Chapter 3

Dario

“The cartel girl is being told of the marriage,” Vincent Luciano, my father, said as he stared at me from across his desk. It was an ostentatious antique monstrosity in his home office within his mansion in the Ozarks. Tommaso Moretti, his consigliere, stood behind and to the side of his chair, where he’d been for most of my life—the hand to the throne.

This house was my father’s castle and unnecessarily huge. Hell, guarding it took more of our soldiers off the street than I thought necessary. It took a lot of men to watch over hundreds of acres of land, a massive home, and a capo who was hated and feared by the people he ruled and those he didn’t.

This wasn’t my father’s only residence. He also had an apartment in Kansas City, not far from mine. If I recalled correctly, my mother hadn’t stepped foot in the palatial apartment for at least fifteen years, not since she walked in on my father and the other lady-of-the-house—his mistress, Alesia Moretti, Tommaso’s sister.

My father had a thing for women with names that started with ‘A.’ My mother’s name was Arianna. I wouldn’t supply a lewd observation of my mother; however, if Alesia was the gauge, he also had a thing for big boobs, plastic features, and women he could dominate.

Being that Alesia was the sister of Father’s consigliere, my brother and I thought she had her heart set on dropping the Moretti for Luciano. It seemed as if both women were a glutton for the hell of Father’s presence. After witnessing his affair, instead of divorcing our father, our mother doubled down, insisting on renovations at the Ozark mansion. The cost to placate her came close to a million dollars. She blatantly declared the whore could have the apartment. As wife, she would be the queen with a palace. These few facts about my father made it laughable that he was lecturing me on marriage.

“The girl,” I repeated. “She’s a woman.”

Twenty-three years old. Not exactly aged but not a child.

My father huffed. “You’re protective of her already. You always had a thing for strays.”

“She’s the daughter of a top lieutenant under Roríguez. She’s hardly a flea-ridden mutt found on the street.”

“You already had your time with one of those.”

The muscles of my jaw tightened, yet I worked to keep my appearance stoic. This was a fight I was tired of having. Besides, it no longer applied.

Dad waved his hand. “Fucking cartel.” He shook his head. “You might need to check her for fleas. You could have had your pick of good Italian virgins from any outfit in the country.” His beady dark eyes stared at me in a way that would cause half of his soldiers to wet themselves. “You fucked that up. If you think I’m going to hand the famiglia down to you… you have to earn it. Going through with this marriage is a start.”

His death glare had little effect. I’d seen it daily for all my thirty-five years. And when it came to becoming capo, I had earned it. I killed my first man at thirteen years of age—slit his throat in front of an audience of Father’s soldiers. You don’t get the nickname The Blade for only one kill. If spilling blood alone was required of a capo, I’d spilled my quota. It wasn’t. There was more. Since before I was eighteen, I’d done my father’s bidding with legal and illegal connections. Hell, I’d been the one to initiate the alliance with Jorge Roríguez.

I kept my expression unreadable and my voice even. “Catalina Ruiz is beautiful. She’s lived a privileged life and is finishing her degree. If you want to insinuate that marrying her is a punishment, it’s one I willingly take.”

Father scrunched his nose as if he tasted something sour. “Obviously, you’ve never had a high bar when it comes to women in your bed. At least she’s Catholic. Arianna is pacified by that.” He added, “And Jorge promises she’s pure.”

It was my turn to shake my head. The last generation was obsessed with unnecessary merits. I’d fucked my first whore at fourteen. Dear old Daddy was the one to arrange the initiation. If I was obsessed with virginity, I could have agreed to marry Catalina’s younger sister, Camila. I preferred women who were both legal and willing. Experience wasn’t a bad thing. Personally, the idea that the Roríguez cartel’s top boss had knowledge of Catalina’s sex life disgusted me more than her lack of virginity.

Father looked annoyed. “The capo earns the respect of his men.”

“And what does that have to do with taking my wife’s virginity?”

“It demonstrates your ability to take what is yours.”

“I’m respected.”

“The leader of the famiglia also must show stability. A wife gives you that.”

Standing, I turned away and looked toward the window. A light dusting of snow covered the manicured lawns. “I’ve said I’ll marry her.” I spun toward him. “The alliance was my idea.”

Marrying a good Italian girl was never on my list of things to do. Marriage was a legal bond, nothing more. I’d been given that example my entire life. Father’s fidelity was to the outfit, the famiglia, not to his wife or his mistress. 

While there was a time when I considered walking away from the famiglia, longing for a normal existence, circumstances changed. As the eldest son of Vincent Luciano, taking over as capo of the Kansas City Famiglia was what I’d been raised to do. I’d put in my time and was ready to take the reins. I had other ideas for the future beyond partnering with the Roríguez cartel.  

Over the last ten years, Vincent Luciano had become rigid in his ways. Times and situations changed. We were no longer the only organization in contention. To up our game and our domination, we needed the alliance.

My father continued, “Roríguez will supply us with a new and steady source of product. Damn feds shut down the route through Florida.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen the details of the quantity and quality of product Roríguez can supply. This alliance will give us the upper hand we need over the damn Russians.” He looked over to Tommaso. “Tell Dario what you told me.”

Moretti was a weaselly short man with a yearning for power and the propensity to do whatever was necessary to be within its realm, hence the reason he would lick my father’s boots one minute and beat his wife the next. He recognized the value of Vincent Luciano’s blessing in our world while demonstrating his own power where he could.

“Roríguez promised fifty bales—one ton—upon word that the engagement is set.”

I did the math in my head. One ton, divided into fifty bales was forty-pound bales.  Cocaine roughly amounted to $39,000 per pound, making each bale worth 1.56 million, times fifty equaled over 78 million.

“He’s handing over seventy-eight million in merchandise?”

Tommaso answered, “You’re talking street value. He’s asking for 20G per pound, a twenty-five percent discount because we will be family.” He emphasized the word while simultaneously mocking it. “Jorge said once our soldiers get it on the streets, the clients will want more. He says his product is far and above what the Russians sell and better than our old supplier.”

The office door opened and Rocco Moretti, Tommaso’s son and my sister’s husband, entered. While he was taller than his father, he was no less slimy. His gaze was on me. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

“Of?”

“Marrying the puta.”

I stood, my height towering inches over his, and met Rocco chest to chest. “I think you meant to ask if I was going to marry Catalina Ruiz.”

“Same thing,” he said with a smirk.

With one hand, I unsheathed my knife and with the other, I reached for the front of Rocco’s shirt and twisted. His face reddened. As I placed the edge of the blade against his throat, sweat appeared on Rocco’s brow. Neither my father nor his said a word as I pulled him forward, bringing his nose to mine. “My wife will have respect, and it starts in this family.”

“Let him go,” my father commanded.

I twisted his shirt collar tighter before pushing him away. I’d as soon kill him except it wasn’t fair to Father’s housekeeper to have to clean the blood.

Rocco fell back, stumbling, yet staying on his feet. “Fuck, Dario.”

Why my sister agreed to marry this poor excuse for a human being was beyond me. She didn’t choose. Just as Catalina wasn’t choosing me.

Father’s voice tore me away from visions of my brother-in-law bleeding out on the carpet. “Rocco is accompanying us to California for your engagement.”

With a scowl, I turned to Rocco. “If you say or do anything to demean Catalina or her family, next time, I’ll slit your throat.”