Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
My grandfather, Mario Bianchi, is the head of our family. He fathered only one child—my mother—and married her off to the son of his consigliore, Vincent Gallo Sr.
My father.
I enter the dimly lit study where my grandfather holds court, inhaling the scent of aged leather and cigar smoke. My grandfather is seated behind his grand mahogany desk, a testament to our family’s old money. His silver hair is slicked back, and his eyes are hidden behind reading glasses as he examines some papers.
Next to him stands my father, a stark contrast with his brown hair and intense gaze. He is the physical embodiment of power and command. He’s been a stern but fair parent to my brother and me. A little softer on our younger sister.
They both look at me. Grandfather sets down his papers and removes his glasses. Father turns toward me and offers a small nod. It’s a gesture full of unspoken implications, an acknowledgement that this meeting marks my passage from boyhood to manhood.
“Vinnie,” my grandfather begins, “today, you step into a world that demands more than just being an adult. It demands loyalty, honor, and the will to protect our family at all costs.”
His words hang heavy in the air. A knot tightens in my stomach, but I keep my gaze steady.
He leans back into his high-backed leather chair. “It’s a world that won’t tolerate weakness,” he says gruffly. “It’s a world where men are continuously tested. Failures are costly. Remember, Vinnie, the Bianchis do not fail.”
Next to him, Father simply watches, his face unreadable, until he speaks. “Look at me, Vinnie.”
I obey, meeting my father’s gaze.
“Your grandfather is right, Vinnie,” he says. “The world we live in is not for the faint-hearted. You must be strong, steadfast. You must have the stomach for what lies ahead.”
He pauses, perhaps giving me time to absorb his words, or perhaps weighing his next ones. Could be either. I don’t know.
“There are choices you’ll make that will test your mettle, your loyalty, your very soul.” Grandfather leans forward, leering at me over his desk. “But remember this. Being a Bianchi is about more than just our name and our wealth. We are leaders, protectors, and, above all, survivors.”
His ice-cold stare penetrates my soul as he stands, walks out from behind his desk, and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Vincent,” he says, without looking at my father. “Give us this room.”
My father doesn’t move.
“Vincent,” Grandfather says again, this time his tone more menacing.
My father draws in a breath. “Mario…”
“It must be done, Vincent. Go. I’ll not tell you again.”
My heart pounds. Why is he making my father leave?
Finally, my father walks toward the door. Without looking back around, he says, his voice grave, “Whatever happens, remember that your mother and I love you very much.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving my grandfather and me alone in the room. The air between us seems thick, as if a fog has descended from the ceiling.
“Vinnie,” Grandfather begins again, his voice gentler now. “There are things you must understand about our family, about our business.”
I swallow hard, nodding.
“We are not just businessmen,” he continues. “We are guardians of a legacy that spans nearly a century. A legacy built on respect, power, and sometimes violence.”
Does he think I’m ignorant?
I’m not.
I know where this is going. I know what’s expected of me. I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted my fate.
The knot in my stomach tightens further as Grandfather reaches under his desk and pulls out an ornate box. He places it in front of me on the desk.
“Open it.”
I glance at the box, my hand trembling as I reach for the clasp. The polished wood is cold against my fingertips, and a chill runs down my spine as I pop open the lid.
Inside lies a short, stout stick made of polished wood. It’s over a foot in length and the diameter of a broom handle. What the hell?
Present Day…
I erase the memory from my mind.
I let it go back in that Buddhist temple.
At least I thought I did. So much else had to go along with it.
But this morning I sat in that same office, facing my grandfather.
And I agreed to end the life of Giacomo Puzo.
What the hell has Giacomo Puzo done to our family to merit this fate? So he’s running drugs and gambling. Who cares? I think back to my grandfather’s words.
He’s trying to nudge into our territory. He’s been talking to our suppliers in Mexico, and I don’t take kindly to it.
A two-bit mobster is trying to nudge into our territory? He’d be way out of his league.
Doesn’t matter. It’s business. At least that’s what Grandfather would say.
When my grandfather tried to get me to end the life of Raven Bellamy—that beautiful young woman who has already been through so much—I knew what I’ve always known to be the truth.