Fire with Fire
New York Syndicate Book One
Michelle St. James
Blackthorn Press
Contents
Fire with Fire
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Links
Other Books by Michelle St. James
Fire with Fire
New York Syndicate Book One
by Michelle St. James
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 by Michelle St. James aka Michelle Zink
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Isabel Robalo
ISBN 978-0-9982838-8-3
Prologue
Nico Vitale was standing near the bar in the conference room when Farrell Black finally walked in. He dwarfed even the big double doors, his shoulders taking up most of the space afforded by the threshold. It was good that they had become allies. Farrell made for a powerful friend, but he would have made an even more powerful adversary.
“Nice of you to join us,” Nico said.
Farrell shrugged without apology.
There was a time when the gesture would have made Nico’s blood boil. But that was when the New York territory was his alone, when he’d been the favored protege of Raneiro Donati, head of the worldwide Syndicate. That Syndicate had been reborn with Raneiro’s death, and Nico let his eyes travel the room, landing on each of the men who had helped him take down Donati.
There was Farrell, once head of the London division, now an equal partner with Nico and the other men in the room. Two years ago it would have been difficult for anyone to believe Farrell was Oxford educated. The scar that ran down the left side of his face was proof that he was a bruiser, a street fighter, a man who welcomed violence. His reunion with Jenna Carver had changed him, although most of those changes would go unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know him well. He was still a massive and imposing presence, the violence in his blood turned down to a simmer from a raging boil.
In front of the giant windows overlooking New York City, Christophe Marchand was deep in conversation with Luca Cassano. Christophe’s home base was in Paris, his old territory under Raneiro. It was Christophe's conflict with his brother — who had been working with Donati to oust the rest of them — that had brought their conflict with Raneiro to an end on a dark street in New York.
That and a bullet to Donati’s head.
Now Christophe traveled between Paris and Corsica, the seat of his family’s old estate. His wife, Charlotte, was a curator helping to restore the old house that had been in Christophe’s family since the 1800s. They kept largely to themselves, seemingly content to be alone, but little by little Nico was beginning to feel like Christophe was a friend in addition to being a business partner.
Nico’s gaze landed on Luca, listening thoughtfully to something Christophe was saying. Of all the men now running the Syndicate, Luca had come the furthest. Nico had brought him into the Vitale family when he was nothing more than a street-smart kid with too much tenderness for his own good. He’d risen to the rank of Nico’s Underboss before the fall of the original Syndicate, had been by Nico’s side while Nico fought for Angel Rossi, love of his life, mother of his daughter, Stella. He had defied even Raneiro Donati out of loyalty for Nico.
Luca was his oldest friend in the group, and if Nico had any regret, it was only that they were all so scattered now, trying to rebuild the Syndicate from their various corners of the world.
That included Luca, who ran the Miami territory after meeting Isabel Fuentes there. Luca had gotten her out of a dangerous situation with her drug lord brother and had stepped up to take care of her and her little sister, Sophia.
“You going to stand there looking at us all doe-eyed?” The words, spoken in Farrell’s clipped British accent, broke into Nico’s thoughts. “Or are we starting this meeting?”
“We were waiting on you, brother. By all means, let’s get started.”
Four years ago he would have told Farrell to fuck off. He was obviously getting soft.
Farrell freshened his drink while Luca and Christophe made their way to the conference table that dominated the room. When they were settled, Nico took his place at the head of the table.
It was purely symbolic. After the fall of Raneiro Donati, they’d all agreed the authority of the Syndicate was best wielded through a consortium of individuals. It was too easy for one man to be carried away by money and power.
And too risky as well.
They’d all come to it reluctantly. Nico had become accustomed to his quiet life with Angel and Stella in Thailand. Farrell had always preferred to work alone. Christophe had only joined the Syndicate as a means to an end, a way to restore the once-royal Marchand name and its estate. Luca had washed his hands of the whole mess after Nico left the country with Angel, although Nico had pulled him back in when Raneiro reappeared after striking a plea that got him an early release from prison.
When it was all said and done they’d agreed that if someone was going to take the reigns of organized crime cells around the world — and someone always would — they would rather it be them. They had an honor code at least. Had rules against the more unseemly revenue streams. Pushing drugs to kids, human trafficking, kiddie porn… they were all off-limits in the new Syndicate, and while they were rules Nico had tried to institute when he first took over New York, this was the first time he had total buy-in from everyone at the top. In the past year, they’d established an organizational structure that worked, with Nico taking over Raneiro’s old territory in Rome, Farrell maintaining control of London, Christophe continuing his management of Paris, and Luca returning to Miami to build a new organization there.
But that meant New York was still under the control of the various factions who’d taken advantage of the vacuum created by Raneiro’s death.
Which was why they were all here.
Farrell finally lowered himself into the seat at Nico’s right, and Nico tapped the keyboard on his laptop. A graph appeared on the screen at the front of the room.
“Violent crime in the city skyrocketed after Raneiro’s imprisonment three years ago,” Nico said. “And it’s gotten worse every month since his death.”
“Not like it was great before,” Luca said.
Nico had been in charge of the New York territory before his falling out with Raneiro. There had still been violence in the city — that was human nature — but Nico had been trying to institute a business plan that put more emphasis on cyber crime, corporate espionage, and other nonviolent streams of income. They were changes not embraced by Raneiro and the other old school mobsters in the Syndicate, one of many reasons they’d turned on Nico in the end.
Word had gotten out fast about Raneiro’s imprisonment and eventual death. Nico didn’t regret leaving the country with Angel — it was what she’d needed.
What they had both needed.
But there was no denying the New York territory had descended into chaos in the absence of an organizational hierarchy. More than one thug fancied themselves a crime lord, and most of them were not suited to the job of making money without getting innocent people killed along the way.
“Candidates?” Farrell asked.
“Just one.” Nico pressed another button on his keyboard and a black and white picture of a man appeared on the screen. He was walking with his head down, dark hair falling over his forehead, sunglasses covering his eyes. It was hard to tell in the photograph, but Nico knew from the background he’d run that the man was tall — 6’4” to be exact. “Damian Cavallo.”
“A whole fucking city of criminals and we only have one candidate for leadership?” Luca asked.
Nico glanced at him. “You know as well as anyone that the skill set required for leadership is different from the one used to commit crimes.”
Christophe tapped the tablet in front of him and Nico saw his screen change to the dossier he’d sent all three men before the meeting. “Why is he so often involved in violent altercations?”
Nico glanced at Farrell. “Some people just like to fight.”
Farrell leaned back in his chair. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
Nico leveled his gaze at Farrell. “I’ve tried it.”
Farrell gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Nico preferred to resolve problems without violence. When violence became necessary, he first utilized his martial arts training. Weapons were reserved as a last resort.
Of course, his philosophy didn’t mean he wasn’t a dangerous man.
Those who earned it would feel his wrath, but he didn’t enjoy it the way Farrell did. Farrell would punch and kick and beat his way through every problem for the sheer thrill of it. That was something even Jenna Carver and their daughter, Lily, hadn’t been able to change about him.
It was who he was.
“Financials say he’s made a lot of money,” Christophe said.
“He inherited a lot of money first,” Nico said. “Then he tripled it.”
“I remember him,” Luca said. “He worked for us.”
Nico nodded. “Yes.”
Farrell sat forward. “Come again?”
Luca shrugged. “He worked for the Vitale family right after Nico took over.”
Farrell glanced up at the photograph still on-screen. “And yet he’s alive and well.”
Nico heard the question in his statement; it was rare for anyone to leave their business alive. That Nico had once done so was only because he’d helped the FBI bring in Raneiro.
“He was strictly low-level,” Nico said. “An analyst.”
“What kind of analyst?” Christophe asked.
“Financial analyst,” Luca said.
Farrell laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You want to turn over the New York territory — a territory that looks more like the Wild West than the U.S. headquarters for the Syndicate — over to a bean counter?”
“Damian Cavallo isn’t your average analyst,” Nico said. He pressed a button on the keyboard and a new slide emerged, this one outlining Cavallo’s background.
Farrell looked up, and Nico could almost hear him reading the bullet points on the monitor.
Parents: Vincent and Elizabeth Cavallo
No siblings
Father founded Cavallo Financial
Mother founded charitable Cavallo Foundation
Sole heir to parent’s company shares (85%) after death of his mother
Net worth = app. $756m
“My question stands,” Farrell said.
Nico understood his concern. Why would a trust fund baby like Damian Cavallo choose a life of crime? And not as the kind of vicious, drug-lord that weak men used as a vehicle to power.
The kind of ruthless, under-the-radar crime that was absent any kind of narcissism.
Nico went to the next slide. There was no more data on this one, just four pictures of Cavallo in various settings, his face bruised and discolored even though the pictures had clearly been taken at different times.
Nico leaned back in his chair.
“Once it became apparent Cavallo was our best bet for New York, I did a lot of digging on him,” Nico said. “It wasn’t easy. He likes to stay behind the scenes, let’s his number one, Colton Grant, act as the face of his operation.”
“Then why don’t we hire Colton Grant?” Christophe asked.
“Because Grant is Cavallo’s man. He owes Cavallo a debt after Cavallo paid for his mother’s experimental cancer treatment. It saved her life. Grant isn’t in it for the attention either. He’s in it out of loyalty to Cavallo, and he acts on Cavallo’s orders.”
It was something they all understood. Loyalty and honor were everything in their business. Otherwise you were just a common criminal.
And the only loyalty greater than blood was loyalty to the family you’d chosen.
“So what makes him tick?” asked Luca. “Why does he do it?”
“Why do any of us do it?” Farrell asked.
Nico turned to him. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Farrell shook his head. “What makes you think I’m the man to bring him in?”
“He’s a fighter,” Nico said. “And a loner.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Farrell said sarcastically. “Are you saying he reminds you of me?”
“Perhaps,” Nico said.
“I’m still not clear why you think he’s the man for the job,” Christophe said.
Nico sat back in the plush leather chair. “He doesn’t do what he does for the money. He doesn’t do it for the glory. That means he’s acting on some kind of principle. He works with a select few that are carefully vetted for similar ideals, with Cole Grant at the front of the pack. He’s capable of taking care of himself in an altercation, doesn’t hide behind his muscle. That speaks both to capability and integrity. And most importantly, he’s smart. Probably smarter than all of us put together.”
Farrell snorted. “Speak for yourself, mate.”
Nico felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “If my calculations are even in the vicinity of correct, he’s bringing in close to what I was doing before Raneiro came after me — and he’s doing it alone in a territory overrun with stray dogs looking to cash in on our absence. He’s got the mind of a high-powered computer, an almost entirely absent ego, and best of all, he doesn’t have a single attachment.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “No woman?”
Nico shook his head. “No woman. No family. No friends outside of the men who make up his crew. And he has no business interests in areas that are off-limits for us.”
“Maybe he’s an asshole,” Farrell said.
“Maybe.”
“And you’re certain he’s our best option?” Christophe asked.
Nico flicked a hand at the tablets in front of them. “There are other dossiers in the folder if you’d like to take a look. I think you’ll come to the same conclusion.”
“How do we test him?” Luca said.
Nico leaned forward, pressed another key on the laptop. This time the monitor was split in two, a different man on each side of it.
“We see if he can take down his closest rival.”
“Which one of them is it?” Luca asked.
“Both, in a way,” Nico said. “The man on the right is Primo Fiore. Technically, he’s the one running the Fiore family organization, the closest rival in revenue and street authority to Cavallo’s organization.”
“Technically?” Christophe’s eyes were on Primo Fiore, his face still slightly soft, as if he hadn’t quite outgrown his y
outh.
“That would be because of the man on the left,” Nico said. “Malcolm Gatti.”
Luca rubbed his face. “This isn’t good.”
“I take it you’ve heard of him?” Nico asked.
“Who in New York hasn’t?” Luca asked. “Dirty is too nice a word for him. He’s into all the shit we ruled out years ago. I didn’t realize he was working for Fiore now.”
“My take is that Malcolm is using him. Word on the street is Primo Fiore isn’t entirely… balanced,” Nico said.
“You’re saying the bloke’s crazy?” Farrell asked.
“I don’t think that’s politically correct anymore,” Christophe said drily.
“I don’t give a shit.” Farrell returned his attention to the screen. “So who’s the target — Fiore or Gatti?”
“Crazy or evil,” Luca said. “Take your pick.”
“One doesn’t fall without the other,” Nico said. “Cavallo will have to take them both out. Once the Fiore organization is dead, the rest of the territory will be easy to bring under control.”
“Seems as good a test as any,” Luca said. “Taking down both of them would seal my support for Cavallo.”
“I agree,” Christophe said. “If he can’t do it, we can revisit the other choices.”
Nico turned to Farrell. “Want to pay him a little visit? One fighter to another?”
Farrell sighed. “Fine. I’ll see if I can sell him, although it would be easier with a health plan and company cafeteria.”
Nico couldn’t help laughing. “You really are an asshole.”
Farrell grinned. “One of my finer character traits.”
“There is one more thing,” Nico said, bringing up the next slide, an image of a pretty young woman working in a garden, dark hair falling over her collarbone as she bent to a bunch of flowers. “Aria Fiore, Primo’s little sister, is his one stabilizing influence. By all accounts, she’s not thrilled with her brother’s choice of career. She’s not to be harmed. Make sure Cavallo knows.”
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