by Dave Daren
Chapter 1
The Long Island Expressway felt smoother than usual, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d just spent the past week jolted by every pothole in Folsom, West Virginia, or because I’d finally given into my client’s wishes and bought a new car. My royal-blue Volvo S60 had looked a lot better when my parents first gave it to me, but after a high-speed chase and a shootout, I didn’t have many options left.
So, I upgraded.
My new Mercedes AMG 4-door was painted a color they called Graphite Grey, but it was almost black. The sleek, rounded curves had caught my attention, but the “Turbo” emblazoned along the fender talked me into a closer look. I slid onto the black Nappa leather and ran my fingers along the black lacquered trim on the dash and the door, while Anthony and the salesman had stood next to the open door with matching knowing smiles. I hadn’t even started the engine yet, and I was already in love.
I pushed the ignition button, and the beautiful machine roared to life. It hummed with power, and I could see the salesman lean over and murmur something to Anthony as I tapped the steering wheel. My client chuckled and nodded, and he’d told me later the salesman asked if I was new at this.
Well, yeah, it’s not every day an attorney who’s only been out of law school a few short years can have his student loans paid off and be able to afford a car that costs nearly as much as a house.
But not every junior attorney had the chance to work for Anthony Lamon, AKA Anthony Febbo, son of the notorious Salvatore Febbo, one of the Mafia bosses who ran New York.
What had started as a pro bono case of assault on a police officer had turned into the biggest opportunity of my life. I was now Anthony’s personal attorney, and he’d made sure my salary was worth the switch from my old corporate firm to private practice. And I wasn’t missing a single second of working in that boring old office filled with boxes upon boxes of reports, billable hour quotas, and sleazy business tactics.
“I’ll take it,” I’d said as I tossed the fob to the salesman.
“No test drive?” His thin brown eyebrows seemed to nearly touch his hairline.
“The man knows what he wants!” Anthony laughed and slapped a hand onto my shoulder. “Nice choice, Hunter.”
I felt a rush of energy as I signed the paperwork and handed over the duffle bag full of rolls of hundred-dollar bills to pay for my new ride. Rolls of actual cash that I’d actually earned in my actual job. It felt exhilarating.
Of course, the dealership probably thought it was dirty money, but they didn’t give a shit. Money was money, and they were happy to hand me my shiny new key fob with a handshake and a fake smile.
Now, as I glided over the LIE toward Anthony’s family home, I knew I’d made the right choice. The steering wheel cooled my hands against the warm air of impending summer, and the tinted sunroof kept out the harsh rays of sunlight. The surround sound stereo filled the large cabin with the smooth notes of some new jazz artist as I weaved effortlessly in and out of traffic.
Then a pudgy, wrinkled face spoiled my perfect view.
“Re-Elect Mayor Webber!” The giant billboard looked like someone had vomited patriotic colors all over the mayor’s chubby torso as he grinned what was probably supposed to be a disarming smile to all his constituents and crossed his thick arms over his wide body.
Mayor Webber was the quintessential New York politician, namely, an overly inflated liar with an expensive smile and an appetite for power. I could never put my finger on what I didn’t like about him, but he wasn’t anyone I planned to help put back in the mayor’s office. His ingenuine speeches usually had me changing the channel in the blink of an eye, but so far, no one had announced a plan to challenge him, which really ruined my plans to vote for anyone who wasn’t him.
“What a joke,” I muttered to myself as I tore my eyes away from the politician’s face and focused on the road again.
I finally reached the far reaches of Long Island and took the exit for Riverhead. The busy, noisy highway disappeared behind me as I wound along the quiet road past vineyards and farms until I reached the curving driveway of the Febbo estate. The large oak and chestnut trees kept the house completely hidden from the road, and when I finally broke through the foliage, I could see the huge mansion with its wide columns and red tile roof sitting behind a truly Italian fountain that featured a half-naked woman spitting a narrow stream of crystalline blue water into a pool.
I pulled my car around the drive and waved to the giant guard who stood watch from the shadows of the bushes. He gave me a two-finger wave and resumed his position as I reached into the car and grabbed my briefcase from the passenger seat.
“Oh, Hunter, it’s so great to see you!” Michael Leman called as he rushed down the steps to greet me.
Anthony’s uncle wore a new toupee every few days, and today’s signature look was certainly unique. The salt-and-pepper hair piece featured a low part that allowed most of the hair to swoop over his forehead like a wave. It barely twitched even as he scuttled toward me, and I grinned as we shook hands.
“Annie’s choice?” I asked as I gestured toward his head.
“She said ladies love a man who looks wise,” he replied sagely.
“Ah.” I nodded and gestured toward the front door. “Is Anthony upstairs?”
“Not for long,” Michael answered and followed me inside. “They’re already setting the table. Gulia was anxious to try a new wine she’s found.”
As soon as I stepped into the huge foyer, the aromas of grapes, basil, and oregano filled my nose and sent my stomach into a frenzy. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was on the drive over, but now that I smelled the scent of spectacular Italian cooking, I was famished. And a good wine sure didn’t hurt, either.
“Gulia!” Michael sang out as we followed the smell into the kitchen. “Hunter has arrived!”
“Just in time!” Gulia replied as she slid a pan of crostini onto the counter and tossed the oven mitts aside. “The rest will be ready soon.”
“Are you cooking now?” I arched a teasing eyebrow at the Febbo matriarch.
Gulia Febbo’s long dark hair normally fell in waves around her shoulders, but today, it was tied back with a yellow ribbon. She wore a yellow apron with pictures of lemons on the front, and her eyes lit up with amusement at my words.
“Preparing myself for retirement,” she chuckled and grabbed a slice of the mozzarella and tomato covered bread.
“Fair enough,” I laughed as I took a bite of the crostini.
The cheese, tomatoes, and herbs blended together perfectly with the toasted Italian bread, and the whole concoction seemed to melt on my tongue as I eyed my next piece. There were at least a dozen on the tray, and I wondered how many I could eat and still have room for whatever else Gulia had come up with.
“My mother seems to believe she’ll be doing all the cooking once she and Pop move to the winery,” Anthony said with a grin as he glided down the stairs.
“Salvatore’s been doing even better?” I asked after I swallowed my delicious bite.
“Yeah, since he came out of the coma, they’ve had him doing some cognitive tests and physical therapy,” my client answered proudly and picked up a crostini for himself. “Old man’s still got some fight in him.”
“As if there was ever a doubt, cucciolo,” Gulia chimed in with a wink.
Anthony rolled his eyes at the endearment, but I could just see the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. Tough Mafia boss by day, kindhearted son by night.
“So, how long until he’s out?” I wondered.
“They said it could take a couple of months,” he replied with a shrug. “They have to make sure everything is back to normal.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed. “Is his plan, uh, still the same?”
I danced around the question a bit. I didn’t want to push for too much information about the family business, but I was curious if Anthony would remain at the head of the Febbo family or step down and let his father resume control. A few months ago, Salvatore had told me he planned to go legit, and Anthony had been refusing to have any part of the family business. Anthony had even signed up for a Legal Aid attorney on his own case just to avoid taking any of his father’s money for a regular defense attorney.
Everything had changed when Salvatore was shot. His son had immediately taken control of the family business and had been in charge ever since. Even after a multi-family shootout with the Serbians and a seemingly normal-turned-sketchy business deal that took me into redneck central, Anthony had cemented himself as the new patriarch of the Febbo family.
Anthony had a few suspects in his father’s shooting, and the FBI had interrogated us countless times to try to get information about it, but my client had kept tight-lipped with them and me about his suspicions.
I was his personal attorney, but I’d reminded him several times I was also an officer of the court. I couldn’t knowingly conceal an impending crime, so if he planned to exact his revenge, I had to be in the dark.
While our attorney-client relationship was much closer to friendship these days, there was still a small barrier between my client, who was raised in the life of the illegal deal, and me, the rookie Mafia lawyer.
“It is,” Anthony chuckled and shook his head. “Still want to be my attorney?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I met my client’s sudden stare with a clenched jaw.
“You are,” he agreed and looked toward his mother as his face softened. “Do you need any help with dinner?”
“Nope, just sit down,” Gulia instructed and waved at the dining room. “Katarina and Annie already set the table.”
Anthony led the rest of us out of the kitchen toward the expansive formal dining area where Annie already waited, sipping a limoncello. A gold and diamond chandelier hung overhead with actual flames lit on each wick, though the wide bay window behind the table allowed enough sunlight to trickle inside to light the room. A handful of old Italian statues graced each corner of the room, and a huge painting of a man on a horse was perched on the wall closest to the head of the table.
The table was long enough to seat a dozen people, and when they had all of Anthony’s siblings here, they probably needed it. Anthony was one of four children, though only Annie was here today. Ella and Cathy had husbands and kids, so they didn’t pop in for family dinners every night. And, to be honest, I’m pretty sure Anthony preferred it that way. His nieces and nephews seemed to be a little accident-prone, and I knew everyone was tired of cleaning up broken vases and glass.
We sat at the large table once Anthony had taken his place at the head. He left an empty seat for Gulia, and Michael and I found chairs opposite each other. A few seconds later, Katarina breezed through and poured wine into each of our glasses before she disappeared into the kitchen without a word. Michael was the first to try a sip of the sweet-smelling beverage, and he hummed with pleasure as he set the glass back on the table.
“My sister has such good taste,” the gray-haired man declared.
“The only thing better would be if it was from Grandfather Regio’s vineyard,” Anthony agreed after he took a sip and then turned to me. “How was the drive in your new car?”
“Like silk,” I replied with a grin. “You were right about the Mercedes.”
“I knew you’d like it.” He nodded and cleared his throat. “Did you see the new billboard on your way out of the city?”
“Oh, for Mayor Webber’s re-election?” I snickered. “How could I miss his ugly mug? I just wish someone would run against him. He’s such a putz.”
“And he’s backing some idiot named Chatel, who has no business in politics,” Anthony added. “The guy practiced estate law, but now Webber thinks he’d be a great District Attorney for Brooklyn? Yeah, right.”
“Sounds like someone who comes with strings attached,” I commented and took another sip of wine. “Webber must be certain he can pull them.”
“Well, his speeches are endlessly atrocious,” Annie chimed in with a roll of her green eyes. “All he talks about is ending the ‘rule of crime families’, but neither he nor the mayor seems to give a shit about any other criminals.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Incoming!” Gulia announced as she rushed into the room with a large bowl crooked in each elbow.
She set the dishes in the center of the table, and my mouth immediately watered at the sight of dozens of thick, round meatballs piled high in one of them. The other bowl held a crunchy green salad, and I scooped some of each onto my small salad plate. As soon as I forked a meatball into my mouth, the warm, savory flavors ignited my tastebuds, and I had to hold in a groan as I chewed the bite.
“As I was saying, the mayor and Chatel have been preaching how vital it is to remove the Mafia from New York, but none of their other policies relate to criminal activity,” Annie continued before she stabbed a hunk of lettuce. “It’s ridiculous. Just look at NYPD’s news feed.”
Curious, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the latest headlines from newspapers around the city.
Bonanno Family Takes a Hit!
NYPD Shuts Down Secret Gambling Club with Mafia Ties!
Over 500 Automatic Weapons Intercepted from Sicilian Shipping Company!
“I guess I missed quite a bit of news while I was gone,” I murmured. “No cell service, you know. Did they cover the shooting at Pietro’s?”
“Nope.” Anthony shook his head and frowned. “A couple blurbs here and there about a disturbance in Smithtown, but my dad’s shooting got way more coverage.”
“You know who hasn’t had any busts or news stories recently?” I mused as my thumb swiped through the headlines. “The Serbian groups. No mention of them anywhere.”
“Huh.” Annie tapped her finger on her lips as she considered my statement. “I think you’re right. I don’t remember seeing anything about them in the little Pietro’s stories, either.”
“So, Italian families get busted left and right, but the Serbians get to continue with business as usual?” I concluded. “Something seems off.”
“The shift of power is still in play,” Anthony grumbled. “Someone wants to get rid of the Italians and give control to the Serbs.”
“So many of them were killed at Pietro’s,” I murmured as my mind played back the gruesome, bloody scene. “They must have infiltrated a lot more of New York than we realized.”
“They have a slight disadvantage now, though,” my client pointed out after a moment. “Most of the families don’t trust them anymore, not after the shootout.”
“Most?” I echoed.
“Yeah, a few still think all their people are loyal,” he replied with a smirk. “Eh, maybe they are, but I doubt it. They’re just continuing to work from the inside to gain control.”
“But they clearly have help in their goal,” I said as the wheels started turning in my head. “A single news story that didn’t catch much attention is one thing, but staying so low on the radar they never get busted? I don’t think so.”
“What are you saying?” Anthony demanded and leaned closer. “You think they have some help?”
“Yeah, I do,” I agreed. “And I think it must be the mayor.”
“Oddio!” Gulia gasped and nearly dropped her fork before a string of other Italian words followed that sounded suspiciously like curse words.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a government office has been under the influence of a prominent crime family, but the Serbs?” Anthony seemed more unconvinced than upset. “They’ve only made names for themselves within the Italian families, and those guys are dead. Surely, they don’t have their pull anymore.”
“After that chat I had with O
rdman, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had to make a few adjustments to regain their power,” I replied.
Ordman was the Queens’ DA, and he’d been pretty upset when I told him I knew he and his office were corrupt. What I didn’t know then, however, was the lengths the Serbians were willing to go to keep moving up the ladder.
“So, Ordman tells his contact his office has been compromised,” Anthony murmured as he rolled through the information we had. “They decide to work on the mayor, if they didn’t have him on their side already, and now, he’s trying to get one of their guys elected in Brooklyn. They think we’re still focused on Queens, while they gain traction with the new guy.”
Silence fell over the table as we all pondered the possibility.
The sound of a timer cut through the room like a knife, and Gulia daintily wiped her mouth before she rose from the table with a sigh.
“That will be the scarpariello,” she announced.
No one else spoke as the matriarch retrieved the dish and returned with the peppery chicken and a pot of white-sauced pasta, while Katarina placed a dish of roasted brussels sprouts and zucchini on the table and whisked back out of view. Gulia returned to her seat, and the conversation continued to wait until plates were made and the first few bites had been taken.
“This is delicious,” I commented after I swallowed a zingy bite of the scarpariello. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she replied with a tired smile before she twirled some pasta onto her fork. “How is Liz doing in London?”
Elizabeth Bennet had initially been my co-counsel on Anthony’s pro bono case, but her firm had sent her to London on a special assignment that would hopefully lead to her becoming a partner. Liz and I had been well on our way to rekindling our old flames when she’d gotten the call, and I wasn’t going to keep her from achieving the goals she’d set back when we were in law school together. In the meantime, I was single. Very single.
A glance at Anthony confirmed we’d continue our business conversation after dinner. It seemed Gulia wanted to talk about other things, and I had no problem serving as a diversion for her.
