Capo Dei Capi (Secrets of the Famiglia Part 1)

Chapter 10 (Marco)

“I’m telling you, man, he makes the devil look good when he’s pissed. I don’t know why I did it. Well, I

kinda do know, I was curious, and I thought breaking into Michael Stones shit will be so cool. But when

I saw the money, fuck man, they say he has a couple of billions, he has way more than that. I didn’t

think he’d mind it disappearing. I was going to put it back after a week, I swear to you, Marco. I just

wanted to make a few quick investments and a big turn, then put it back, I swear.”

I tilt the bottle, staring at the amber liquid moving to my will. It has no choice but to do as I want

because the bottle holding the liquid is a puppet in my grasp. Like all material things in my possession

and those not so material things, it shows its potential when put to use. In the case of this bottle of

great alcohol, its use is to allow me to borrow happiness from the next day on days like these.

In the case of the man yapping away, well, humans all have many uses. Each man to their own. But

this one is a bit more special, a rare find.

He just doesn’t realize it yet. I do, and is the only reason why he is here begging for my help. Lured to

me by a sick fuck, Roberto Cavalier. My hands have itched to kill the Capo since I was twelve, the first

time I set my curious gaze on the fucker. But he is loyal, so he stays alive, for now.

It always fascinates me, how easily humans can be manipulated even without pulling any strings. You

just have to have a good marketing strategy in place.

My surname comes with an 88% guarantee of success. My first name attached to it, though, well, that

leaves the 12% of failure a non-existent thought left at the door when you enter my office to talk

business. I never fail, especially when I have a piece on the board. I am a greedy man, and I always

win in the long game.

“He is going to kill me if he found out what I did. No, no, no, no.” He grips his messy hair that is spiked

in some goth look the youngsters are going for these days. His purple top hangs loose on his long

lanky body.

The kid is pale, and probably can’t throw a punch to save his life. Pulling at his scalp, he wears out the

red and gold Victorian carpet in my office, pacing. He’s been this way since his arrival, two hours ago.

Leonardo in typical fashion, stayed for all of ten minutes and left with a promise of shutting him up if he

didn’t zip it by the time he was back.

Deno smiles, watching the new entertainment as he sits on the edge of my desk. His suit jacket lays

across the rustic sofa on the other side of the room. The glass that was filled with three fingers of

Brandy now sits empty next to him on the dark wooden desk.

My brothers all have a part they play in keeping our family name, my sister too. Deno is the logical one,

the future Capo of The Famiglia. He is patient and wise but can be a ball-buster when he wants to get

his message deep in your head.

Leonardo is short-tempered, my father’s perfect replica, but where my father is all about the game,

Leonardo stands for more. He is more than the whores he chooses to fuck and the choices he

sometimes makes that seem cruel to most. I know different, and one day I am confident he'll find his

way.

My sweet sister, dear darling Anya, the rule-breaker who refuses to conform to anything of our family.

My father’s goodness all wrapped into one.

Yet, even she can’t help the evil lurking in her blood when faced with a choice. Murder by option is her

motto.

And lastly, our Lorenzo, the youngest of my siblings, the one good thing we have done in our family.

The normal brother, the vigilante who wants to save the innocents and help his little clan of friends.

Lorenzo, my loyal brother, and the reason why the others are so fucked up. Ironic, but it is our burden,

not his. A choice we made a long time ago.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me if I write him an apology? Of course not, he is Michael Stone, he doesn’t

know forgiveness. He is going to make mincemeat out of me, I know it,” The young man babbles on.

I remain standing by the small bar, playing with the Crystal bottle. My face impassive, waiting for him to

get his hysteria out of his system so we may get down to business and discuss his new permanent

position.

“Stone doesn’t have a mincer; I’ve seen his kitchen, so I think you clear there.” Deno clarifies with that

smile of his waning patience.

The door opens, and the three of us look at it, watching as my youngest brother walks in with his iPad.

He ignores the guy in the room and heads toward me. His face still in that tight scowl he left here with

an hour ago when I refused his suggestion that he talk to our father about Deno and I choosing a bride.

The truth is, the rumor is fucking fake. My brother and I are not going to be choosing fuck all besides

the color of the tie we will be wearing tonight, and even that is asking for much.

My father knew that when he started the rumor and told Lorenzo that he’d be next. I wasn’t opposed to

marriage; in fact, I made two choices, the one is still in the pipe, and worth my efforts. The other is a

backup that would take careful planning to acquire.

Obviously, my father knew this, but he found it amusing to start the rumor knowing it will bug the crap

out of us, Deno especially been as my brother has no intention of staying married once he ties the knot.

‘till death.

Lorenzo passes me the iPad, which I take, my eyes darting from his boyish face to the pictures. I swipe

across the screen with my index finger as I see the men and the long line of people moving into the

containers. The next image shows a small child getting carried. I have seen many bad things in my life,

horrors, that nothing shocks me any longer. Sadly, not even this.

I swipe the screen again to the next picture, then the next, and I stop at this particular one.

Green eyes scrunch up, as big white teeth dig into a piece of chocolate cake that is stuffed into her

face from Gabriel DeMarco’s hand, as he stands behind her with Lorenzo behind him, showing a big

fuck you sign on top of his head to the camera.

Aliyana Capello. Sartini’s little treasure, but she isn’t so little any longer.

“He's correct, the shipment is in our territory. What do you want me to do?” Lorenzo asks as I look

down at the picture of Aliyana again before I swipe it back to the ones that were taken last night.

Putting the crystal bottle on the bar countertop, I give the images one last thorough look. The pictures

were taken last night before our little friend, currently standing in the middle of my office, confirmed

something I was dreading.

“Nothing for now. Let them get comfortable,” I hand Lorenzo back his iPad. Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“They shipping children, women. What the fuck Marco? Since when did we allow that shit in our

territory? We don’t dabble in livestock.”