Page 47 of Savage King

"You'll be there, right?"

The last thing I want to do is attend a potentially explosive wedding, but I need Enrico on my side. "I'll be there." I'll have to up security, especially if Scarlet is going with me… "When is the wedding?"

"A couple of months, why?"

"Just checking." Hopefully, in a couple of months, Carlos will already be dead. Otherwise… I grin, imagining his face when I bring Scarlet with me to the wedding as my future wife.

"Don't forget to bring a gift." Enrico reminds me. “I'd love one of your choppers."

I laugh, "Those things cost ten million dollars apiece. That seems a bit over the top for a wedding gift."

"I always knew you were a cheap bastard," Enrico jokes.

"If anybody should get a gift, it's me, since I'm the one laundering your money." I throw right back at him. The Sartoris run the arms trafficking and gambling branch of our family. For good measure, I add, "Not everyone can be as loaded as you." I’m enjoying our banter. It's been a long time since we’ve done this.

"You're flying in one of those choppers right now, aren't you?" Enrico is as observant as usual. Nothing gets by him, not even the slight, barely noticeable sound of the rotors above me.

"You got the money, buy one," I suggest.

"If I only had a cousin who makes these things and would give me a good deal," he laments.

I laugh. My helicopter production would be bleeding money if I didn't use it as a front for the money laundering operation. The way I have them made, with luxury as the number two priority, second only to safety, they barely cover the cost of production. But it works perfectly as a front, especially for international deals.

My business launders the money for the rest of the family, and it works for all of us. I receive twenty percent for every dollar I launder for them, and their money is clean when tax time comes around.

Next to the Capo dei Capi, I'm the most powerful man in our organization. It would be crippled if I didn't continuously find new ways to launder all the funds from our illicit enterprises. The work is satisfying; plus, I don't have to deal with drugs or sex workers.

"We're landing," the pilot advises unnecessarily. The Big Apple is hard to miss, even when my mind is occupied with other things.

The helicopter sits down on top of Enrico's skyscraper. When I exit, I can see his terrace, complete with a small park and swimming pool. It looks nice, but nothing can replace nature for me. I love my mansion, and I loathe coming to The City, which is why I try to make my trips as quick as possible. Now, with Scarlet waiting there for me, I have another incentive to make this one even quicker.

I straighten my tie and suit jacket and tell the pilot I'll return in a couple of hours.

Igio and Berto are already waiting for me by the door that leads to the elevators.

"Good morning, Mister DeLuna."

"Morning." I walk through the door they hold open. "Is everyone here?"

"They're gathering in the meeting room, boss."

The elevator takes us only a few floors down before it dings and lets us out. Several men dressed identically to Igio and Berto, all wearing sunglasses and suits with conspicuous, gun-shaped bulges on their sides, stand in the hallway by the large two-door entrance to the meeting room. Each one is wearing an earpiece that connects them with every other guard stationed throughout the building and entrances. Security is tight when the heads of the New York Cosa Nostra get together for their quarterly meeting. Only a fool would dare to come in and cause trouble—a very suicidal fool.

Two of the bodyguards—I have no idea who they belong to—open the doors, and I march in. Cigar and cigarette smoke greet me, as well as staring glances from the men already seated around the long conference table.

"Morning," I say, going straight to the buffet on the left.

"You're late," Edoardo scolds.

"Traffic." I wave my hand and tell the girl behind the buffet to make me an espresso.

"You flew in," Enrico remarks with a smirk. I send a quick, irritated glare at him, and he shrugs his shoulders. The twinkle in his eyes says,Got to play the part. He might be ready to go against Edoardo, but he's not willing to make it official yet. Understandable.

I take my seat, and Edoardo waves the buffet girl out of the room. This meeting is for family members only.

"Since we're all finally here," Edoardo begins, sipping from his whiskey as if it weren't only nine o'clock in the morning, "let's begin."

I tune him out while I take in Carlos across from me. He looks like he's lost some weight. Good. I hope the bastard swims in panic attacks for the next few weeks before he goes to jail, where he will find his long-deserved end. His son, Marcello, sits a few chairs down from him, as if he doesn't want anything to do with his old man. Not that I blame him. Carlos shipped him off to Sicily when he was still a teenager, worried Marcello might fight his brother Angelo for the throne, which wouldn't have been all that surprising, given how Carlos raised them. I heard Marcello did very well for himself in Italy, and he is not too happy to be here now. Marcello nods at me from across the table. I can't get a read on the man, but I'm sure that if it ever came out that I’d helped dispose of his brother's body, it wouldn't go over too well.

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