Page 1 of Caged Bliss

Chapter 1

Angelo

Istep out of the back gate of the prison that’s been my home for the last five years wearing a suit that doesn’t fit anymore, and I’ve never felt so good in my life. Corrections Officer Jackson lingers near the door giving me that hard-ass look he’s famous for and checks his watch. “Anyone coming to pick you up, inmate?”

“Not an inmate anymore.” I stretch my back and feel the suit jacket strain. I’ve put on a solid twenty pounds of muscle since going away and this fucking thing can’t contain me anymore. “And she’ll be here.”

“Yeah, and she better be here soon. I got shit to do.” Jackson squints at me. “So how long before I see you again, Bianco?”

“Probably sooner than you think.” I turn and meet his eye, giving him a big, friendly smile. “Remember, I can find you on the outside now.”

CO Jackson’s face turns pale and he doesn’t say another goddamn word until a black town car pulls up and my sister gets out of the back. At that point, he disappears inside while Elena wraps me in a hug.

“I missed you,” she says, squeezing me hard. My older sister looks like she hasn’t aged a day. She’s always been the heart of the family, the only one in the whole damn group strong enough to keep everything together. She’s wearing a silky top and dark slacks with her hair in a perfect twist like she’s headed out to a charity function right after grabbing her brother from prison.

I pat her back. “Missed you too, big sis. How’s the fam holding up?”

“You know, the usual.” She looks tired as she steps back and studies me. “Your hair’s short. And I don’t love the beard.”

I scratch at my scraggly chin. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get locked up.”

She grins and slaps my shoulder. “Good thinking. Now, come on, let’s get you home.”

We climb into the back seat. One of my brother’s guards is behind the wheel, a guy I vaguely recognize but can’t place. I have a feeling I’m going to experience this feeling a lot in the coming weeks as I get back up to speed with everyone.

The world doesn’t stop when you get locked up. It leaves you behind because it has no other choice. I don’t blame my family for living their lives while I languished behind bars, but sometimes, when I’m at my worst, I feel like they should’ve put everything on hold and waited for me to get out. I know that’s selfish and dumb and unrealistic, but I wasn’t exactly at my best while wasting away my time surrounded by the dumbest fucking killers and thieves in the entire Chicago area.

We have a half-hour drive back to the oasis. Elena fills it with gossip, mostly stuff I’ve heard before during one of our many phone calls, and it’s like she’s trying to catch me up on five years of shit I’ve missed. That’s a whole hell of a lot: Santoro’s dead and Dad murdered him, the big war is over, Davide and Simon are both married, Simon’s wife had her baby, and Elena got hitched to an Irishman.

The world keeps turning.

“Hey, by the way, can we make a pit stop on the way?” I lean forward and squint at the time. “There’s some stuff I want to pick up.”

“Don’t you want to get back to the oasis? Everyone’s anxious to see you.”

The oasis. My home. Elena has no idea how desperate I am to take a shower in my own house and to sleep in my own bed, but this is more important.

“This’ll just take a second, I promise. Paulie Conti’s been holding some stuff I want to grab on the way.” I rattle off his address to the driver, who hesitates and glances at Elena in the rearview mirror. I don’t love that—five years ago there wasn’t a single guard, soldier, or fucking capo that would’ve looked to someone else for permission to follow my orders.

I’ve been gone too long.

“Fine, but we have to make it fast. Mom and Dad are anxious to see you. Heck, everyone’s excited you’re finally back.” Elena shakes her head and squeezes my arm. “God, you haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And hey, driver, you got an extra piece I can borrow? Been too long since I carried and I miss the fucking weight.”

Elena groans, rolling her eyes, but the driver produces a Smith & Wesson 642, a lovely little snub-nose revolver loaded up with .38 Specials. It’s tiny, basically the size of my hand, but it’s a reliable little fucker. I cradle the weapon, flip open the chamber, sight it, flip it closed, and shove it into my waistband along with the conceal carry holster. “Beautiful,” I murmur, feeling more comfortable already.

“Yep, you haven’t changed at all,” Elena says and starts talking again about the family, about Davide and his wife, Stefania, and I do my best to listen as the city begins to grow around us.

Chicago, my fucking home. I missed this damn place. The bustle, the noise, the trash in the gutters and the closed-down buildings, the urban decay and the renewal of gentrifying neighborhoods. The joy and the horror, the enormous human crawl of a place packed tight with lives and loves and everything else.

I used to run this place. My crew and I were on top of the world. I was slowly building my reputation as a powerful capo in the Bianco Famiglia and proving myself as someone with more than just an important last name. I had my club, I had my boys, and I had my pick of women. Money was no object, and I was deeply connected into a dozen different schemes and plans, right up until everything got fucked.

They called it a gun charge. But really it was a message to the Chicago underworld: the DA’s office didn’t give a fuck anymore and were coming for anyone that stepped out of line. I went down, though not as hard as I should have, and I stayed down for five long years.

Until today.

“Mr. Bianco, this is the place.” The driver squints at the squalid house as I push open the back door. It’s not a great neighborhood, which doesn’t surprise me. Paulie never was an ambitious guy.

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