CHAPTER ONE
The sound of the footsteps was nearer than I would have liked. I squeezed under the bed that was my hiding spot, and which would soon become my fighting spot—or my last stand should I be discovered.
As I lay there, belly pressed to the floor with a submachine gun cradled in my arms while waiting for my foes, I reflected that aside from my current circumstances, there were only two situations in this world that could make me feel this way.
One was when my family fought among ourselves.
The other was when another family decided to fight mine.
At that moment, I wondered which of the two had brought these attackers into my home.
☆ ☆ ☆
My name is Julius Maximus, and my father is the great Don Lucius Maximus.
The quarrel began between him and my uncle, Larry Maximus.
Uncle Larry and Father were dangerous men when they worked together. However, they had never been particularly close, and one major factor was the age gap. Father was twenty years older than Larry—whose real name was Lawrence—and Larry himself was only four years older than me.
I was twenty-five.
Father and Uncle Larry had inherited a vast fortune from their father. Even more impressive was that they had multiplied that fortune so greatly that even our unborn descendants would be well provided for.
But as with most things in life, the greatest threats come from within rather than without.
Father and Uncle Larry began to set their sights on greater ambitions, and Uncle Larry eventually demanded control over his share of the family's wealth, which was largely managed by Father.
Father promised Uncle Larry would gain control over it only over his dead body.
Uncle Larry replied calmly,
"Be careful, big brother. You wouldn't want to drop dead so soon."
He said it with such chilling calm that even Father, ruthless as he was, paused to study his younger brother.
"You want to kill me?" Father asked coldly.
Larry did not flinch.
"Don't test muddy waters."
Then he left the room.
Father never forgave that statement.
But his anger would grow much deeper later, when Uncle Larry found himself in serious trouble.
It began harmlessly enough.
Uncle Larry was attending an event gala where he began flirting with a beautiful young woman. I had seen the girl later, and I will admit she was the sort of woman a man might kill for.
As it turned out, Uncle Larry would.
While he was charming the girl, a tall man with flaming red hair stepped between them.
"She is with me."
Uncle Larry rarely drank much, but that night he had consumed enough to feel invincible. With his reputation and influence in the room, he felt little need to tolerate challenges.
"Step aside, mate," Uncle Larry said casually. "I've taken her."
The stranger did not appreciate that answer.
He placed a hand firmly on Uncle Larry's chest.
"Back off, man. That's my fiancée."
But Uncle Larry was more offended by the hand on his chest than by anything the man had said.
So he uppercut him.
The man was John Marston, and he was known to be a formidable brawler.
Uncle Larry soon felt John's fists raining down on him, but Larry was no weakling either. Moments later John Marston had a black eye and a cracked nose.
While John was reeling backward, Uncle Larry pulled a gun.
He shot John Marston twice.
The guests quickly stepped aside. Everyone present knew Uncle Larry's reputation, including the event's organizers and staff. None of them had expected him to actually kill the man, however—and judging by his stunned expression, neither had Uncle Larry.
The woman they had been fighting over was now kneeling beside John's body, weeping and cradling his head in her arms.
Her wailing broke the frozen silence in the hall.
People began running—some to call the police, others simply to escape.
Uncle Larry felt a firm grip on his arm.
It was Vario, his bodyguard.
"We need to leave. Now."
Uncle Larry followed him immediately.
He had little fear of the police, but leaving seemed the most sensible option.
Later he would realize it had saved his life.
Uncle Larry soon called his lawyer, Sam Rothstein.
"Smart thing you did," Sam said. "Getting away when you did."
This irritated Uncle Larry.
"We own the cops. What's the problem?"
"It's not the cops you should be worried about," Sam replied.
"It's the Marstons."
Until that moment, Uncle Larry hadn't even known the name of the man he had killed.
Now he did.
And he was also introduced to the Marston Clan.
"They're a rough family," Sam explained. "Very brutal when it comes to feuds. John Marston was their hope of moving into legitimate business. Now thanks to you… he's dead."
"They came looking for you shortly after you left," Sam continued. "They promised hell's vengeance."
Uncle Larry smiled.
A few days later, he wasn't smiling anymore.
News began to reach him that the Marston Clan was combing the city, searching for him.
That was when he called my father.
Father and I were in his study reviewing the accounts when the message arrived.
Father listened in silence.
Then he said calmly,
"Spolletto, take seven men and bring my brother here."
Frankie Spolletto, Father's bodyguard, nodded and left immediately. He was a tall, rigid man who looked as though he had been carved from granite.
"Luca, come here," Father said next.
Luca Spalletti—Father's cousin and consigliere—entered the room.
"Larry has been a fool," Father said. "But the Marstons seem serious. Who are they?"
Luca explained everything Sam Rothstein had already told Uncle Larry, though in far greater detail. Luca made it his duty to know everything happening in the city, and that knowledge was proving valuable now.
After listening, Father smiled wolfishly.
"Then peace must be attempted," he said.
"Meet this clan. Offer my condolences. Ask what compensation they desire."
Luca arranged the meeting by phone.
But something about the conversation unsettled him. Instead of meeting privately, he insisted the meeting take place in a public bar, and he brought two guards with him.
That decision may have saved his life.
The Marstons were enormous men—tall, heavily bearded, with hard eyes that never blinked.
Yet it was a younger, slick-haired man who spoke.
He introduced himself as the Marstons' consigliere. He said it without mockery, with complete seriousness.
He listened silently as Luca delivered Don Maximus's apology and request for negotiations.
Earlier, Luca had described the Marstons as hillbilly rednecks—more muscle than brain.
But he soon discovered that assumption could be deadly.
When Luca finished speaking, several Marstons approached him.
They ripped the tie from his neck.
Another spat in his face.
Meanwhile their consigliere remained seated, leaning back in his chair and calmly watching the scene unfold.
Luca did not move.
Then one of the Marstons leaned close and spoke in a gravelly voice.
"War."
Luca left the bar that night surprised to still be alive.
Because those men looked like the sort who might have happily sent his severed head back to my father as their opening message.
CHAPTER TWO
The Marston Clan were true to their word and soon embarked on a war with our family.
They began by targeting our soldiers.
Freddie Bruno was shot in the chest and died before he could even reach the hospital. Michael Vera escaped with his life only by claiming he had never heard of our family and had no connection with us whatsoever.
He ran back to his base sweating and trembling, mocked by his compadres for the desperate way he had saved himself. Michael Vera had lied convincingly to save his life but was rendered an honest duck with his colleagues and paid for that with their mockery, however good natured. But he didn't care, he was happy to be alive.
Still, he was happy to be alive.
One evening, around nine o'clock, Father was performing his nightly rituals before bed and I sat in the living room watching the late-night news, a knock sounded on the door.
Luca went to answer it.
The visitor was Joaquin Masseria, the family's hammer—our most reliable assassin. His expression was grim, which meant his news would be worse. "The Marstons had struck again." He informed, "and this time, I was the target."
He had just stepped out of the grocery store, he began his report once we were all gathered in Father's study. "I was about to get into my car when two men who looked like Marstons came up on me." He tapped the side of his head. "One bullet nicked me here. Barely missed my ear."
His voice hardened. "All I need is five good men. Give me that and I'll go wipe those Marstons off the map."
Father listened to Joaquin's tirade without a word and without the slightest change in his expression at Joe's suggestion.
Before he could respond, there came another ring, this time from Luca's phone. It was one of his street informants, Gregory Malanga. Gregory worked as a ferrier—a man whose job was to ferry information from the streets back to Luca.
When Luca returned to the study, he had a sardonic smile on his dark face. "The Sorianos have joined forces with the Marstons," he said.
Father gave no visible reaction, but I could see from the tightening of his jaw that he did not like the news.
None of us did.
There were seven major Mafia families in the Old City, and the Soriano family was the largest and most powerful among them.
They were also our most dangerous rivals.
For years they had feared that our family was quietly growing strong enough to challenge their dominance.
And the Sorianos were not known for mercy or tolerance in such cases. Even Father was wary while dealing with them.
"Enzo Soriano was seen speaking with Aldo Marston," Luca continued. "Four of their best shooters have already joined the Marston ranks."
Father remained silent, but the longer Luca spoke, the darker Father's expression became.
Enzo Soriano was far more ambitious than his aging father, Don Soriano. The prayer of many was that Don Enzo would live a long life enough and that Enzo would die before him or else become calmer as he grew older else, it would go hard for a lot of persons. Enzo was too ruthless and brutal.
However, within the seven families, there could be quarreling and fighting amongst ourselves. This was normal, but when an outside enemy not from our world fought against us, we were supposed to stand as one.
The Marston Clan was not part of our world.
For the Sorianos to support them against us was a clear violation of the unwritten rules of the families.
Of course, those rules were often broken as betrayal between Mafia families happened as naturally as breathing.
After Luca finished speaking, Father remained silent for a long time.
Finally he turned to Joaquin and gave him a small nod.
Joaquin's face brightened.
Then Father spoke.
"I will speak with you later, Joe. For now, take no action."
Joaquin bowed slightly and left the study.
Now only Father, Luca, and I remained.
Father turned to Luca.
"Bring my brother."
Uncle Larry entered the room looking as though he had not slept in six days.
Which, in fact, he had not.
His eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were wrinkled. His hair was unkempt. Yet despite his exhaustion, he still carried himself like a dangerous man, sitting down across from Father while Luca handed him a Havana cigar. He and father gave each other the briefest of looks before looking away.
Then Father spoke. "The Marstons are coming for revenge. They have begun attacking our men. Even Joaquin barely escaped death today, I want to know how you intend to end this."
Uncle Larry rubbed his face slowly before replying. "Well, brother… I hope you're not planning to sell me to the Marstons for peace. I admit I regret killing the man, but I certainly don't plan to die for it."
Father's expression changed instantly and for the first time that night, anger appeared on his face. However, his voice when he spoke remained calm, "It never crossed my mind to sell you to our enemies. You are family." He paused. "But now that you mention it… it does sound like a splendid idea."
Uncle Larry smirked faintly. "Good thing you brought me here then. I'm sure we'll come up with many more splendid ideas that don't involve my death."
Father ignored the remark. "I called you here so you understand the situation. Think about it. Bring me whatever solutions you can." He gestured toward Luca. "In the meantime, listen to what Luca has discovered."
Uncle Larry leaned back in his chair as Luca spoke.
"The Sorianos have joined the Marstons." Larry's mouth twitched at that. "We discovered that Peter Licastri, the Soriano underboss, has a female cousin married into the Marston family." He placed several photographs on the desk. "So the two families are now connected by marriage."
Larry studied the pictures for a moment and sighed. "Wonderful." He stood up then. "Thanks for the update, Luca. I need some air."
Without another word, he left the room.
Father watched him leave. Luca calmly lit another cigar. I began looking through the photographs spread across the desk and then I saw her.
The girl who had started it all. She was breathtaking. A redhead with pale skin and striking eyes. The kind of beauty that could ruin a man's judgment.
Looking at her, I suddenly felt angry and guilty at Uncle Larry for turning her into a widow so young. Still, it was clear a woman like that would never belong to a weak man and given what I had heard so far of the Marstons, John could have been nothing weak. Just looking at her stirred something restless inside me.
Suddenly I needed a woman. Angelina, the housemaid who had been flirting with me lately, was on her break. So I stood up.
"I'm going into town."
Luca looked up.
"For what?"
"To clear my head."
"There are plenty of places to clear your head here."
"I'll be fine," I said.
I was about to leave when Father spoke.
"Take one of the guards." I wish I had listened.
I drove out alone.
While driving, I scrolled through my phone looking for a girl for the night. Eventually I found one and sent her my location.
A hotel near a mall—no one would think to find me there. Or so I believed.
What I did not know was that the Marston Clan already had men on my tail. I had thought myself an unknown, a college graduate destined for greater things, never imagining that the Marstons would even recognize me.
They found me waiting at the hotel for my date.
They opened fire.
I was glad I had brought my AK with me, for even I was not so foolish as to go anywhere unarmed during a war.
I hid under a bench and fired back repeatedly. And now, here I am—back where this story began.
Under the bed.
Waiting to shoot the Marstons who are no doubt watching for any movement from me.
And I wonder if I will survive this encounter. If I do not, will my parents ever see my body again?
This is not the kind of place anyone would think to look for me. The Marstons might dispose of both my body and my car.
And one last thought crosses my mind.
If I survive…
Will I ever see Juliana—
the woman Uncle Larry killed for?
CHAPTER THREE
So, I admit that I must have gone ahead of myself. I mean, when you started reading my story, you kind of expected that since I said I had no idea who my attackers were—from family or a rival—you were anticipating something, yeah?
And then you read up to this point and saw that indeed, despite the beef between my uncle and father, it doesn't seem like either would send goons after me to snuff out my life, right? I mean, given what you've read so far, my attackers' identity seems like a no-brainer, yeah?
Well, I must admit, you are right. And yeah, I admit again, I must have gotten ahead of my fucking self. But I make no apologies because I did have a point.
Well, we all know Father and Uncle Larry had been feuding with each other. Their arguments had been too many to keep up with, and this particular one I would discover later.
When Father had sent his men to bring back his brother from his hideout against the Marstons, Uncle Larry had walked into Father's solar where the latter stood, hands clasped behind his back and watching his brother warily, like a hawk watches a serpent near its nest.
Father was standing, and Uncle Larry stood too.
Then Father said, "Larion, you are out of the family business."
Larion perked his head up. "I don't understand."
Father replied, "That's the point. You don't understand how this works. You ask for your share of the family fortune—why? To go start your own family? You want to divide this one? Then you go off killing some local kid over a woman? This doesn't inspire confidence in your leadership. You are out. You are no longer my second in command."
Larion listened in anger.
"You have always wanted me replaced. But with whom?"
"That is for me to know and for you to find out," Father replied. Then, thinking better of it, he added, "Julius is young. He will learn quickly what you fail to understand—we don't lose our cool over anything. You lost yours over a woman."
"And you intend to strip me of my fortune, my place in the family, over an error. I won't allow that."
It didn't matter whether he allowed it or not. This was Father speaking, and Father's pronouncements were like a king's seal—they could not be broken, only amended. Father's words were like a mountain; they could not be moved.
Uncle Larry had always been the rebel, the maverick, the one who protested and fought. But even he thought better of fighting Father.
Still, he protested.
"Never. I won't allow that."
But Father was done. He only informed him.
"Your share of the fortune is still in your name, though I control it."
"I worked for it."
"Thank God you did, and I won't take it from you. I just won't let you have it. And I won't disgrace the family name further by sending you out of the country—that would be a shame. Lay low. I will settle this, and when it's done, you can go somewhere else and build again, without my supervision. But the family wealth stays in the coffers, not outside."
Uncle Larion stared daggers at Father and refused.
"Never."
Then he walked out in a rage, leaving Father alone in the room.
Uncle Larion seethed and fumed at Father's decree, and after finding this method unhelpful, he sat in his chair and thought deeply.
The next afternoon he went out with Vario.
Uncle Larry was annoyed, pissed off, but clear-minded enough to know the Marstons shared the same mood and were hunting him to take their anger out on him. However, no one expected him to be moving about.
Except Enzo Soriano.
Enzo appeared to be waiting for him in a car shed.
Enzo Soriano was a squat, curly-headed, handsome youth of thirty who stared at the tall Larry with a smile as he approached. He took a glance at Vario, who remained in the car, and then at Larry, who had both hands tucked in his pockets.
Though he had a jovial smile, Enzo knew that in those pockets was a gun pointed at him. It wasn't meant to attack him, only for defense.
Enzo had not come unprepared either. He had two bodyguards with him. Though he had no gun in his pockets, he was armed as well, and his hands were clasped in front of him.
He said familiarly, "Larry, isn't this meeting an old friend?"
They were not friends, though they had shared quite a few laughs together in the past.
But Larry returned the greeting.
"Thank you for meeting me, Enzo. No doubt you've heard of my recent adventure."
"Yes, I did," Enzo replied. "The Marstons were feared in their circle. You certainly made some noise."
"My brother is handling it now. The Marstons—if they don't take his peace—will be wiped off the face of the earth. That's my brother. He is worth ten of the Marstons. But he and I are not on the best of terms, and he fears a takeover from me. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to eliminate me, and thus I have to handle matters as I see fit."
Enzo cocked his head and listened.
"There are men within our family whose loyalty is to me and not my brother. However, we are too few. The Marstons have presented an opportunity. They will fight, brave fools, and die. But if you support them, they have a chance. Then I will move in with my men and topple my brother, becoming the one in charge. And not to worry—if this opportunity presents a chance to wipe out all Maximus, we are not in a blood feud, and there are many within our thing who won't take kindly to it. A puppet won't work also."
Larion delivered these words with a smile, but his last statements were both a warning and a threat to Enzo should he think of betraying him after this alliance.
That the alliance was solid, Larion had no doubt. The Sorianos would take the chance to do away with Don Maximus.
And so Enzo smiled back.
"I see. I accept, friend Larion. But my father has the final say. Hence I will revert to you."
Then Enzo stretched out a hand to shake Larion's. Larion smiled, for Enzo had produced his left hand, which meant that Larion would have to shake Enzo with his left.
The only problem was that Larion's left hand was his shooting hand.
However, Larion reciprocated the handshake, but not before saying, "Both pockets have a gun," and he said it with a laugh that even Enzo joined in.
"We will get back to you," Enzo promised, and both men parted ways.
While Enzo turned his back and walked to his vehicle, accompanied by his two bodyguards who watched everywhere, Larion—still with a genuine smile—walked back, but still facing the retreating Enzo.
He never took his eyes off the man until he had entered his car and Vario drove away.
CHAPTER FOUR
So, back to me, under the bed, cradling my gun, and suddenly hearing voices in our tongue. A familiar voice. It belonged to Vario.
After ignoring my father's order to go with a bodyguard, much to my pain, Father had sent one nonetheless to accompany me. This was, of all persons, Vario.
Now, given Vario's loyalty to Uncle Larry, he could just as well have let the enemy do their deed with me and then claimed to have arrived after. But he didn't. Father didn't give him the task to receive excuses, but results.
Moreover, even my uncle had second thoughts about offing me. Thus, Vario had shadowed me, and when the Soriano and Marston shooters came in, Vario stood in between and shouted them back—but in the old tongue we brought from the Old Country.
In my family, I was the college graduate, the educated one, the privileged prince. I always kept that persona and barely spoke a word in the Old Country tongue, and assumed a deaf ear whenever it was spoken in my presence.
But I not only spoke it, I understood it too.
And when Vario was speaking, I heard everything he was yelling.
"Stand back!" he screamed. "That's the Boss's son."
Another voice yelled back in the old tongue, "Stay away, Vario. This does not involve you."
"There will be a time to clip him. Now is not the time. Step back."
The firing continued, and Vario fired back. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
Then he called out, in English:
"Jules, we gotta go."
CHAPTER FIVE
On the drive back to the family base, I looked at Vario's tall form behind the wheel. He had saved my life, and I was really grateful to him for that, though I did not deceive myself that this man was going to kill me the moment my Uncle gave him the go-ahead that it was appropriate.
While he drove, with his eyes fixed straight on the road, I believe we both thought the same thing. I thought, Does he know? He, for his part, too, must have been thinking, Does he know that I am against him?
I was thinking, I hope this man doesn't know I speak the Old Country tongue and had heard everything he said.
He broke the silence first.
"You doing good, kid?"
"Better than I expected," I replied. "Thank you for saving my life."
"Nah, do not mention it," he replied. "Your father would have had my balls if I came to him with excuses instead of you hale and hearty."
I smiled and thought deeply about this debacle I was in now. Vario had no idea I was aware of his double play, and that no doubt my Uncle's hand was in it.
My dilemma was this—do I tell my father or keep mute?
Faced with no possible answer, I said, "Let's go have a drink."
"You want to have a drink? You can have it at home."
"No, no, no, no," I countered. "I need a drink. Look around for any pub. I need a drink."
Vario didn't seem too pleased by what I said, but displeasure or not, he knew his role, his position. He answered to the Boss—and afterwards, to me.
As for my Uncle? Why, the man had the final say over Vario. But either way, this capable henchman knew better than to go openly against us.
He said nothing throughout the trip, but I knew he was offended. He wanted nothing more than to get me back home. Anything could happen—we could run into hostile Marstons or devoted Sorianos who would think it an honour to put a hole in my head. I was taking a big risk asking to be seen.
And why was I doing this anyway?
Did I desire to meet a girl after my earlier efforts were thwarted? Was I burning with lust for that beautiful redhead my Uncle had made a widow, and whose family now had a price on mine and my family's heads?
Was this trip all to see a girl similar to that redhead and satiate my lust over her?
And would it be worth it if I died?
Too many thoughts crossed my mind.
Then Vario's voice interrupted them.
"This good enough for you?"
We had pulled up beside a pub whose neon lights outside blinked PARIS.
It didn't look bad, so I said, "It will do, Vario."
I got down from the vehicle, but Vario remained behind the wheel.
I told him, "Come and have a drink, man."
He opened the car door, and we both went into the pub together.
My reasons for bringing Vario were not necessarily to apologise to him, and knowing he would not care to take a drink while on the job, I didn't think to spend much on him.
However, if I was taking a risk, I would need backup. I was walking in here without knowing anyone. I didn't have street credibility to that extent.
Vario had.
And even if this place was strange to him too, any unruly patron who tried to intrude would hear Vario simply reply, "Fuck off," and my good fellow would take that instruction to heart, for Vario did not tolerate being countered.
You did what you were told—unless you were a Maximus.
Vario was also good company. He was quiet and would watch out for me.
The pub was decent inside, and soft music played in the background. A few guests were dancing in one corner. Two bartenders stood at opposite ends of the counter—one a huge, hard-looking man covered in tattoos, the other a slim blonde lady with sad eyes.
I went over to her side.
"What will you be having?"
"Your best mix," I replied. "And get him something too."
The drink came quickly, and I was quicker in finishing it.
The second glass followed. Then the third.
By the fourth, I slowed down and began to think.
I thought of Vario's betrayal—and my Uncle's.
If Father knew about this, it would not go well.
Vario's fate would be sealed, because Father would destroy him to send a message to his brother and deprive my Uncle of his power.
I didn't want to kill Vario. He had saved my life and only followed what my Uncle told him.
And Uncle would not take the death well, as expected.
What if Father decided to kill him as a peace offering to the Marstons?
But I knew Father would never do that.
Family was sacred to him.
But what was wrong with Uncle?
He was beginning to make too many mistakes.
He had killed an innocent man in public, and now he was plotting to get rid of his own brother—the Don—and with, of all people, the Sorianos.
Did he think they would give him the title of Don on a platter of gold?
What was wrong with him?
I didn't want to tell Father.
After finishing my drink, I ordered another—the fifth. About thirty minutes must have passed when Vario leaned close and whispered:
"I don't mean to alarm you…"
That immediately set alarm bells ringing in my head.
"There are some new entrants in here who may not like your face—and your name—should they spot you. They are Marstons. Please don't look."
I took my time before looking.
There were five of them.
Three men and two women.
One pair were clearly a couple. They walked hand in hand and exchanged secret glances.
Still, the three men looked like trouble—heavy bearded faces and hard eyes.
The two women looked like danger.
Especially the red-haired one.
The one from my thoughts.
This was Julie.
She was alone. None of the Marston men held her intimately.
This was the girl whose fiancé my Uncle had killed.
And she was looking straight at me