the family in decades, but we’ve all had our vices.
My great-grandfather’s was the drink. He couldn’t stay sober long enough to form a business alliance or make a decision that moved the family forward. My grandfather’s downfall was gambling. He did a decent job hiding it for a long time, spending his personal fortune before dipping into the organization’smoney to pay off his debts. That behavior eventually led to his demise. My father, arguably the biggest traitor of them all depending on who you ask, his indulgence was beautiful women.
Even after he met my mother, there were still dozens of women. He would call itan appreciation for the beauty in this life. I just call it whoring. Out of the four children he fathered, only I am legitimate, and none of us are purely Italian, the way Fortuna Nera would’ve preferred it. Ultimately, what can you expect from an organization whose name literally means black luck?
I pull into the barren parking lot and see Teo’s Ducati parked at the edge of the pier. Glancing down the boardwalk, I see him standing at the end, where the ledge extends high over the water. Waves crash against the posts below, their ferocity foreshadowing what’s to come during the impending conversation.
Parking, I walk down to him, the railings and benches along the edges showing weathered wood, the exposure to salt air and time wearing them down. Sometimes, I feel as though my soul looks the same on the inside. I’m far from elderly, but my mind and body have lived a thousand lives in my nearly forty years. The sky ahead blends softly between blues and pinks, the sun barely rising over the sea.
“Teo,” I say, clasping him on the shoulder.
He turns, his stern expression breaking when he sees me. Matteo is my oldest and most trusted friend. He pulls me into a one-armed hug, and I notice the yellowish-purple bruise healing under his left eye and the torn skin on his knuckles.
“Damn, it’s good to see you.” He blows out a breath, falling onto a bench nearby, dropping a folder next to him. “I brought you Illy Coffee. It’s the best I could do right now. I haven’t been home yet, but I should be going back in a few weeks. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m not worried about fucking coffee, Teo,” I grumble, dropping onto the bench next to him. “What happened to your face?”
He lights a cigarette, pulling a deep drag into his lungs, letting it linger, and then exhaling.
“Don’t worry about it. Wasn’t related to Fortuna business.” He smirks, and I glare at him.
“I thought you agreed to stop the fights?” I questioned.
“They’re more necessary now than ever. There’s so much tension in the ranks. The boys are restless. Everyone is waiting for orders, Bash. They need some way to channel that energy, or they’ll take it elsewhere. You need to give them something to do. I’m just keeping them busy.” Matteo flicks the cherry off the end of his cigarette and shoves the butt into his pocket.
“What’s in the folder?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the sunrise.
“Helo said it was a close family member who organized the Miami attack. It wasn’t hard to figure out which ones had access to all the right bank accounts, all the right safe houses. I’ve narrowed it down to three options.” he says, flipping through the information he’s gathered.
“Tell me. I can tell you which one has the balls it takes to take a shot at me.” I close my eyes, an ache already building in the space behind my eyes.
“Well, there’s Massimo. He’s definitely close enough. He’s got access to every accou-” he says, and I scoff.
“Definitely not. Massimo is still afraid to look me in the fucking eyes at family dinner, Teo. He calls me Mr. Arsenio, and I’m his first cousin. He didn’t do this. Who’s the next option?” Leaning my head back against the worn wood, I let the cool ocean breeze glide over my skin. Part of me wishes I could jump off the end of this pier and let the waves carry my body out to sea.
Maybe someone would find me, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, maybe I don’t fucking care anymore.
“Nico. He’s got the means. He had the opportunity. I know he’s got the fucking ambition. But does he have the balls? That I don’t know. I mean, he’s just a kid, but kids these days don’t have the kind of respect we did.” He suggests, cocking his head to the side.
“He’s barely 19, Teo. I know his father wishes he had been the oldest Arsenio brother and held the reins in this family. But he wasn’t, and that was never an option for him,” I remind him. Beginning to raise my voice, I continue, “There’s an order to things. They’ve been done this way for a hundred years. I didn’t create this hierarchy, Matteo. I didn’t ask for this responsibility.” I pound my fist against the wood to punctuate every sentence until my knuckles crack.
Matteo doesn’t respond, knowing my fury is already balancing on a knifes edge.
“It’s not Nico. While Uncle Gio may not have the respect for me he should, he respects the family, the legacy. My father’s legacy. He would never tempt the fates that way, and his son would never make such a brash move without his permission and funding. Who does that leave?”
He says nothing, looking out over the horizon with his jaw clenched tightly. I don’t have to ask. We both know the truth. If I’m honest, I’ve known for years.