Chapter Seventeen
Beware the fury
of a patient man.
Publilius Syrus
twenty years old
It’s cold in Maryland this time of year.
But it’s only been a month since I left Florida, and I still haven’t gotten used to the change in climate.
And it certainly doesn’t help that I’m homeless.
There’s a bridge along the Potomac that I sleep under, and for ten dollars a month, I have access to showers and the gym equipment at the nearest Planet Fitness. I spend hours at the gym every day to escape the cold and get a daily shower.
The gym employees think I’m some kind of fitness buff, and I don’t correct them. I certainly look and act the part. After a month of daily four hour gym sessions, my body is almost unrecognizable. I was built before, but now, there are muscles on my body in places I didn’t know could have muscles.
Usually, the Andretti capos like us built but lean. Too many muscles can make you slow. But with the amount and type of training I do, I’m quicker than I’ve ever been and stronger, too.
It’s a shame that I won’t ever have the opportunity to use my enhanced skills.
And given where I am, I hope I don’t either.
What makes Maryland the perfect place for me to hide out also makes it the worst.
Maryland is a border state for the Romano and Andretti territories. The problem is that the two families have never quite figured out where the border starts and ends. And it doesn’t help that, because Maryland is on the fringes of both territories, both families send the nobody tenentes—lieutenants—to control the area.
These are men and women that don’t mean shit to either family but are still Hell bent on trying to prove their worth.
Damaged egos are a dangerous weapon.
And in the border, a damaged ego causes the tens to do crazy shit.
Like start border wars in a never ending pissing contest of Whose Penis is Bigger?
But despite how dangerous living in a border area is, it’s also safe because it’s on the outskirts. I know firsthand that my dad doesn’t give a damn about this area, and he’s the head of the Andretti family.
If the head doesn’t give a damn, no one else gives a damn.
And that makes this the perfect place to lay low.
Plus, it’s not like I can go anywhere else. When I left Uncle Luca’s, I ran. I didn’t stop to get money or my passport. All I had was the money in my wallet and cards that have already been cancelled.
I couldn’t flee the country, and I still can’t now. I don’t have the connections to get a new passport with a new identity. And I sure as Hell don’t want to leave Andretti territory, given the other threats out there for someone who bleeds Andretti blood.
The United States and parts of Canada are split into five territories, each controlled by one of the five syndicates—the De Luca family, the Camerino family, the Rossi family, the Romano family, and the Andretti family.
My family’s territory is in the South. Aside from the Romanos, we’re pretty much left alone. Obviously, the Romanos are out of the question. The Romano family has been our enemy for hundreds of years, and I’m as good as dead if I step into their territory.
Even if I finished out a hit on my own uncle.
I may not be welcome by the Andretti family anymore, but I still have the Andretti last name and Andretti blood still runs through my veins. And that means I’ll always be the greatest enemy of the Romano family.
Some prejudices are too strong to overcome.
I can’t go into Rossi territory either. Their territory is on the West coast, so I’ve never had to deal with them. That means I have no fucking clue how they run, which makes it a bad idea to enter their territory without adequate intel.
And the De Luca territory? That’s not even an option. The De Lucas are fucking bat shit. They’ll kill you first and ask questions later. They’re the only family of the five syndicates that have abandoned the original mafia code—innocent women and children are off limits.
To them, innocents are fair game.
Fuck that shit.
I can’t live somewhere like that.
And while the Camerino family isn’t as bad as the De Luca family, there’s too much going on in their politics for me to risk being seen there right now. They’re at war with the Rossi family, and not the passive war the Romanos and Andrettis are engaged in, where no one really remembers why we’re mad at each other.
Their war is fresh and angry and unrelenting.
So, here I am.
Homeless in Maryland during the fucking cold ass winter.
I sigh when my break ends, and I reluctantly enter Phantom, the club where I bartend every night. I make a fair amount of money here, but it’s better for me to save it in case I need it on the run.
I made a mistake by transferring all of my money into an offshore bank account under my real name, but I was in a rush, didn’t have an alternate identity set up, and wasn’t thinking straight, having just killed my uncle.
Now, I’m paying for that mistake with every dollar I choose to save instead of spend on a warm bed. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. Living on the run is against every instinct of mine.
I was born to fight and live the mafia lifestyle.
Being idle and on the run is my worst nightmare.
But it’s also my only hope of survival.
Which is why, when I hear a clank in the alley I just left and open the back door of Phantom a bit to investigate, I wince at the familiar site of crazed blue eyes and scruffy brown hair. There, standing in the dark alleyway with a man I don’t know, is one of my former friends, Ignazio Colombo.
And in a car that just blocked off the exit to the alley is someone I’ve only met once but would recognize anywhere.
Asher Black.
“We’re gonna fucking be legends,” Naz says to the guy beside him, his voice splicing the silence.
I groan in my head, because anything Naz thinks is a good idea is one hundred percent bound to be a horrible idea.
Naz is a reckless idiot. He’s a total, complete, unbelievably dimwitted idiot that is, without a doubt, about to get himself into trouble right about now. And I may be Andretti enemy number one right now, but he’s still an old friend of mine.
Naz used to work in Florida with me—until he shot an innocent civilian who he thought looked like a Romano caporegime, because in his idiotic mind, it was logical for a Romano caporegime to be entering a goddamn Baby Gap in the heart of Andretti territory out of the fucking blue.
The civilian survived Naz’s piss poor aim, lots of men in blue were paid off, and Naz was sent to the border, where he’d be someone else’s problem.
And right now?
That someone is me.