“This meetin’ is long overdue,” said Thomas Sr Ó Fiaich. Boss of the Brooklyn Irish Mob, Thomas Sr had recently taken his uncle’s mantel. But quickly he had proved himself to be just as fierce and bloodthirsty as his predecessor, ensuring the Ó Fiaich’s would own Brooklyn for a few more decades.
It was Chen Qiang who said, “I agree. Long overdue.”
Qiang was the Shan Chu of the Chen Triad, his territory stretching over Queens and up as far as Hempstead. Qiang had built his society from the ground up, along with his wife, Chen Suyin. Together the two had brought stability and trading to New York.
“However, it is very rare we gain a new member,” mused Mitsuzo. He nodded his head to me in respect. “Welcome, Konstantin.”
I smiled slightly. “It is my pleasure.”
It was Vitale Lombardi who snorted. We turned to look at the Don of the Lombardi La Cosa Nostra, his family ruling over Manhattan and the Bronx. He loitered away from the group, expression harsh and cruel.
Vitale had made his disdain of my position quite clear. Whereas all the other bosses had rung me to offer congratulations, Vitale had stayed pointedly silent.
Old and traditional, Vitale did not like to sway from the norm. His vision of the mafia was still rooted in the Golden Age, before the RICO laws, unable to shift into the modern era.
It would be his downfall.
“The Bratva cannot hold any territory in New York,” Vitale said. “They are uneducated brutes, nothing more.”
My smile was low and cold. “Interesting. I regard La Cosa Nostra the same way.”
Vitale cut his dark eyes to me. “You will pay for killing Thaddeo,” he snapped. “You and all your filthy—”
“Fight in your own time, Vitale,” Qiang said tiredly. “We are here to discuss the heartless killings.”
I rose my eyebrows at Vitale. I would not forget his threats, but I had no interest in quarreling with such a useless figure.
I doubted Vitale would have his territory for much longer. The time for traditionalism was slowly dying.
“I know,” Vitale said, darkly. “One of those deaths belonged to my famiglia.”
Letizia Zetticci. Murdered through poison.
“I assume you have inducted an investigation into the death,” Mitsuzo said.
Vitale scowled at the Oyabun. “Of course. Letizia was not a combative woman—her death was a surprise.”
Meaning there had been no reason for her husband to kill her.
“I imagine the same could be said about the other victims,” I noted. “Including eleven-year old Annabella.”
Expressions darkened and lips thinned. The death of a child was not something our world accepted. We may be cruel and heartless, bloodthirsty and warmongering, but children were off limits. Anyone who would go after one was not a popular man.
“Eleazar’s reaction is...interesting to say the least,” Mitsuzo noted.
“I agree,” Thomas Sr said. He lit a cigar, the scent blowing away into the wind. “He knows somethin’ we don’t.”
“Eleazar does have a history of being overprotective,” Vitale said. “Remember how he acted when Don Piero was shot?”
“He wasn’t seen in public for a few months afterwards,” Qiang confirmed. “Yes, Eleazar can be overly cautious. But he is not an idiot.”
I cast my eyes over the river, watching the ferries and ships float past. “He either saw something or recognizes something about the crime.”
“Indeed.” Thomas Sr took another long drag of his cigar. This time a hint of cloves blew my way. “I don’t remember anythin’ like this before. Not in Ireland or the States. What about you lot?”
None of us had ever experienced something like this back in our motherlands, or even heard of such a thing.
These murders were unprecedented.
In a world built on tradition and duty, finding a new and unique thing was a rarity, types of violence included.
“Despite the lack of information, we can all agree that the women associated with our organizations are being targeted. By random apparently. All are found without teeth,” Qiang said.
Mitsuzo nodded. “I haven’t seen anything like this before, but I have been around long enough to know people who remove teeth are never the sanest individuals.”
We all agreed with that statement.
In the distance, a horn sounded, echoing over the river.
“Somebody is doing this,” Vitale emphasized. “Be it mafia or government or some other entity, but we are under attack. Killing our women is a direct attack on our honor.”
And proving their lack of ability to protect them. Though men had less expectations in their job as husbands than their female counterparts as wives, they were expected to protect and provide. If they failed