Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Nero

Marco is already here when I arrive. He sits at the table, a smoking cigar in the ashtray in front of him. He’s in his mid-forties, his dark hair is streaked with grey. Marco is one of those guys in the mafia without an official role, yet influential. He’s involved in our legitimate businesses, has the ear of Arnaldo…that kind of shit. The mob consists of Made men, soldiers, and the capo controls the soldiers. There are two New York capos and I’m one of them. I manage the family’s interests, ensure that the people who pay us are protected, manage the influx of drugs and weapons in and out of my area of the city. Or at least that’s what most people think. The men I’ve invited to this meeting, the men I want dead, they’re the ones who see me for what I really am. I’m someone who can’t be put in a box and neatly labelled. What I want goes beyond that. I want power. Absolute power. I will kill whomever I need to, buy the ones I can’t and destroy anyone and anything who gets in my way. They see it and it rattles them. As it should. They supported Lorenzo because he was an idiot and idiots are easily controlled. The key to control is to ensure that the people in charge, the people with the supposed power never really have any. Lorenzo may have been the capo, but politics are politics, and even the president has to answer to those beneath him. I don’t. I won’t, and they see it. It almost seems a shame to kill the few astute men in my organization, but if they’re not allies then they’re enemies and a wise enemy makes for an ominous one.

“Nero.” Marco stands, holding his arms out to the side to embrace me, but it’s also an invitation to check him for weapons. I embrace him and he kisses both my cheeks, smiling wide like I’m his best friend. I keep it brief, eyeing the two men he brought with him. He’s not carrying but I can guarantee they are. Gio shifts behind me, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. I brought him instead of Jackson because he’s intelligent and calculated. Not rash.

A few seconds later, Bernardo Caro and Franco Lama walk in. Bernardo is the other New York capo and Franco is his savage right-hand with way too much power for my liking. Bernardo embraces me as Marco did, but Franco lingers behind. The three of us take a seat at the table.

“It is a shame you have not invited us to talk sooner,” Marco says in our native language. This is at the heart of his issue, the fact that as the new capo I didn’t conform to the bullshit customs of paying respect to this fucker. I did it deliberately. If I wanted to make new friends, I’d throw a tea party. I’m much more partial to a bloodbath. Of course, to win any game, you need someone to play against. Marco, Bernardo and Franco are merely opposing pawns. Their presence is necessary in order for me to cross the board and take the king. And take him, I will.

I’m staring straight at Marco when the glass window behind him smashes. Two quick fire shots. His eyes go wide, and he falls face down on the table. I barely have a second to catch up before Bernardo goes down, too. Shots are fired inside the room, and bodies hit the floor simultaneously. And then, silence. Gio stands with his gun raised, having killed Marco’s guards. A low gurgled groan sounds from the other side of the table, and I approach Franco where he lies on the floor, clutching a bullet wound in his abdomen.

He glares up at me, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You have no honor,” he hisses.

I smile. “Honor is for people who have a line. I don’t.” I lift my gun and fire one shot at his head. It’s done.