I was getting ready for my evening shift at work when there was a knock on my door, and I flinched, cursing as my razor slipped and cut my cheek. "Motherfucker! Who the fuck could that be? Brad, I swear to God, if that's you, I'm going to kick your ass. I told you that—"

I pulled open my apartment door to see Tomasso Bertoli standing in the narrow downward staircase, dressed in his custom tailored Italian suit. "Did I catch you at a bad time, Dante? I tried to call, but it kept going straight to voicemail."

"Oh, ah, no, Mr. Bertoli," I said, stepping back. I felt something drip onto my chest, and I looked down to see a drop of my blood. "Sorry, I was just shaving for work and was startled when you knocked. What’s up?”

Tomasso nodded, then looked around. "Mind if I come in? And get a cloth for that cut. It looks a bit nasty. What do you use, a Mach 3?"

"No . . . dollar store special," I replied, snatching a washcloth from my kitchenette and pressing it to my face. "If you came about the stuff you lent me, I washed it today, but I didn't fold that laundry yet. Give me a minute, and I'll get it for you. Sorry if I've been slow in bringing it back."

"Don't worry about it," Tomasso said. He closed the door behind him and looked around. "Not the biggest place I've seen. Saving up for something else?"

“Um . . . no," I said, trying to play it cool. "Just finances are a bit tight right now, that's all. Want something to drink?”

"No thanks," Tomasso said. "How long have you lived here?"

"About four years now," I replied, going to my dresser and pulling out a white undershirt. "It's not the greatest, but the rent's cheap, and it's close to my part-time job."

"I know. I checked into you after Friday night," Tomasso said. "Have a seat. Let’s talk. Are you scheduled to work tonight?"

"Yeah, but not for about two hours," I replied, wondering why he was asking.

I went over to my couch and sat down, making sure to keep the cloth pressed against the cut on my face. There was no need to have me dripping on my undershirt, after all. I tried to get comfortable, but to be honest, having Tomasso Bertoli standing in my crappy basement apartment while bleeding and getting ready for a shitty part-time job was a little intimidating.

"Your reputation among a lot of the Bertoli men isn't the greatest," Tomasso said, finding the only other piece of furniture in my apartment, a rickety chair, and spinning it around, sitting in it reverse style. "In fact, since driving you home, I've been asking. You've got a penchant for picking up unflattering nicknames."

I wanted to argue, but the way he said it, there wasn't any derision in it, just him laying out the facts. I sat back, frustrated. "A few fuckups in the past, and you get labeled for years. Sometimes for life."

“Maybe,” Tomasso replied, crossing his arms on the back of the chair. "But sometimes, you can change it. With hard work and a little luck.”

“But you can't just depend on luck," I said. "If I kept sitting around waiting on luck, I'd be living in worse than this apartment."

Tomasso looked around, nodding in agreement. "It's not the best place I've seen, but it's not the worst. That reminds me. Speaking of reputations, what do you know about Carmen?"

"Nothing," I said honestly. "I figured she was a friend of your family, but that’s it."

"Nobody said anything about her to you?" Tomasso asked, his voice intense but not threatening. "Someone disrespected her and is spreading rumors. I’m just trying to find out who."

I shook my head. "Nobody. In case you don't know, not too many people talk to me, at least not in your circle. So no, nobody said a thing to me about Carmen. I didn't even know her name until after the tussle with your brother-in-law."

I was getting angry, and I took a deep breath. Tomasso was the last person I wanted to say something to that I shouldn’t. Besides, it wasn’t him that I was mad at. Still, he noticed, and his eyes tightened slightly. "Why do you do that?"

"What?" I asked, sitting back.

"Get angry, then choke off the anger. I've seen you do that before, on Friday, when Eduardo gave you that half-assed apology."

"What's the point of being angry?" I replied, looking down. "Just gets me into trouble."

“And sometimes, it gives you the courage to do stupid but brave shit. Like when you tackled an arrogant jackass into a pool, even though you probably took the worst of it.”

"I did, but I'd do it again, like I said."

"Which is why I'm going to do what I'm going to do," Tomasso said, standing up. "My father wants me to take the next step in taking over for him.”

"Congratulations," I said, confused. “But what's that got to do with me?"

"Well, part of that is me getting my own crew," Tomasso said. "Dad's decided to have me be in charge of a group of operators, with those people not answering to anyone but me. They answer to me and me alone."

“That's a lot of responsibility," I said, impressed and at least somewhat happy for him. "So who's your crew?"

"Me, obviously," he said, "And Luisa's going to be my lieutenant. You'd expect that. According to what my father told me, that leaves me up to four more slots. I'd like you to be one of those people."

Silence dropped over the room, and I stared at Tomasso stupidly, shocked. "What did you just say?”

“I said I want you to be one of the four,” Tomasso said, a grin breaking out on his face. “What do you say?”

"Why me, though? You could have had your pick of the best of the Bertoli men.”

"I could have, but I’m looking to the future. This crew, they're going to be the people that form the nucleus of the Bertoli organization's next generation. I don't need people at their peak now. I need people who have the potential to grow and become better. And you showed me a spark of potential Friday."

"I don’t know what to say,” I said, shaking my head. I blinked and wiped at my chin, seeing that the blood had stopped. "This could backfire on you."

"It could," he agreed, "but then again, it could make me look like a genius. Which brings me to one of the things I need to tell you before we shake on this and make my offer official. You've got a lot of hard work you're going to need to put in."

I nodded, a growing sense of excitement forming in my belly. “I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this.”

I saw Tomasso's eyes flash, and he nodded. "Good. But if you're going to work for me, I need you to be a lot better than what you are. So here's what we're going to do. First, you're going in to work to tell them you quit. Then you're going to get your school supplies."

"School supplies?" I asked, slightly confused. "Like what?"

"A decent suit, for one, and some other clothes. I won't have you working for me looking like a thrift shop case. There’s more, but I’ll text you a list."

"Uh . . . that won't work," I said, reddening. "My phone doesn't work right now."

"What do you mean? I thought you said you left it at your apartment," Tomasso said, confused. “Whatever. I’ll write it down, and we’ll get you set up with another phone."

Tomasso started to hand me the note, then wrote one more thing down. “By the way, Carmen’s a dance instructor as well as a masseuse. You're going to need her services with what I'm going to put you through. All my men are going to be in tip-top shape. Here's the rest of the list. You've got less than two days to get this all put together. You're going to come to the house the day after tomorrow, eight in the morning, your suit in a hanging bag and wearing your workout clothes. We'll start with your training then."

Tomasso reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “This should cover everything to get you going. We'll start on the rest of the financials on Wednesday."

Tomasso went to the door, opening it before stopping and snapping his fingers. "Wait, I forgot something."

"What?" I asked, my eyes going to the stack of cash on the counter of my kitchenette. Between that and what I still had from Friday night, I hadn't seen that much cash that I could call my own in years, maybe since my father died.

Tomasso turned and smiled, sticking out his hand. "Welcome to the crew."

* * *

An hour later, after quitting my job and even getting to say a few words to the manager that I’d been dying to say, I got back in my car, relishing the fact that it turned over so easily now with a new battery. The engine actually sounded happy for the first time in more than a year. Oh, it still was in major need of a detailing and a wax, but those could wait. I had supplies to pick up.

My first stop was to a men's clothing shop, where I let myself be measured and tried on a few suits.

"How long will it take for you to get this done? I need it by the day after tomorrow."

"It'll cost you a bit extra, but we can have it ready by five tomorrow afternoon," the seamstress said, ticking a box on her slip. "Okay, get dressed, and I'll get the salespeople to ring this all up."

After leaving the men's shop, I went to an electronics store, where I bought a new prepaid cellphone with plenty of minutes, a smartphone like Tomasso asked for, and a sporting goods store, where I got some workout clothes.

Driving back to my apartment, I felt not so much content as excited. I told Tomasso that I’d been looking to catch a break, and I'd been given one. Now, the rest of it was up to me, and I was going to make the most of it.

I parked my car and looked at the paper with my list of supplies on it. At the bottom was an address, what I guessed was Carmen's dance studio. "What the hell?" I said, studying the address. I knew the area. It wasn't that far from my apartment, in an area that had a lot of strip malls and such. "Well, I could use a massage. Maybe I can stop by later.”

The next day was mostly a day of focus, trying to figure out exactly what Tomasso would be expecting of me. He left me his phone number, which I texted after getting my phone activated, and his reply told me to rest up, as I'd need the energy on Wednesday. I was only slightly worried, but I figured I could only do my best and see what he had to say to me afterward. I went to bed early that night and slept well, my stomach content and my mind at ease.

Wednesday morning, I felt a tremor of nervousness as I drove up to the gate in front of the Bertoli mansion, punching in the code that Tomasso had given me. There was a little voice inside my head that said it was all an elaborate joke.

Still, the gate opened, and I drove up toward the house, parking next to the garage and getting out, the suit bag Tomasso had told me to bring slung over my shoulder. I was wearing a t-shirt and some track pants, my one-day-old Nikes still feeling strange on my feet. I took a deep breath and walked up to the kitchen door, knocking and waiting for it to open.

I was surprised when the door opened and a maid was there. "Oh, you're Dante, right? Hi, I'm Jessie."

"Hi. Uhm, Mr. Bertoli told me to come by at ten."

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded in approval. "You know where the gym is, right?"

"Uh, I think. Downstairs, right?"

She nodded and stepped out of the way. "Follow me. I'll take you just in case.”

I walked behind her, who kept up a constant stream of chatter that I could sense was her attempt to try and welcome me to the house. "By the way, if it rains, take your shoes off. And if you're going to be coming here a lot, don't worry about knocking. Just make sure that you're checking in with whoever you're here to see. Oh, and while I understood what you said earlier about who you're here to visit, it's best if you refer to Tomasso as Tomasso, just so that nobody gets confused. Just like Luisa is almost always Luisa, and not Mrs. Bertoli. We've only got one of those. Ah, here we are."

Jessie pointed to an open door, and I walked in, finding Tomasso and Luisa already waiting for me. "Good morning, Dante."

"Good morning," I said, trying not to feel nervous. Both of them had stern looks on their faces, and I wondered if I'd already made a mistake. "Am I late?"

"No, not at all," Luisa said, a hint of a smile flashing on her features before settling. She was dressed in exercise clothes as well, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Before we start, Tomasso has asked that I be the one to test you today. Is that a problem?"

I shook my head. “He said that you’re going to be part of this group, so I'll be working with and for you all the time. Why not start now? I've got no problems about your being a woman, if that's what you mean."

Tomasso smiled for the first time, looking over at his wife. "Told you that wouldn't be a problem. If there is, however . . ."

"I'll handle it," she said with a nod. Considering that she'd torn up her own brother, at least that was the little I'd heard, I knew she was as deadly as she was beautiful. She wasn't a woman I wanted to disappoint.

"Good. Then I'll leave you two to get to work. I've got some business to attend to. I'll check in with you before dinner, if you're done by then."

Tomasso left, and I turned to face Luisa, whose face had gone hard, but she still had a deceptive smile on her face. "Good. Now, let's get started.”

For the next hour and a half, I was put through a torturous series of tests, covering what I thought was just about every possible measurement of my woefully lacking fitness ability. Well, what I now realized was lacking. Before, I’d thought I was in decent shape.

It started with a climb on the VersaClimber machine, which in fewer than five minutes had me feeling like I wanted to hurl my breakfast.

Somehow, I survived the whole fifteen minutes on the machine, although I could tell as she read the readouts that Luisa wasn't impressed. She gave me only five minutes to recover before she sat me down on the bench press machine, putting a plate on each side. "Press."

I did. The weight wasn't much, but as soon as I set the handles down, she added another ten pounds to each side, the iron clanging.

This repeated until I couldn't press any more, and she noted the amount on her clipboard.

The tests continued, with tests of muscular strength, endurance, flexibility, and even testing how long I could hold positions. I'd never felt like less of a physical specimen that I did after they completed, and I dropped to the mat in the corner, splashing slightly when my forehead smacked into the small puddle of sweat underneath me.

"Good," Luisa said, tapping her pencil on the clipboard again. "Can you fight?"

"You saw all my moves on Friday night," I joked in reply. "But really, who you got lined up?"

She shook her head. "Not right now—you’re spent. Go shower and get washed up, and get your suit on. I’ll meet you in the hallway. Oh, and Dante?"

"Yes?" I gasped, trying and failing to roll to a position where I could get to my feet.

"You did fine. You have a way to go, but you did the most important thing."

"Which was?" I asked, the s in was turning into a long, drawn-out groan as I finally got to my feet, using my arms to help me before hanging off the machine in front of me. "Not dying?"

"Not giving up. Giving up won’t be tolerated. Now jump to it. You have only fourteen minutes left."