On his belly, he is asleep in my bed with the sheet half exposing his splendid ass when I get up to go to the bathroom. Upon my return, I notice his wallet on the table. I quietly sneak a peek at the driver’s license. Better to make sure he is actually who he says before I—you know—develop more feelings than I already have or want to go for round two, three, or four.
“Oh, my fucking God!”
He sleepily mumbles, “…What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Nereza Ravenna’s son—Donatien Ravenna?”
With a sexy yawn, he sits up and smirks. “Is it important who my mother is when I am banging you?”
“Yeah… Because your grandfather is Pasquale Ravenna…the notorious gangster!”
“Yes.” Rolling on his side, he tucks his finger beneath his chin and gives a sly smirk. “My mother runs the Veramonte business. I am a double-edged sword, a Ravenna-Veramonte, and you have a problem with old mob money, lady?”
Never underestimate the underdog.
Sent December 6, 2018
You have a new message from Massimiliano Vidal:
“The initiation killing proved your worth.
You are now a valuable asset amongst The Commission.
Congratulations, Salvatore.”
IX
A Samurai, His Butterfly, and The Sword
80
The Devil's Angel
Between the deal with The Commission’s acceptance and Lotus, I was sitting pretty. I know, that typically means things are about to go to shit, but I’m hopeful for better outcomes.
Some explanations about occurrences since Thanksgiving are probably necessary. And boy was I thankful, I spent six blissful, uninterrupted hours with Iris and Deacon. I had dinner with the family and Emily. I kept playing the engaged card because the last thing The Unholy needed was anyone suspecting I was about to make the move of a lifetime.
I was going to kill my father.
Or rather, I was having him eliminated by Massimiliano Vidal.
And as an added bonus, because I was a made man, I got a discount. Deacon would be so proud of my clipping coupons.
Pay close attention; we’re Italians and this shit is about to get seriously confusing. And if I’m saying that, I mean it.
And I should preface all of this by saying, I am Sal Raniero and The Unholy are my men. That may not seem like a big deal, but it is. The Unholy didn’t join The Commission, I did. Any deals The Unholy had on the table before December 6 now fall on my shoulders alone—not my brothers.
Financially, it doesn’t matter because I’ll be taking care of those boys until my last breath. And even though I left my position at RE—“to pursue other flamboyant playboy panache interests like an appropriate adrenaline-junkie with a golden wallet should” – Deacon’s words—I still owned 51% of Old Poppa’s business. Money was not a problem; mind you, I wasn’t Cristos rolling, either. But none of it was about money for me.
I loved the thrill of playing a better game.
There are a few important facts to consider. The Commission is more than just a good ol’ boys club; it is a highly prestigious lifetime membership of privileges. Now that I am in, I can never be removed unless I kill another member or one of their graces.
And by removed, I mean, they will kill me.
I can choose or revoke grace to my spouse and children, which basically guards them from cross-famiglia hits. If a member is caught killing another’s graced family member, they will be eliminated. Think of grace as a bubble of protection.
Luca graced his wife, Viola, and their four children: Cesario, Tommaso (Uncle Tommy), Emanuele (Uncle Manny), and Ginevra (Aunt Ginny), all of whom (and their offspring) have some involvement with Raniero Enterprises. Those offspring—my cousins—are also under The Arrangement clause of The Four Horsemen.
In 1990, Luca revoked his grace on everyone but Aunt Ginny.
But her two kids (my cousins), Bethany and Ros, have children because Aunt Ginny has grace and the backing of The Commission. If they touch Bethany or Ros’ kids, all hell will break loose and The Commission would quickly make their position known. The Four Horsemen never had enough oompah to wage war against The Commission, even though I believe that was the long-term goal.
The Commission upholds a standard of famiglia.
They love family—and big families are encouraged.
Cesario, Tommy, and Manny all have children, but none of their children have offspring, except for Raine.
So what was the first thing I did upon becoming a member of The Commission?
I graced Raine.
Done. Check.
My daughter is safe.
And for the first time, in years, I can breathe knowing she has the protection of our new famiglia—which is exactly what The Commission is. I have no idea of the actual worldwide numbers, but a wild guess would be in low four digits. Take into consideration though that each of those has a family of their own—and the numbers become staggering. Since it’s beginnings, they averaged approximately twelve new candidates per year. Those are fresh candidates, not former revered members or honoraries.
On rare occasion, someone not of an Italian genetic pool will be accepted for valiant acts of distinction—like saving an upper ranked member’s life. But let me repeat, it is rare—as in, I’ve been told having occurred less than half a dozen times.
The well kept secret of hierarchy is noted by color—starting at Verde (“ranked”), then Rosso (“upper ranked”), and finally Bianco (“revered”) serving as the council and table. And yes, ranks are the colors of the motherland’s flag.
I’m in for being a revered former member—Luca’s grandson. He sat on the board of The Commission from 1969 until his passing. He was highly esteemed and regarded as one of the “greats.” I was accepted as a Verde, but immediately—within minutes—ranked up to Rosso because of my grandfather. Henceforth, I am collectively known as, Rosso Salvatore Raniero.
Let’s talk hypothetically for just a sec. If I marry Iris as a Rosso, assuming I don’t rank up – which would be highly unlikely – but just go with this, our son would not automatically earn a title. He would be fifty percent Italian (both sides of my family are of Italian ancestry), a quarter English, and a quarter Japanese, so there won’t be an auto-invite. However, if he was closer to a purebred, he could be. The lineage must be a strong representation of Italian, ideally seventy-five percent or greater.
The list of rules is about a thousand pages and a hundred years old, and might as well serve as a doorstop. I won’t bore you with the details.
Basically, I’ve pledged to serve The Commission for the rest of my life. I will not break the code, share famiglia secrets, fight with the famiglia, pay my tributes, sleep with another member’s wife, or be involved in any “scandalous activity” such as—and the list is a mile long—being unkempt, overt belligerence, stalking within the famiglia, and homosexuality—are some of the standouts.
However, Rosso Gaspare Castillo is as gay as the day is long, but he handles it with great respect. His partner, Oliver, and their two children are graced.
Meeting with other members in gray sweats and sexhat is a big no no.
Punishments—usually financial (but more on this in a minute)—are handed down by the council as marks. Rosso can be demoted to Verde. Verde and Bianco do not move, ever.
There are two annual meetings—one in Italy for all members and another at a luxury locale for Bianco members and their invited guests, which are usually Verde members they are grooming. I will not be assigned to a Bianco member, but they will petition to take me under their wing, much like I could do for a Verde member. Attendance is mandatory for Bianco; optional for others. Spouses are invited to attend both.
However, The Commission is what the member puts into it. If I want to ever rank to Bianco or garner respect within the organization, I must present well and spotlight my talents not only within the famiglia but my own endeavors. If a member shows well wi
thin the organization but treats their private family and/or business like shit, they will not rank no matter which Bianco is getting their balls licked.
Now, there is one other rank which is never mentioned in the tome. And I only know about it from my conversations via text with Mass, who is also a Rosso. There is a secret society within the organization known as—don’t laugh—Nero (black).
Nero are the elite influencers, guiding the shifts within the organization, and foremost, hitmen. According to Mass, they also hand out corporal punishments to members and serve as the militia within the organization when a call to arms is issued.
There are supposedly less than fifty.
Again, when we speak of Nero members serving as militia, the personal/business family and associates would be included. So, if I was a Nero member, I could use my resources.
Will I get inducted as a (Nero)?
Parentheses cause we don’t talk about it.
I don’t know.
Got it?
I hope so because I’m not 100% I do.
But, we’re fakin’ it with a priceless smile.
The deal with Lotus was far less invasive, or so it would seem on the surface. I would provide consistent, round the clock protection over the Lotus Queen, and serve essentially as her right-hand man. I maintained she should call me her left-hand man as well because she is a whole lotta woman. Apparently, this implied she was something she is no longer and I suffered—so, so suffered—through the smack of her hand on my hard guns.
I would provide the full use of all of my resources, including The Unholy, and work directly with her personal attendant, Kali Ose, and the head of her security, Ho Hardone (har-DONNE.)
His father was an American serviceman, and Ho was a Japanese-American, raised in Tokyo. He understood the rebel gangs, but not the worldwide landscape necessary for her safety. And I almost killed Deacon with laughter when I told him Ho’s last name.
In exchange, Lotus offered Salvatore Raniero—the business, not the man—first dibs to buy into their deals. And it was at this point after years of hearing about the Boston outfit being synonymous with Cesario Raniero that I felt like I was a made man.
Salvatore Raniero (SR)—team, crew, gang, outfit, syndicate, mafia, mob, business, whatever you want to call it became a thing—and that little dose of reality triggered an onslaught of events.
We planned on moving the children to the states over Thanksgiving, but in light of Jack Kerris’ murder and talking with Father Q, I decided to wait until my approval from The Commission came through.
After which, I graced Raine.
While risky for Merritt and Romeo to be out in the open, no one really wanted to mess with The Sal anymore because I had a fleet of pissed off, badass motherfuckers at my disposal. So even though I couldn’t grace Merritt or Romeo or even Kade, they benefited by association.
Tricky, I know.
Suddenly, the people who had their guns pointed in our direction were offering to lick the shoe gum from our soles. It was a wild few weeks as we adjusted with the strange new respect. It has been challenging. There are outliers, but there will always be renegades who refuse to play the game by the rules, but no longer were we the top of everyone’s hit list. And we had been for years.
Get Sal Raniero out of the game before he:
A. Takes over the Boston racket from his father
B. Gets the attention of The Commission
No one did it, and here we are.
Bring on the Raine.
One of my proudest accomplishments was in hiring my sister, Cat Raniero, to serve as my chief financial officer. She would be wherever I decided my base would be. My first inclination was Nebraska, far removed from almost everyone, but there were issues there as well. Namely, I wanted to try and maintain the split between my work with Je Suis, Sibyl, and my outfit.
Try.
I didn’t succeed.
There were many questions asked by The Commission concerning my involvement with Sibyl, but ultimately, it only served to bolster my standing. Sibyl served the rich and elite, including many of their members.
There were two types of cases I enjoyed working on—hit for hires and reconnaissance/evacuation of sex trafficked girls. I didn’t deal in trade, bangs, or drugs with Sibyl, and I had long conversations with Mass concerning my cross-involvement and ethical dilemmas for which he too struggled with.
His advice was to watch yourself and juggle well.
I didn’t like that answer because I thought it posed an inherent risk to the flower. I stepped back and handed over command to Mock, but I left myself open to accepting any exceptionally challenging puzzle of either kind of case. I was born into this world as a contractor and I would leave a contractor.
I had to make choices.
Decide allegiances.
Je Suis/Sibyl vs. The Sal Raniero business
Iris > Everything
My decision was easy.
I knew one thing. I wanted Georgia and Jas, so I brought them into SR—my “little” mafia cult. Again, I didn’t know where we would end up or where we were going, but if we were going big, I knew what it would take—the team I had been with for years.
The mirror of my sister taught me many things.
With this same thought of my contract work in mind, I knew Zoe’s case was a hit and I quickly eliminated involvement with criminal investigators.
And I wanted revenge.
You do not fuck with that which belongs to me—included my Sissy, Agent Zoe Hess. I had Lula Gregory working round the clock with Paulie Downin as they attempted to dissect the case in Sugargrove. Both were on the SR payroll. Zoe took an extended leave of absence from Sibyl, and I honestly didn’t know if she would ever return.
Present meant active.
I sent Amber down south. I had a good idea she would fuck me over because history repeats itself, but Cas was making a play to take over Javi Neves spot at Cinco. And I feared with the backing of Immortal, she would succeed, so I put two bad bitches together to burn them down at once. It would be easier and far less messy than if Amber got a whisker up her snatch to go work for Allegiance or Brethren or any of the others. It made sense in my mind.
Make no apologies.
The one thing I didn’t anticipate was Mierne Risen opening her fucking mouth to Uncle Vinny and when she did the floodgates of imminent threat opened. Just because I had coverage of The Commission didn’t eliminate the target on my back, it only increased the risk. Going after one of the kids was probably not worth it, but those who had a vendetta against me might.
We needed to stay hidden in the shadows more than ever before until some of the strife passed, which was complicated with a wedding looming. Mierne managed to draw open the curtains before the stage was set and we were essentially caught with our pants around our ankles. We had to hustle and silence the source fast.
What I don’t think Mierne expected was as soon as she got off the phone with Vinny, he fucking called me. Because you see, there is blood amongst the family. We can fight and kill one another, but if we’re attacked from an outsider, in this case Mierne, we’re gonna fucking destroy. And Vinny was aiming to do just that.
But not before Nico did a number on her.
No one actually gave a rat’s ass about Jack Kerris. He was a pawn. Nothing more. Sure, I had personal issues with him, but on a business scope, he fucked his goose. Talk about a wasted effort.
All I could do was laugh at her stupidity for helping him.
After spending a week in the hospital, Dom was released to go home. His idea of going home meant solidifying the sale of the Gennaro business with Campanelli. He was bringing back his nephews—Enzo, Franco, and Silvano to work for him, and subsequently me. Enzo was trouble and had spent some time in the pen, but so had I. I let Dom know Enzo had one chance. I was done getting emotionally involved with people just to have them fuck me. He agreed.
And now I have one felon and two punks, who can’t change a fucking ti
re, on my ledger. The way I saw it, I could either let them into SR now or compete against them later. All three were frothing at the damn mouth to be gangstahs.
I think back to myself at nineteen, hell twenty-two… I didn’t want this. I’m not even sure I want it now, but I have to get into it if I want to change it. And there are some things that need to be updated, clearly.
Like the unkempt rule or the stupid bait and switch stuff these guys do to pay the peons, so they don’t come out of the main pot.
Fucking idiots, I swear.
Take the time to build a good track.
We rescued Jaid out of the jungle. I don’t want to talk about it. It was bad—really bad. And as much as I wanted to be there for her recovery, I knew I couldn’t without getting swept away by our emotional stronghold on one other. We were each other’s crutch for so long, and it was time to let that go.
Again, choices.
Iris > Everything
We were almost to the finish line and I couldn’t fucking blow it with Iris. It was one thing to plunge my dick into Amber to convince her how much she needed to go to Juárez and an entirely different thing to even hold Jaid’s hand. I loved her. I would always love her. But we would never work.
Understanding the mental map of Jaid the way I did, I made a bold move to get her out of her head. She would likely never go back to work with Sibyl or Je Suis, and much like me, she’d be a contractor for hire.
So, I hired her—to watch our fucking kids.
Abel had a few months until spring training, and I had a squad from Lotus and a couple of Verdi guys on site to watch my family. I wasn’t in a place to meet my daughter yet, and that may sound callous. But I already won the award for bad parenting thanks to Kaci, and I had to eliminate my father from the picture. That wasn’t the kind of shit Raine needed to see.
Welcome to the family!
Meet your Grandfather Raniero!
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 66
