CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Xiomar POV

I left the house earlier than usual, making sure no one, even Achilles with his early routine, saw me. I had a few things to sort out with the gym and tattoo shops, and more importantly, I was meeting with the men of the Draghi Family.

Achilles was the boss, the one that gave; instead, these men were mine. Selected by me to be trained fighters and smart peddlers.

Someone has not been smart.

“Hello, Boss.”

“Yes, is everyone gathered there?” I ask Marco, one of my most trusted men. “Yes, I gathered everyone sworn here.”

I ended the call. The road is lonely; it's barely three am, the witches' hour.

Tonight was meant to be another round of initiation into the family. I would have to push that further; it was too early to open ourselves to newbies when we had rodents to deal with.

My car came to a stop in the parking lot, different bikes and cars were lined up. They were all present.

It was time to see who my suspect would be.

Marco opens the door for me, murmuring silently under his breath.

“Gli uomini sono arrabbiati, Capo.” He says. Good, they should be.

I enter the large room with the boxing ring; men are hung everywhere. About fifty of my trusted comrades should be present. I sweep my eyes, taking notes of the present ones.

“Hello,”

There is silence. One thing I love is how intimidating I am physically. 6 feet taller than almost every man in this room, with muscles that can rival a gorilla's own.

“There is something going on in the streets,” I tell them, walking over and sitting down on an empty chair. I bring out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of my jeans, and Marco stretches a lighter to me.

“Tell me, boys. What's the new product?”

Everyone turns their heads, looking at one another. “We don't know about anything. There should be no new product,” someone shouts in response. In a few minutes, agreements come from the men gathered.

I blow out a puff of smoke, enjoying the feeling of the poisoned air escaping from my lungs. I should probably stop smoking, but I'm not an addict. A drag when needed is essential for my brain to be calm.

“I don't want to ask again. Who knows anything about a new product?” I level them with a hard gaze. “Anything.”

.

One cheeky guy with a red bandana tied around his wrists speaks up first. “There's always new products in the streets. Coke, Heroine, Molly.” He is smoking too, twirling the cigarette in his palm as he gesticulates. “You know, we only deal in pure, uncut stuff.”

I stub out the cigar on my knee. “Exactly. I know you are friends with members of different families. Which of those families have recently started dealing with a new product?”

That led to more silence. “Boss, I don't think they know. Plus, you know, the other families wouldn't tell us shit.” He pulls his shirt up, showing me our insignia. “They see this, and their mouth is sealed shut,” he puffs out.

“"There is a new product. One that my brothers and I do not take a liking to. If you hear or see anything, you come to me. Okay?”

A chorus of yes sirs lights up the air as they start filing out of the room, dismissed. One man hangs behind, though.

He walks up to me, his fingers in his pockets, swelling like pee and sweat. “Why do you smell like garbage?” I bark out. His face turns white. “S-s- sorry Boss,” he says, rolling his tongue backwards and scratching his body.

“Did you sample the product?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

“Yes. I was so tempted. It would clear away.” He tells me, like I don't already fucking know that. I liked our men being clearheaded, and this one wasn't cutting the mark.

“I heard something about a new product,” he tells me shakily. “Continue.”

“I'm not entirely sure what they're selling. It was two men in a bar. I was trying to score some pussy,” he winks at me, showing me his rotten teeth. I grimace and mentally prepare to have him put into an institution.

“They said that this was the best-paying thing they had moved, especially since they were doing it all under your nose.”

I sigh. “Did you get a look at them?”

He shakes his head no.

“Well, thank you then. I would look into it. What bar?”

“Westbridge. You know, always having those hot, sexy girls on Wednesdays. I went to see if I could slip a dollar into one's ass cheeks.”

Crude.

“What's your name?” That gets his attention away from the ground. “Vincenzio.”

“Vincenzio, I need you to go to this address later.” I rattle off the address of the minor psychiatric home that was one of my brother's investments. I think it was his way of giving something back to society, since my mom had told us our father had run mad. Although we never met the man, she spoke a lot about him and what he did for her.

She explained to us in detail how drugs had led my father to become a different man and how, in the night, she took her five children and ran away from him, leaving behind the rough life of being a Mafia wife.

She did all that and made life so beautiful for us. If only she had not had such stubborn male children that led to her untimely death.

I sent Emilio a text, noting that it's almost 4 am. I wouldn't be able to go back home anymore, so I just decided to sit and open the shops. My brother would not wake up till the sun had risen, but that worked fine for me.

I look towards the punching bags. Maybe I should kill time by letting off some steam.