The cigar smoke wafted lazily up towards the office vaulted ceiling with the smell of Cuban cigar and the heavy responsibility of decisions that fewer men could handle. Sitting behind my mahogany desk, I watched Vincent Castellano squirm uncomfortably in his chair like a boy caught cheating at exams.
Nervous.
"Vincent." I took a slow drag from my Cohiba and waited for quiet until drops of sweat formed on his forehead. "You've taken a loan of two million from my family's investment portfolio. Conditions were explicit; six months to clear an amount of three million. It's eight months."
"Sir Marvin, I'd like another-"
I held up one finger, and he immediately became quiet. That sort of momentary obedience wasn't born of fear; it was born out of respect that came from a long time of demonstrating that my word was law in this city.
"I don't make exceptions, Vincent. You know this." I produced his file, even though I'd memorized every detail hours before. "You've got three restaurants in Little Italy. Good real estate. Your daughter just got into NYU – an expensive school."
His face turned ashy. "You wouldn't-"
"I wouldn't what?" I leaned back, studying him as calmly as I might a chess piece. "Wouldn't gather what's coming to me? Wouldn't protect my family's interests?"
The nature of power is that it isn't about the threats you issue, but rather the threats you don't need to issue. Vincent understood perfectly what I was or wasn't capable of, just as he understood I'd never harmed a strand of an innocent family member. But fear makes people think the worst, and I'd never bothered correcting those assumptions.
"Your restaurants," I went on, crushing out the cigar in the glass ashtray. "Transfer them as securities. You'll operate them, receive your paycheck, but the deeds are mine until you've repaid each dollar. Plus interest."
Relief poured onto his face. He'd feared much worse, and that was the idea.
"Thank you, Mr. Marvin. Thank you very much..."
"Don't thank me yet." I got out of my chair and adjusted my French-tailored Armani jacket. "You've got twenty-four hours before you receive the paperwork through my attorneys. Miss that deadline and we renegotiate under less favorable terms."
Vincent leaped to his feet, almost tripping over his own feet, to shake my hand. "Of course. Twenty-four hours."
After he left, I poured three fingers of Macallan 25 into a crystal tumbler and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Forty floors below, the city pulsed with life, money, and ambition. Every light represented someone trying to claw their way up, just like I had.
The only thing different was that I'd been born with power and dedicated thirty years to learning its correct use.
"Always impressive"
I didn't turn around. Only one person could walk into my office without being invited. "Father."
Thomas Marvin walked with the quiet assurance of a man who'd controlled this city's underbelly for more than thirty years. He still loomed at fifty-five, silver-haired, blue-eyed, and with an air that made men tell their sins before he spoke a word.
"Vincent Castellano was literally kissing your feet on the way out." He filled a glass with scotch and sat back down in the leather chair in front of my desk. "You are getting better at the psychological part."
"I learned from the best." I raised a glass of whiskey and felt the flame race down my throat. "But Vincent's small-time. When am I going to get to work on something that really matters?"
"Later." His cold gray eyes, identical to mine but colder, looked at me with paternal pride and deliberation. "But first, we should discuss your future."
It's about time. I've been waiting for this talk for months.
"The Torrino family is making moves in Brooklyn. Nothing we can't handle, but it's a reminder that alliances matter in this business." He leaned forward, his voice taking on that lecturing tone I'd heard since childhood. "Marco's been handling the negotiations well, but he lacks your... finesse."
Marco DeAngelo, my cousin. Ambitious, cold-hearted, and always looking for an excuse to prove that he deserved my place in the family pecking order. He'd be okay with letting the Torrinos think that they could expand into our territory.
"You are expecting me to clean up his mess."
"I want you to remind them why the Marvin name still counts around this town." Thomas's smile cut like a razor. "But more than that, I want you to begin thinking about succession. About legacy."
"I'm thirty, not fifty." "And at thirty, you should think of marriage. Of sons to carry on what we've done."
I almost choked on my whiskey. "Marriage?"
"Power without heirs is just borrowed time, Anthony. Look at the Santangelo family – three generations of careful planning, and now they control shipping from Boston to Miami. They understood that this business is about bloodlines, not just bank accounts."
I set down my glass harder than necessary. "I am not ready for a wife and family, Pop."
"Ready?" He chuckled, but no humor in it. "Son, readiness is a privilege we can't afford. The Torrinos are watching, looking for any weakness. A bachelor son with no desire for family sends a message that our line ends with you."
"Or it sends a message that I'm focused on business."
"Built on what?" Thomas rose from his seat, crossing over to the windows which I'd stared at a moment before. "I've spent thirty years of my life developing a business that will outlive me. But if you don't understand the importance of family, then everything that I've built dies with you."
The weight of responsibility draped itself across my shoulders like a familiar jacket. Being Thomas Marvin's only son carries a heavy responsibility; any decision I make reflects on the family's future.
"Also," he continued, "the right woman can be an asset. A woman from a family known to us, someone acquainted with our world."
"Like who?"
"Victoria Sterling. Every legitimate real estate business in the city is done through her father. "Smart girl, pretty face, and she knows how to keep her mouth shut on family business."
Victoria Sterling. Blond and manicured and as fascinating as paint dries. I'd met her at a few of our family gatherings, and she spoke as if she were interviewing herself as a candidate for the job of mafia wife.
"I am not marrying for business convenience."
"Why not?" Thomas turned to me with a look of confusion. "Love's a luxury, son. Worse yet – it's a liability. A man in love makes foolish decisions. He becomes predictable and vulnerable."
"You loved my mother."
The room dropped ten degrees. His face tightened, and for an instant, I caught a glimpse of something savage and powerful crossing his features; he said nothing.
"And look how that turned out." He said softly.
Maria Santos. The only woman that Thomas Marvin's family said he'd ever cared about. She'd died giving birth to me, and since then, over the last thirty years, he'd never taken a woman seriously.
"That wasn't your fault," I said slowly. "It was-"
"That was weakness." His words cut through my rationale like a whip. "I was so enamored with her, so blinded by my feelings that I wasn't thinking. I wasn't doing a good job of protecting her the way I should've. Love makes you weak, Anthony. It makes you hesitate on where you should act and compromise, where you should stand your ground."
I wished I could disagree, but the concealed pain in his eyes was still present, stopping me. Thomas Marvin had turned the ashes of his own heart into a dynasty and expected the same from me.
"Think about what I said," he went on, adjusting his tie and resuming the poised businessman. "The Sterling girl would do you good. For us."
He turned towards the door and then hesitated. "Oh, and you know that banker that's been trying to reach you, Katherine something. My sources say she's tenacious."
I went cold. "What banker?"
"Someone from Premier Financial. Apparently, she's convinced she can secure our business account." His smile was predatory. "I almost admire her ambition. Almost."
The door shut quietly behind him, and I was left with the meaning of his words. Somebody was inquiring about our funds. Someone was getting close to the family business, and this had caught my father's attention.
That seemed more dangerous than all of Vincent Castellano's debts.
I retrieved my phone and went through the messages and calls that I had been neglecting. There- Katherine Blaire, Premier Financial. Three missed calls within a period of two days.
Most people gave up after being ignored once. Either she was very stupid or very brave.
I was curious to find out.