Page 6 of Wicked Tricks

She slipped on her dark shades as she headed down the cement stairs that lead to the long driveway that was littered with car after beautiful car. I flinched when I realised Mum was parked next to my baby, my brand new Rolls Royce.

The matte black Ghost was a gift to myself, and I had still never let anyone else drive it. I waved as she drove off, squinting and praying to the Lord as she pulled out, narrowly missing my side mirror.

Sighing a breath of relief and feeling the weight lift from my shoulders, I went back into the house, deciding to give up on trying to get any sleep.

“Boss,” Paulie caught me by the arm as I headed up the stairs, “you should come and see this,” he said.

I nodded, and followed him into the communal back office of the ground floor. Crossing the room, he pulled out an envelope from the desk and handed it to me. It was the manifest from one of our deliveries. I frowned at it, scanning each line and the tick marks next to each vendor where our driver made a drop.

“What happened to the Vivielli drop?” I asked, noticing it scrubbed out messily from the manifest.

“Never showed,” Paulie shrugged, putting his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He was older, and had worked for my father since I was a boy.

“What are we missing?” I tossed the envelope back on the desk and crossed my arms.

“Two crates of AK’s and the esky with Vivielli’s cut of the last drop.”

I inhaled deeply, craning my head back and looked toward the ceiling.

We had a leak somewhere in our operation, and while we had chalked it up to a logistical error whenever a single crate, or few thousand dollars didn’t show - we could no longer ignore the fact that something bigger was at play.

“Talk to Chris at Belkin’s, get him to watch his boys,” I ordered, and he hesitated.

“I don’t think any of the warehouse boys would be stealing from us, Antoni,” he said as if he were telling a child that monsters aren’t real. I raised an eyebrow at him and he cleared his throat, looking towards the envelope on the desk.

“The Family has had a happy working relationship with Belkin’s Transport since your Grandfather was in charge. They wouldn’t cross us,” he said.

I had inherited the position of Don much earlier than anyone ever predicted. After my father died, a lot of the older soldiers wanted me out. They didn’t want to answer to a man who was younger than their own sons.

They didn’t keep their disappointment a secret either.

Though, The Family was deeply traditional. Our customs, our ways, were so deeply ingrained into us - that going against a Don, no matter his age, was an unspeakable offence.

“Can’t hurt to check, can it?” I asked with a smile after a deliberate pause.

Paulie’s jaw sharpened, his irritation at me flaring with his nostrils as he forced out a nod and a “yes, boss.”

He snatched the documents from the desk and stormed out of the room like a toddler having a tantrum because he didn’t get his way. I shook my head, a small smile crossing my face.

As I entered the main part of the house, I was instantly pulled in ten different directions. The more mundane realities of the business needed my attention. It was easy to pretend that my life was normal sometimes.

It was easy to play the role of manager, or accountant, and forget about the grand scheme that funded our lives. It was easy to forget until Ren returned from a supplier visit with barely noticeable swollen knuckles and a spot of blood on his shirt collar.

As the sun set, I retreated to my office, searching for a moment’s silence. Not taking the hint of the closed door, I was joined by Ren, Robert, and Dimitri - who was a young soldier that Ren had taken under his wing.

Dimitri was a typical class clown type, and didn’t take the job overly seriously - but he was bloody good at it and had proved himself loyal many times. He was a good kid, and lucky to have a mentor like Ren.

I had worried about the time he was spending with Robbie, who was a cousin the rest of us had spent our childhoods trying to escape. They were all dressed up, matching in black suits and shirts.

“Just come with us,” Ren urged.

“Nah,” I said, tapping a pen against the desk, “don’t want a broken nose.”

The boys snickered and Rob flipped me off.

“Speaking of,” Rob cleared his throat, “did you call that old bitch today?”

“Not yet,mother,” I snapped sarcastically.

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