Page 12 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
“I’m not.”
“You are. It’s cute, but it’s not welcome. These people follow your family’s rules because they’re precedent and they won’t survive a war against the Vitali nor domestic and international syndicates, but they’ve been bred to distrust you, Renata. If I’m seen with you, that distrust will extend to me.”
Message received.
“Fine.” I swallowed and tilted my chin up. “But if you’re really concerned over the impression you give, you should fix whatever has you falling asleep in class.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder, turned, and left.
I could have sworn I heard him mutter, “I’m trying.”
Try not to be an asshole while you’re at it.
For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.
Suzanne Collins
My best friend Cristian slid a package my way. “Here.”
Brown box. Plain. Nondescript.
A gift from The Benefactor.
I tore the package open. Five Gurkha cigars. Five instructions. Five more favors I owed a nameless devil. My fingers traced the hand carved camel bone chest before I lifted the lid. Taking the first in the set out of the packaging humidor, I drew it to my nostrils and inhaled.
Broadleaf Maduro. Cameroon binder. Aged Dominican filler. Sour, sweet, and twenty-three grand a box. Whoever The Benefactor was, he was wealthy and connected. These cases were rarer than a virgin escort.
I never smoked them—I didn’t smoke or drink—but I didn’t tell Cristian this as I pulled out an S.T. Dupont lighter, bought and paid for by centuries-old De Luca oil money. For now, he needed to think these cigars were just a gift and not secret messages.
Cris held his hand out. “We’re in a five-by-five box, man. Control yourself.”
I made a show of rolling my eyes before tucking the cigar back in the chest and leaning against the leather seat. “It’s smoke, Cris. You’ll live.”
He ticked his fingers. “Formaldehyde, benzene, vinyl chloride, arsenic ammonia, and hydrogen cyanide. Some of many carcinogens in secondhand smoke.”
I smirked. “Look who paid attention in health.”
He shook his head and his dirty blond, surfer boy hair shook with it. “Stop giving me shit. We’re in a box.”
Hardly. We sat in a private room at The Landing Strip. Irene’s room. Befriending Irene had been my first instruction from The Benefactor. She had the ins and outs of the club wired, and from intel to a debugged room to meet in, she had my back.
I didn’t know how The Benefactor knew to single her out, but I’d made the decision long ago to take down my father. I was committed, and I would take all the help I could get. If The Benefactor posed a problem after I ascended the throne, I would take care of it then. I was a planner, but this was something I had little choice but to take one step at a time.
Cris nodded his thanks as I put away the cigars. He played his role well. The easygoing player no one could take seriously because they couldn’t see past the charming smirk, half-assed pick-up lines, and laidback surfer style.
But time and time again, Cris had come through for me. There was no one I trusted more. When I take over the De Luca syndicate, I’ll make him my senior advisor. Until then, he did the work I couldn’t because leaving Devils Ridge would reveal my identity.
Right now, being unknown provided an advantage. Everyone here kept me a secret under Angelo’s instructions, which he gave because he thought the less people who knew I existed, the less legitimat
e my chances at taking over the syndicate would be.
He was wrong.
I removed the cigar case from the shipping box and pushed the cardboard box to Cris. “Track this. Did you get a location on the last one?”
He grabbed the box from me, pulled a knife out of his pocket, and began cutting out the chunk of cardboard with the shipping information on it. A no name private company. He looked up at me midway. “Last package came from New York.” He paused a beat. “Romano territory.”
I watched as he finished his cutting. “Can you get an address?”
“I think my guy can get the origin city. Best we can do.”
