An Offer You Can't Refuse: A Miami Mafia Crime Thriller

by Sal Bianchi

  I moved on instinct and rushed forward to throw myself onto the ground and behind my couch. I drew my gun from the holster at my hip and held it aloft as I peeked out from around my couch toward the front door. Just as I’d suspected, I could see the faint outline of a person standing in the shadows by the entrance, near the kitchenette and just far away enough that I couldn’t make out their features.

  My finger twitched against the trigger as I quickly weighed the pros and cons of just shooting him right now. He obviously didn’t have good intentions. That much was evident from the fact that he’d not only snuck in here but locked the door behind him to mask his tracks. Then there was the fact that he was lurking around the entrance waiting for me. Whoever he was, he wasn’t my ally, and it might be simpler to just kill him now before he could make a move. Still, I wasn’t a part of the mafia anymore, so I couldn’t just kill my way out of every situation without having to face the consequences of my actions.

  “Whoa, don’t shoot,” the figure chuckled as he threw his hands up in mock surrender. His voice was familiar, and once I placed where I knew it from, I allowed myself to relax and lower my gun. “I wasn’t expecting you to suddenly start rolling around on the ground. How did you even know I was here?”

  “I heard you breathing,” I replied as I realized what it was I had noticed earlier. I hadn’t been consciously aware of it at the time, but my brain had known the moment it registered something unfamiliar and alerted me to the danger. I got to my feet and re-holstered my gun.

  The man grinned as he stepped out of the shadows so I could see him better. It was Franco Salvador, a member of the Family and one of my father’s former right-hand men. He and I were on friendly terms, so there was very little chance he was going to try to kill me. As sneaky as he was, getting in here, he probably couldn’t take me in a fight, anyway. He had an old shoulder injury that made it difficult for him to shoot, and his knees made it hard for him to move quickly.

  “I’m impressed,” he commended me as he came to stand in front of me. “I thought you’d be rusty after so much time away from the Family. It’s been about three years now, right?”

  “What do you want, Franco?” I asked pointedly. I wasn’t in the mood to start reminiscing or justifying my actions right now.

  “Ah, straight to the point as usual, eh Nicky?” He smirked. “You’re the same as you always were, no tact for anything that didn’t have to do with the ladies. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. I often told Marco that you were better at making decisions than Alessandro.”

  “Franco,” I barked. “If you’re just here to talk about the old days, then leave. I trust you know where the door is since you did such a good job breaking in.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have brought up your brother. But listen, Nicky, I really am worried. About you. About the Family. About what’s going to happen if you keep this up.”

  There was an edge of warning in his voice, and I realized at last why he’d come here.

  “Thank you so much for your concern,” I sneered sarcastically. “I’ll keep it in mind going forward.”

  “Nicolo!” Franco snapped. “I’m being serious here. Do you know what kind of risk I’m taking just by coming to talk to you? You need to stop sniffing around, pretending to be a detective. For heaven’s sake, there are videos of you going around that show you working with a fed.”

  “I’m not pretending to be anything,” I retorted angrily. “And don’t call me that. Wait, so that guy is a part of the Family? That Pence guy who came to the office to represent Ian Brooks?”

  “Would you just listen to yourself, Nicky!” Franco groaned with exasperation. “You really think those people at that office you’re talking about care about you? You think they won’t throw you under the bus the moment things go sideways? You should be with the Family, Nicky. We’re the ones who are loyal to you.”

  I gritted my teeth and forced myself to calm down before responding. I didn’t want him to realize it, but his words had struck a painful chord. He was absolutely right that most of the agents at the SDCT didn’t trust or like me. I knew full well that I was the ‘bad guy’ they were using to hunt down other bad guys. Still, it was better than doing the mafia’s bidding.

  “You need to go now,” I replied flatly as I nodded toward the door. Franco was like an uncle to me growing up, and out of respect for that, I didn’t want to resort to physically removing him from the building. I was getting awfully close to that point, though.

  “Oh, Nicky,” he sighed. “Just how long do you think Alessandro will be able to protect you if you keep doing this? Don’t you understand how difficult you’re making your brother’s life right now?”

  For a brief moment, all I saw was red. I couldn’t hear anything past the low ringing in my ears, and it seemed like every muscle in my body tensed at once.

  “Go to hell, Franco,” I yelled as I shoved him backward with one hand. “I’m not the one making my brother’s life difficult. If it wasn’t for the Family, he wouldn’t be as miserable as he is right now. I don’t care how upset the Family gets with me. I’ll keep doing this even if I have to take down every single one of you.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Franco gasped, shocked at my outburst.

  “Get out!” I roared. “Before I change my mind about shooting you.”

  He blinked at me, stunned into silence. He opened his mouth as if to say something else but then just shook his head sadly and slowly trudged out of my office.

  I watched through the window as he got into a nondescript black car parked on the other side of the street and drove away. Once the car was completely out of sight, I deflated with a shuddering breath.

  It had felt so good to get that off my chest in such an explosive manner, but as my head cooled, I realized exactly what I’d just done. I'd declared that I was willing to take down the mafia in front of one of the Family’s highest-ranking members. He probably wouldn’t kill me himself out of respect for my father and whatever affection he might still have for me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t relay my message to the rest of the family and send someone else to have me clipped.

  “I need to talk to Flint about this tomorrow,” I groaned as I dragged my hands roughly through my hair. The more I thought about it, the more that didn’t seem like soon enough, though. In fact, the more I thought about it, the less nervous I felt. Instead, all I could feel was rage.

  I’d spent my entire life under the control of the mafia. Literally, since I was born, the other members of the Family filled my head with the notion that one day either my brother or I would succeed my father as the head of the mafia. Even now that I'd finally gotten out, they were still finding new ways to harass me. I was so tired of it.

  That was the last thought that burned through my mind as I snatched my car keys back off of my desk and headed out to confront my former Family.

  29

  Nick

  I sped all the way to the Taverna. I was going recklessly fast, but I couldn’t calm down. My heart was threatening to burst through my chest, and it was difficult to hear past the blood rushing through my ears. It was strangely soothing, watching the neon lights of the city blur past as I wove in and out of traffic. It kind of felt like I was entering a different dimension.

  I brought my car to a screeching halt outside of the bar. The windows were glowing brightly against the inky black night. I pulled the key out of the ignition and took a few deep breaths as I looked up at the building, which had once been like a second home to me. Now, it just seemed foreboding, like it was mocking me for being scared to go inside.

  I sighed and leaned my head back against my seat. I wasn’t exactly sure what my plan even was right now. Marching in there right now when it was filled to the brim with mafia members would basically be a suicide mission. I just knew that I finally wanted to have a serious talk with my brother. The past week it seemed like everyone had been speaking for him, telling me how di
fficult I was making things and what an embarrassment I was to the Family. I didn’t actually know what my brother thought, though.

  We had barely spoken since I’d walked away from the mafia three years ago. In fact, I think the only real contact I’d had with him was a phone call we’d had about a month after I moved out. Ever since then, I’d only gotten updates on what was going on with him from Colletta, Dante, or from the occasional goon who came to pick a fight with me.

  To be honest, I had no idea what my brother actually thought about me abandoning the mafia to work as a private detective, and with the feds no less. I had a vague idea, of course. He’d basically begged me to reconsider and come back during that phone call, so he obviously wasn’t happy that I’d left. Still, he had made sure the mafia wouldn’t retaliate against me, so he obviously wasn’t angry enough to have me killed. Even people who didn’t know anything else about the mafia knew that you couldn’t just “leave” the mafia. The fact that I was alive and not buried in an unmarked grave somewhere was evidence enough that my brother didn’t completely hate me.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at it silently, unsure whether I should call Jase for backup. I spent just a brief moment thinking it over before I decided against it. I’d already pulled Jase into enough of my crap lately. I knew that if I called him, he’d be here in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t fair of me to keep putting his job on the line like that.

  Furthermore, if things ended up going south tonight, it would actually be better for there not to be any witnesses. The mafia handled in-house disputes on their own, so even if someone died, it probably wouldn’t make it back to the authorities. The same could not be said if a federal agent was present.

  I shuddered as I thought about what might happen if Jase actually did come. They would probably kill him. It was a morbid thought, but it fueled me back into the rage-filled state I’d arrived in. Before I could lose my nerve again, I shoved the car door open and stepped outside.

  It was much cooler now. A light breeze whipped through my hair as I stalked brazenly toward the entrance of the bar.

  The small bell mounted above the door jingled cheerfully as I stepped inside. For a moment, a sense of nostalgia flooded me as I took in the bright, happy scene in front of me. Every table was packed with men chatting or playing cards. The younger members gathered at the bar counter, already drunk and horsing around playfully. A new waitress I didn’t recognize was weaving between the tables to deliver food orders, rolling her eyes every time one of the drunk patrons made a good-natured comment toward her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” A voice roared at me, and just like that, the nostalgic illusion was shattered. Half of the heads in the bar looked up at the sudden exclamation, their eyes widening with surprise when they saw me standing at the door. I sighed ruefully and turned toward the source of the sound. It was one of the men who had been sitting with Domenico the other morning when I’d stopped by to see Colletta. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place his name right away.

  “I asked what you were doing here,” he snarled as he marched menacingly toward me. He was a big brute of a man, just like Domenico. All brawn with very little brain to speak of. His hair was sweat-slick and plastered against his forehead, and despite the snarl, his eyelids were drooping. A black tie hung loosely around the collar of the red shirt he was wearing, and it was clear that he’d already had several drinks.

  He reached out as if to grab me, and I quickly stepped to the side and shoved him against the shoulder with one hand. He was drunk enough that even a slight push was enough to send his hulking frame off-balance.

  “Don’t touch me,” I sneered. “I need to speak to Alessandro.”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” a different man laughed as he walked up to me. “You think you can just walk in like you still belong here? Demand an audience with the boss?”

  I frowned as I appraised the new man. He wasn’t slurring his speech at all, and his gait was steady. It would be harder for me to deal with him if he was sober.

  “So I need permission to speak to my own brother?” I scoffed. “From who, you?”

  “You need to watch your mouth,” the new man growled.

  I was about to retort when I caught a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. It was the first man again, moving rapidly toward me. I threw myself sideways out of the way and back against the bar counter. The man in the red shirt fumbled forward and accidentally knocked into one of the other members seated nearby.

  I rolled my eyes and turned to look at the narrow staircase tucked into the back of the bar. Allesandro’s office was upstairs. Though he sometimes spent time at one of the more high-end bars or clubs the Family owned, most of the time he preferred to work in his small office here above the bar, probably so he could keep an eye on the Family.

  I pushed myself off the bar and began to walk toward the staircase. I’d barely made it three steps before the second man stepped in front of me and shoved me backward.

  “I’m not done talking to you!” he yelled.

  By now, we’d attracted the attention of almost everyone in the bar. Rather than feeling nervous, however, for some reason I felt emboldened by the fact that I was creating a scene in the middle of enemy territory.

  “Well, I’m done talking to you,” I replied calmly. “I don’t have time to waste on some nobody picciotto.”

  His face went red at my words, and I could hear a few of the patrons muttering around us. A picciotto was the lowest rank of mafia officer there was. Basically, they were the grunts of the organization that were tasked with petty duties such as giving beatings. However, picciotto was also often used to describe a young, inexperienced, or inept member of the mafia who was unable to prove himself enough to become a full-fledged soldati. I actually had no idea who this man was or what his rank was, but making the implication that he was beneath me was enough to hurt his pride, especially in front of the entire Family like this.

  “Better a picciotto,” he gritted out menacingly, “than a tradiatore.”

  I smirked at the weak response. It would take a lot more than being called a traitor by the likes of this idiot to rattle me. Laughing at him only enraged him further, and he reared back as if to punch me.

  “Hey!” A shrill voice cut through the air, freezing us both in our tracks. “Both of you cut it out now before I knock some sense back into the pair of you!”

  Despite the severity of the situation, I couldn’t help but smile as I turned around to look at Colletta on the other side of the bar. She was wearing a food-stained apron and holding a ladle up like it was a weapon. It was such a familiar and comforting sight that I immediately forgot all about the fight I’d been about to get into.

  “Hey, Colletta.” I beamed at her. “You look beautiful as always.”

  “You need to hush,” she hissed at me as she cast a wary glance at the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t get me wrong, Nicky, I’m always glad to see you, but what do you think you’re doing here right now?”

  “I need to speak with Alessandro,” I replied calmly.

  “Oh no,” the drunk red shirt from before sneered. “You’re not going to hide behind Colletta like you did last time. Come over here and fight like a man.”

  “Giovanni,” Colletta snapped. “Interrupt our conversation one more time, and you’re going to wish you were never born.”

  “Are you serious, Colletta?” He balked. “After what he did to Domenico, you expect me to just sit back and let him waltz in here like he owns the place?”

  Colletta pursed her lips at his outburst. He made a good point. I’d beaten a member of the Family into unconsciousness, so they couldn’t just let it slide. Even Colletta wouldn’t be able to get me out of this.

  “I do own this place.” I grinned. There was little point in playing nice now that Giovanni had made it clear that he intended to defend Domenico’s honor with a fight regardless of what I did or said. “Well, half of it, at least. I inh
erited it when my father died, remember?”

  Giovanni’s face at that moment was priceless and absolutely worth the pandemonium that followed as several of the other men in the bar broke into shouts and began to approach us.

  It wasn’t a lie. Even though I didn’t get any of the proceeds from the bar or do much else as far as running it, I did legally own half of it. I’d made the deliberate decision not to claim my right to it when I’d left the mafia, but I’d never bothered to take my name off of the deed completely. I was thankful for that now since it had provided me the perfect ammunition to rile Giovanni up.

  Colletta was attempting to yell for silence over the noise of the crowd, and Giovanni was unleashing a string of curses on me in a mixture of Italian and English. I turned to make another attempt to push my way through the crowd and toward the stairs, but the moment I moved, I found myself facing down the barrel of a gun.

  “Sergio!” Colletta screeched, loud enough that it hurt my ears and caused the rest of the bar to fall silent again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The man holding the gun was the same one who’d stepped in earlier after I’d dodged Giovanni’s weak attempt to attack me. I’d realized right away that I needed to be wary of him, but I’d still foolishly let my guard down.

  “Sorry, Colletta,” Sergio sighed. “But this little snake’s had this coming for a long time. “

  “Put that down!” she screamed again. I could hear the panic and anguish in her voice, and I felt a little guilty for having let the situation escalate this far. It was too late to back down now, though.

  “You’re going to shoot me?” I taunted him as I squared myself up in front of him with the gun pointed directly at my head. Honestly, I couldn’t see a good way out of this. I was surrounded on all sides by the mafia with a gun pointed at me. All my earlier bravado seemed stupid now, in hindsight. Oh well. If I was going to die, I might as well face it head-on.