My Mother Saved Her First Love and Buried Her Own Son

"Miss Rossi, please. Calm yourself."

The associate at her side was pleading, sweat tracking down his face.

"You laid hands on another worker first. The club is settling this by the rules, and we are only following them."

"Rules?"

Gianna Rossi let out a sound like she'd heard a joke, her voice climbing at once.

"I am the rules!"

She jabbed a finger toward the inside of the building, her face full of arrogance.

"Let me tell you something. If that little bitch isn't cast out today, and if she doesn't get down on her knees and apologize to me, this is far from over!"

Just then.

Isabella Conti came out of the building.

She spotted me at the curb the moment she stepped through the doors.

The coldness drained from her face, and she walked straight toward me.

"Have you been waiting long?"

She slipped her arm through mine, easy and natural, her voice soft.

"No."

I smiled at her.

"Just got here."

That small scene fell right into Gianna's line of sight.

She froze for a beat, then, like something had suddenly clicked, her face twisted into something vicious.

"Greco!"

"So it was you behind all of this!"

She tore free of the soldier holding her and came charging at me like she'd lost her mind.

"Casting out my brother wasn't enough for you? Now you're driving me out too?"

"Who the hell do you think you are!"

Her hand flew up, swinging straight for my face.

Isabella's expression changed in an instant.

She stepped in front of me almost without thinking.

"Get her away from here!"

Two of the syndicate's men closed in at once and pinned Gianna between them, one on each side.

"Let go of me!"

"Greco! You dare move against the Rossi Family!"

"My mother will never let this go!"

"You just wait!"

Her shouting grew fainter and fainter.

Until it vanished altogether around the corner.

Only then did Isabella look away.

She turned to me, a slight crease forming between her brows. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and held my eyes, steady.

"Dominic."

"Vittoria Rossi has held her ground in this city for years. She's always been a name people lower their voices around."

"What exactly is between you and that family?"

I was quiet for a moment.

In the end I only shook my head.

"I'll tell you another time."

Isabella could see I didn't want to say more, so she didn't push.

She just held my hand, lightly.

That night.

A call came in from a number that was strange and familiar at the same time.

The moment I saw the name on the screen.

My fingers went still for a few seconds.

Vittoria Rossi.

Twenty whole years.

Seeing that name again, my heart still gave an involuntary ache.

The call connected.

A woman's voice came through almost at once, cold and looking down from on high.

"So you're the one they call Don of the Greco line?"

Twenty years gone.

Her voice had barely changed.

Still domineering.

Still hateful.

"That's me."

I answered calmly.

The next second.

Her icy demand came through.

"Who gave you the nerve to move against my son and my daughter?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

The laugh was full of contempt.

"Donna Rossi, are you confusing something here?"

"The Rossi Family doesn't hold a third of the territory the Greco Syndicate does these days."

"Why would I waste my time tearing down a house already falling on its own?"

The line went silent at once.

A few seconds later.

Vittoria's voice came back, plainly furious.

"How dare you!"

She had probably never been humiliated like this in her life.

Least of all by someone she'd see as a junior.

Soon.

A cold laugh came down the line, anger held just under the surface.

"Fine."

"Very fine."

"Young and full of yourself. You really don't know how high the sky is."

"Since you're so sure of yourself, then let's see just how many more days your Greco Syndicate has left to stand!"

I leaned back in my chair.

My tone calm, without the slightest ripple.

"I'll be waiting."

With that.

I hung up.

Early the next morning.

My consigliere all but ran into the room.

His face was white, his forehead soaked with sweat.

"Don Greco, we've got a problem!"

He thrust his phone in front of me.

The word was already running through every channel in the city.

Right there, passed from mouth to mouth.

The Greco Don keeps a dirty house.

I took it and gave it a glance.

Several bought voices had put the same story on the street almost at the same hour.

Every line of it hinting that a man as young as me taking the head of a syndicate this size had to mean some filthy deal beneath the surface.

They'd even gone out of their way to plant so-called inside whispers.

Claiming the Family's operations were nothing but a packaged con.

Running on borrowed muscle and noise to cheat its own partners and the men who'd backed it.

The talk had already blown up completely.

"No wonder he's a Don so young."

"Connections, obviously."

"The whole operation's a front? Is that for real?"

"The Feds should look into this!"

My consigliere's voice shook.

"Don Greco, several of our partners have already sent word asking what's going on."

"If this keeps up, I'm afraid some of them will pull their stake."

Before I could say anything.

The door swung open again.

The man who handled our word on the street rushed in.

A laptop clutched in his arms.

His face looked even worse than the consigliere's.

"Don Greco, this is bad!"

"Marco Rossi's put out a tape!"

I took the laptop.

The video had just started.

On screen, Marco Rossi sat at a desk in a crisp suit.

A neat stack of files laid out in front of him.

He looked both seasoned and wronged.

"Hello, all of you."

"These are everything I put my hands to during my time inside the Greco Syndicate."

As he spoke, he held the files up to the camera.

"From the day they brought me in until now, I worked four matters of weight, two of which I carried entirely on my own."

"Top marks through two straight reviews."

"First among everyone who came up with me."

"By any measure, I'd earned my place as a made man."

At that.

He paused, slow and deliberate.

Then he lifted his eyes to the camera.

His rims gone faintly red.

His voice turning a little hoarse. The laugh came a beat too early, the way it always did when he was cornered, and faded when no one took it up.

"And yet, on the very day I was to be brought in for good."

"Don Greco stood up in front of everyone and cast me out, without giving any reason at all."

"I don't know what I did wrong."

"And I don't know whether loyalty and results count for nothing at all in the eyes of certain men."

By this point in the tape.

The voices on the street had completely turned.

Countless people were already crying out on his behalf.

And I only watched the screen, quietly.

The corner of my mouth slowly curving up.

At last.

They were making their move.