The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 2

by Bethany-Kris

  “The choice seems simple, doesn’t it?” Alessa asked.

  “And yet,” August replied, letting it hang between them. “When is it ever?”

  “What holds you back? How about we start there?”

  She listed off the usual things.

  Uprooting her life.

  The change.

  But this time, she added, “I do feel like I owe Bared Brands something, in a way. I got the internship because of my father’s friendship with the CEO, for starters. The editor allowed me to work with her while attending college. Not everyone has had that chance. I know the opportunities they’ve given me haven’t amounted to a lot, but they mean something to me. It’s the respect of the matter, and I promised to deliver them something for it. I’m trying to do that.”

  “And you’re providing it while you’re here, are you not? The spread you mentioned—although, with something like that, we would have incorporated ways for the article to help the community that it was born from, where as they plan to ...?”

  August glanced away. “Not much, I imagine.”

  In fact, she doubted Bared Brands would even allow her to use some of the photographs and information from the urban neighborhoods she visited for her article and spread. The parts of Chicago that wouldn’t be pleasing to a certain eye, so to speak.

  Alessa nodded. “I see. “

  “I do want to take this job.”

  “But?”

  “First, I have to finish what I started.”

  “Then, you should do that. And know, I like you more because of it. That you’re willing to see something through, no matter what. That it’s tied to your morals and ethics as a person—it shows who you are, August, and that’s a good thing.”

  Was it?

  “Now, how are you getting back after you leave here—are you staying at your hotel, or Cam’s place?”

  “Cam’s.”

  “I’ll call a man to drive you.”

  August shook her head, already standing from the chair. “No, I’m fine to call an Uber.”

  Alessa gave her a look. “The city is dangerous right now. Even for people associated to us. Let me call a man to drive you back.”

  She didn’t bother to argue.

  Other things were on her mind.

  9.

  “Ciao, Marcus here.”

  Beni checked the watch on his wrist, brow furrowing at the time staring back at him. It wasn’t so much the time as it was the fact that Marcus sounded like he had been ... sleeping? At nine in the morning? That was entirely unusual for his older brother, who, was always awake, dressed, and ready to start his day by six-thirty sharp. No excuses.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Yeah, why?”

  “It’s ... a weekday, Marcus.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Since when do you sleep—”

  “It’s been a long week,” his brother interjected, his tone clear that he wasn’t going to explain further. “What can I do for you, Beni?”

  He did want to press for more information, though. Was something happening back home that he should know about?

  “Is there—”

  “What do you need?”

  All right.

  Marcus was no-nonsense today.

  “To tell you happy birthday, actually, but if you’re going to catch a fucking attitude, I take it back.”

  Chuckles echoed over the phone. “It is, huh?”

  “Pardon?”

  “My birthday.”

  Beni arched a brow, nearing the side entrance to the warehouse. He met up with the Capo of the east side crew privately once a week to fill the guy in on what he had learned or seen over the week that might be of any interest to him, or the boss. Not that he had learned anything so far.

  The crew was ... difficult.

  Yeah, that was as good of a word as anyway.

  “Twenty-six today,” Beni returned.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I guess, I forgot.”

  “How do you forget your birthday, dude?”

  “You become more concerned with taking care of everyone else than yourself, Beni.”

  His steps halted two feet from the door he used to enter the warehouse without being seen by anyone on the street, or any crew members lingering nearby. He certainly didn’t need to get caught seeming friendly with the Capo by members of crew he was trying to infiltrate as one of them. That wouldn’t do him any favors, when so far, he hadn’t even managed to make a goddamn friend here.

  Still, he stayed in the alleyway.

  Something more important just came up.

  Family was always more important.

  “You okay?” he asked Marcus.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just ... well, what you said a moment ago,” Beni returned, glancing over his shoulder quickly to see if anyone was standing there; it was empty, thankfully. “About taking care of everyone, Marcus. You know we’re all adult men, right? We can handle our own shit, and you don’t need to bend over backwards to look after us anymore.”

  “Not really how it works for me.”

  “You’re not Dad—you don’t have to be, either.”

  “Not about Dad,” Marcus replied tiredly, “it’s about me, and what I want to do. It’s fine, Beni, really.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t mind letting my brothers be selfish, and do their thing while I do mine. It just so happens that mine is looking after you all, that’s all.”

  Huh.

  It was kind of funny how a perspective could change with nothing more than a conversation. In a way, Beni had always seen his older brother as ... a stick in the mud. Stuck the fuck up. Too busy trying to follow their father’s footsteps than to make his own.

  It was possible none of that was true.

  “I gotta go,” Marcus mumbled, “I’m going to hear it that I’m late today.”

  “Yeah, sure, sorry. But hey, happy birthday.”

  “Thanks. And be careful there, yeah? The body bag thing still applies.”

  “Got it, Marcus.”

  “Love you, bro.”

  His brother didn’t give him the chance to return the sentiment before he hung up the phone with a loud click. He wasn’t offended and figured he could just revisit the conversation with Marcus another time, if that’s what he wanted to do.

  Not bothering to linger any longer where he might be seen and knowing the crew would be arriving soon to get their daily tasks around the city, he headed into the warehouse through the side entrance.

  The smell of cardboard boxes—probably filled with counterfeit goods that would need to be unpacked and sold on the streets throughout the week—greeted him first. He made a beeline to the back of the large building, bypassing a couple of stolen cars that were covered with tarps, but that he knew were being held until someone could move and chop them up for parts. Weaving in between the steel beams that jutted down from the ceiling, and the wall of boxes of fake goods that had been delivered the night before, he came around the back to see the Capo’s office was already open.

  Waiting for him.

  Beni didn’t bother to knock—Jerome, the Capo—wasn’t particular with that shit with him. Anyone else, though, and he didn’t let them make the mistake of not knocking a second time.

  Stepping inside the office, he found Jerome sitting behind his small, worn-down desk. It looked like one of those metal ones that teachers used in high school, except it had a couple of dents on the top, and someone had tried to spray-paint it green. And not a nice green either, no like a puke green.

  “Couple minutes late, yeah?”

  Beni shrugged. “Sorry—traffic.”

  It was a lie, but Jerome didn’t pick up on it. With his boots resting on the top of the desk, and the chair he sat in dangling dangerously on two legs, the Capo wearing his standard three-piece suit, waved a hand for Beni to come in further.

  “Hurry up, because we’re running shor
t on time today. The guys know it’s the day of the week they like—goods to be sold, easy cash, and they’ll go home happy tonight. Chances are, they’re going to get here early just because.”

  “Right, right.”

  Beni closed the door behind him leaving only a crack, so he could hear any movement in the warehouse outside of the office before he turned to the Capo. “How did last night go?”

  “Neil didn’t have any issues to report,” Jerome muttered, sitting up and letting his Italian leather loafers snap to the cement floor. “Said the goods came in fine, and they managed to get it all unloaded without anyone noticing.”

  Beni nodded. “And when he left with the guys?”

  “Same thing.”

  “But yesterday, the gang did a drive-by on two guys from the crew working in the Heights?”

  Jerome tapped the side of his nose before pointing the same finger at Beni. “You’re starting to keep up, I see, good job.”

  Was that an insult, or a ... compliment?

  Beni didn’t know.

  Nor did he care.

  “I haven’t been able to get close enough to anyone in the crew to see or know anything,” Beni admitted. “They’ve got their own groups within the crew, and they’re not open to letting someone new into their ranks.”

  Sure, they worked with him.

  Because they were told to.

  That was it.

  Jerome nodded, letting out a sigh. “Give it some time—they’re a close knit bunch, and given the fact they know thieving has been happening, they’re all looking at each other, wondering which one it is, you know. Gonna make for some paranoia, that’s all.”

  Sure, but ...

  “You said the problems with the gang only started after you noticed the stealing within the crew, right?”

  “What about it?”

  Jerome was a big guy—easily two-seventy in weight, well over six feet tall, and while he didn’t have time to fuck around with the crew a lot of the time, he also had no problem with coming in to lay down the law when it called for it. The crew knew that, too, it was what kept a lot of them in line. That fear of their Capo, harsh and unforgiving, who looked like a fucking bear coming their way whenever he came out of the back of the warehouse.

  Was it possible ...?

  “It could be a distraction,” Beni said.

  “What?”

  “The gang.”

  “For what?”

  Beni shrugged. “I guess that’s what I’m going to have to figure out.”

  Jerome gave him a look. “Should hurry up on that.”

  Yeah, right.

  He’d get right on it.

  As Jerome had said when Tommas first put him into this crew to work, and the boss agreed, Beni was just young enough, and respected because of his name and status within the life, that he might be able to chill the crew out. Weed his way in, gain their trust, and figure out what the fuck was going on here.

  Well, it was not working out that way.

  Not so easy, after all.

  Beni was thinking he might have to approach this situation at an entirely new angle to work through what was happening here. Not that he really had all the time in the fucking world to start over from the ground up, but what else could he do?

  The shuttering of metal being lifted had Beni and Jerome passing a look between one another. A quick check of his watch said the man had been right, and the crew was starting to arrive a little earlier than was normal or expected for them. Loud laughter reached their spot at the back of the warehouse from the guys just filtering in through the front. The Capo nodded toward the door, a silent order for him to head out of the office before he was found back here alone.

  He was still supposed to be the new guy, after all. Even if he was Beni Fucking Guzzi to everybody else. New was still new in a crew.

  With a wave over his shoulder, Beni exited the office quickly. The Capo’s quiet voice rung out behind him with, “You’ll be helping with the goods today.”

  All right.

  That order stayed in the back of his mind as he moved through the warehouse again. Only this time, he stopped at the wall of boxes, as that was where he would be working today, and pulled himself up to sit on a pile of crates while he waited for the rest of the guys to gather. It didn’t take them long to start filtering in, really.

  Within ten minutes, the warehouse was filled with twenty different guys—all their faces were familiar to Beni in the way that he had worked with them over the last couple of weeks, but some he hadn’t even bothered to learn their names.

  Kenny, one of the guys who was slightly kinder than the rest, joined Beni on the crates. He didn’t initiate a conversation while they waited for the day to get started. That didn’t bother him, though, as he had other things on his mind. Like scanning the faces of the young men waiting for their orders and wondering which one—or if it was a small group of them—thieving from their Capo, and if they might be, in some way, working with the gang, too.

  He had shit to consider.

  A lot.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Beni watched as Neil—the one guy on the crew who worked closest with the Capo—headed for the back to speak with his boss. He was typically the one who designated the tasks, gave the orders from the Capo, and kept an eye on everybody.

  And he was no better or worse than the rest of them, honestly.

  He didn’t care for any of the guys, or Beni, and they didn’t care for him. Of course, that was normal when one was ... the favored in a crew.

  Kind of like the teacher’s pet, so to speak.

  “Anybody know what we’re selling today?” one of the guys asked.

  “Unloaded it last night,” Kenny replied beside Beni, “Neil said the usual—counterfeit makeup, purses, shoes ... some electronics that were boosted out of a warehouse last week, I guess.”

  Another whistled low. “Good payday.”

  “Not that Beni cares about that.”

  Beni tensed at the comment, his gaze traveling to the fool that dared to say it. Sitting on a box in the corner, the crew member with his hair a little too long, curling around the nape of his neck, and dark blue eyes seemingly pensive, glowered at Beni.

  “What was that?” Beni asked. “Speak up, and share with the rest of the class, now.”

  Dillan was his name.

  Beni wouldn’t soon forget someone who insulted him.

  “I’m just saying,” Dillan muttered, gaze darting away from Beni’s, “we all know a Guzzi doesn’t need to be selling fakes on the street to make bank, you know? Bet you were born a fucking millionaire, man. What are you even doing here?”

  A millionaire several times over, in fact.

  Not that it meant shit. Beni still had to work for his respect—he still busted his ass trying to get his in to the family business, just like everybody else did. And comments like Dillan’s weren’t anything new, either.

  Beni opened his mouth to tell the guy right where he could shove his opinion, but it was only Neil coming around the side of the wall of boxes that shut him up. Or rather, what the man had to say.

  “Beni’s here to work,” Neil said, “like the rest of you fucking idiots. Stop wasting time—you can see the shit we’ve got to unpack and distribute. Get to work.”

  That was all it took for the group of them to move. Including Beni and Kenny, who jumped down from the crates to move for the boxes. Neil stood back for a while, surveying the crew as they worked in a line to open and separate all the fake goods.

  Carrying a box of what looked to be a knock-off of a luxury makeup brand to the right side of the warehouse, Beni passed a stone-still Neil. The guy’s gaze caught his, and Neil quirked a brow at him.

  “You got something to say?” Beni asked.

  Neil shrugged. “Just watch your back here, huh? Don’t cause a fucking problem.”

  Right.

  Beni realized something, then ... he couldn’t trust any of them.

  • • •
<
br />   Busy?

  Beni stared at the screen of his phone with his back to a punching bag that was currently getting the stuffing beat out of it by Tommaso. He was acting as a resistance for it, although he was supposed to be facing the bag.

  What difference did it make?

  Finishing up a piece of this pitch, came the reply.

  Beni sighed. He liked that August had goals, for sure. The fact that her job was important, and she made it a priority, was attractive. Women who had places to be, and shit to do that mattered to them at the end of the day was something he respected. Because as a man trying to be made, Beni had to constantly be on the grind, too.

  Nonstop.

  And yet, it also messed him up—or rather, August’s work schedule did. Because he didn’t know if she would appreciate him outright asking if she would put it away for a night to go out and have a good time with him.

  After all, if it was that important to her, then he shouldn’t be stepping in on it to ask her to sacrifice time for him.

  Right?

  Fuck.

  He was getting too deep here.

  This was too deep.

  A hard punch landed to the bag, making it snap away and then bump into Beni. It took his attention away from the screen of the phone. Cussing, he turned to shoot Tommaso a glare that he hoped voiced his displeasure at being interrupted without having to say anything at all.

  Tommaso wasn’t bothered.

  He stared right back.

  “Wasn’t it you that asked me to come here and workout with you four times a fucking week?” Tommaso asked.

  Beni scowled. “Well—”

  “Yes, it was. Get off your phone and help me here.”

  “Starting to regret asking you, now.”

  Well, not really, but he wasn’t going to tell Tom that. Mostly, he hated working out alone. He needed a bit of competition to keep it fresh and give him the motivation to get through particularly rough workout days. It used to be his twin, but with Bene gone, he was on his fucking own, it seemed.

  And just that ... a brief thought of his twin, had Beni scowling all over again.