Boston, Massachusetts, December 1965
The whine of an approaching streetcar tore through the quiet twilight and consumed all other sound. Even the heavy breathing and soft moans of the woman whose warm blood coated my tongue.
From the shadowed alcove between buildings, I lifted my gaze. The vehicle lumbered toward us, swaying on its tracks under the erratic glow of a single flickering streetlamp.
Tony’d be on that train. Right on time for dinner with my family. And for me to drop the bomb that had been ticking away in my head for weeks.
Renee shifted, pressing herself close. I tugged on her hair to expose more of her neck and took a sinfully deep drink. Steam rose from where my fangs sank into her flesh. She groaned and dug her fingers into my forearm, her body pliant and given over to sensation.
The rattle and shriek of the streetcar persisted, demanding an answer. I drew in a final mouthful of blood. The force of my pull injected more of my venom into her veins, enough to push her over the edge, and she shook through a feeding-induced release.
I freed her from my bite. Two drops of blood trailed down the pale length of her neck from holes that stared back at me like my own red eyes. I licked the wounds to staunch the bleeding, and she shivered through an aftershock.
I eased her out of my arms until she stood under her own weight. She leaned against the side of the building, and her head fell back to rest on the brick.
Eyes dilated and cheeks flushed, her lips pulled up at the corners. “Marco,” she said with a breathy sigh. “That was…”
Filling? Energizing?
The streetcar screeched to a stop. Perfect timing. I licked my lips and stepped out of the alcove, satisfied, but not in the same way as Renee.
She was a nice enough girl even if too attached to feeding. Not that I was complaining. I’d used her before. So had others. No shame in sharing willing Sources. But I didn’t want any complications, and Renee would’ve liked nothing better than to engage in complications.
I grabbed her hand, turned it over, and placed four dollars in her palm. “Get yourself home, Renee.”
She closed her fingers around the cash and shoved it in her pocket. “Why don’t you come with me?” Husky need laced her invitation, and she pushed off the wall, stepping toward me with hooded eyes. A provocative smile danced on her lips, and she trailed a gloved fingertip down the buttons of my waistcoat and hooked it around the inside of my belt buckle.
I jerked her hand away from my body. She winced but needed the reminder; my answer to her come-ons would never change.
Seduction transformed into amusement, and the pouty shape of her lips arched into a sly grin. “You’ll ring me next time?”
“Your blood’s as good as anyone’s,” I muttered and released her wrist.
She straightened her scarf, smoothed the loose strands of hair peeking out from beneath her hat, and stepped onto the platform. The sway of her hips turned heads, drawing both leers and reproach.
I swiped a hand down my face; I needed to find a new Source.
Renee’d grown tiresome. She wanted more than my teeth in her neck. She wanted my cock in her cunt, but that was never going to happen. I didn’t fuck where I fed, and Renee was a pleasure junkie who wanted sex as badly as she wanted a feeding. No doubt at the same time if she could manage it. Wouldn’t be hard. There were plenty of blood demons who fed for more than necessity, even more who didn’t have my hang-ups about feeding and sex.
Passengers disembarked and walked with fast-paced determination away from the train, weaving paths between those clambering to get on. They shoved their hands into their pockets and turned their collars up against the early December wind. Tony’s imposing frame stepped off the last car, and his long legs quickly carried him across the platform. He adjusted the brim of his fedora, pulling it low to mask his eyes. I did the same, and when he reached the alcove where I waited, I fell in step alongside him.
We crossed the tracks and headed north toward the Italian end of the city, our turf and our safety. We walked in silence until the cars, pedestrians, and noise of the Haymarket drowned out our conversation.
“I want out,” I said.
He eyed me sideways, and his surprise and concern drilled into my skull. I’d expected backlash—loud words announcing my stupidity followed by a string of Italian profanities. Instead, the soles of our leather Oxfords clapped the pavement, the sound deafening against the strained silence.
“Not easy,” he said. “Not impossible. But not easy.”
The dangerous urge to trust his reaction thrashed against my skepticism and the cold reality of my life. Antonio Moretti was my best friend, my brother-in-arms if not in blood, and I trusted him, but not as much as I trusted his loyalty to Cosa Nostra.
“Remember when we were kids?” he asked. “And the Gallo twins jumped me outside Salvatore’s?”
I grunted. How could I forget?
“The old man didn’t bat an eye. Kept slicing prosciutto and singing to himself over that damned radio of his while they pulled me into the alley.”
“He had a terrible voice.”
“The worst.”
Tony stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You came outta nowhere—arms swinging, fists flying, even though they were twice our size.”
I remembered. I remembered the rags hanging off Tony’s starved body. They’d been in even worse shape than my own sorry excuse for clothing. I remembered how the red glow of his eyes had dimmed amid the streaks of dirt and blood covering his face, his strength waning with each starved attempt to fight back. And I remembered those idiot Gallo bullies shaking down a street kid with nothing left. That had been the first time we met.
“My life changed that day, and I’ll never forget who changed it. Sei mio fratello, Marco.” The conviction in his voice and the sincerity in his dark eyes told me he meant every word.
I clenched my teeth and gave him a short nod. We’d come a long way since those early days, and we’d done it together. I should’ve known that would be enough.
We resumed our march and crossed the border into the North End.
“Can’t be the money’s turning you off,” Tony said dryly.
I snorted. “I like money, and you know what I’m willing to do to get it.” Illegal fights and gambling. Loans and protection. Extortion and armed robbery. I’d been at the game for twenty-three years. “But Vinnie’s invested in the narcotics racket, and Big Frankie isn’t stopping him. That’s where I draw the line. I want out.”
Big Frankie Valenzano had given me a chance to pull my family out of squalor, turn the DeVita name into one people respected. I’d taken it. No regrets. But Big Frankie was human. He wouldn’t be around forever, and Vinnie was set to take over as boss of the Valenzano crime family. I wanted out before a federal indictment was pointed at my head like a loaded gun. One of the New York capos had already been pinched by the feds. Was doing fifteen-to-twenty on narcotics charges. I couldn’t provide for my family if I was in jail. Or dead. Human jails weren’t staffed with Sources.
Not to mention the damage inflicted by that drug shit.
That was the difference between made men like me and Tony and an underboss like Vinnie. Tony and I came up from nothing. Hell, Tony was an orphan, a street rat before he started working for the Valenzanos. But Vinnie’d been born into privilege. Grew up with a silver spoon, however tarnished. He hadn’t lived what we’d lived or seen what we’d seen on the streets. Starvation from lack of food or blood or drugs, it didn’t matter. It was real, and it was ugly. And I wanted nothing to do with creating that kind of pain.
“Fuck, Tony, you know what it’s like to need something. Big Frankie’s Source racket makes money for a reason. We don’t have a choice. We need blood. But drugs?” I shot him a hard look. “That shit’s inflicted. That addiction doesn’t need to exist.” My jaw tightened. “I won’t be a part of it.”
“We all have our limits, Marco. Sounds like you found yours.”
I’d taken several steps before I realized he’d stopped. I pivoted to face him. The streetlamps lining Hanover Street cast a soft glow through the twilight. They illuminated the steam rising from the sewers and the serious expression on Tony’s face.
“But I haven’t found mine yet,” he finished.
Cars rumbled and clanked atop the century-old cobbles. Pedestrians sped down the sidewalk and across the street. Diners hurried into restaurants, escaping icy snaps of wind. Amid the commotion, two brothers stood at a crossroads.
“Our relationship will change,” he said. “Once you’re out.”
My body tensed. “I know.”
He stepped forward and clasped my arm. “But we’ll always be brothers.”
I clapped my hand over his. “Grazie.”
The remaining twilight had waned while we’d discussed my future, a silent reminder we were late. We darted between cars and turned down one of the narrow cross streets. Unending walls of red brick rose on either side of us, fragmented by the soft light emanating from first-story windows and the occasional front-door lamp. A few neighborhood kids ran by. The leader shouted over his shoulder for his followers to hurry up. Muted voices and the clang of pots and pans accompanied the faint aroma of pasta and garlic. My stomach rumbled.
“When you gonna tell Big Frankie?” Tony asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Not sure.” I didn’t want to divulge too much. I couldn’t. Not with this new relationship. “I have a lead on some real estate near the Commons. Always preferred that end of the business.”
He arched an eyebrow and gave me a knowing grin. Yeah. Things had already changed.
A soft light illuminated the short set of stairs that led up to the front door of my family home. My sister stood at the top of the steps and hugged her shawl close around her shoulders. She folded her arms when she saw us and glared.
“Marco. Antonio. Era ora. You’re late.”
I stood on the bottom step, and with my height, met her eye to eye. “Gina, la mia cara sorella.” I kissed her on either side of her stern mouth. “We were busy with work.” I opened my eyes wide with innocence and penance.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile, but then I delivered my killing blow. I winked. She huffed out a laugh and punched me in the shoulder. “Fine. You deal with Mamma. You know how she gets if her sauce gets cold.” She opened the door and waved us up the stairs.
Warmth, light, and the smell of Mamma’s cooking mingled with the crisp winter wind.
Tony groaned and pushed past me. “Braciole! Ottimo!” He stopped when he reached Gina and greeted her with kisses before he removed his hat and stepped inside.
“Antonio!” Mamma called from the kitchen. “Finalmente! It’s getting cold!”
I chuckled.
My sister arched an eyebrow. “You better get in there.”
“Go. Tell Mamma to start. I need a minute.”
She narrowed her eyes.
I gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine. Just need to clear my head.”
She hesitated, but patted my hand and went inside, shutting the door behind her.
I leaned against the inside of the stairwell and faced the cold Boston night. I pulled out half a Cuban cigar I’d cut earlier in the day and considered how something so simple could change so much.
The flick of the match crackled through the quiet, and I puffed, each drag longer than the last until the cigar was lit. I pulled the thick, fragrant smoke into my mouth and held it there, letting the flavors swirl on my tongue and sting the back of my throat. The conflict of sensation calmed my nerves, and ease spread across my shoulders.
Twenty-three years. I’d worked for the Valenzano crime family for twenty-three years.
The red end of the stolen cigar burned hot and intense. Like my life. So easily snuffed out.
We’d lifted the illegal Cubans from a truck bound for New York three years ago, one of the last shipments that made it into the States before Kennedy’s embargo. I’d kept an eye on the specialty importer, knew when cargo was set to leave the docks. The Valenzanos were connected with the New England Teamsters. The drivers handed me tips, and I gave them a cut. They were smart enough to know a planned hijack was better for their health.
Me and Tony made a shitload off that haul. So did Big Frankie. It was the job that tipped the scales. Six months later, we were made men.
Smoke swirled through the night, and guilt churned in my stomach. The Valenzanos had saved me and Tony, and the weight of that debt wasn’t something I could easily shake. We were family, brothers, bonded by the demon blood that ran through our veins and the oaths we’d taken to Cosa Nostra, and I was about to sever one of those bonds.
I stepped into the street and looked back at the row house I’d bought for my family as soon as I’d earned enough to get us out of the rat-infested shithole we used to call home. Through the gap between the curtains, Gina threw her head back in laughter. Tony stepped into view, and she grabbed his arm, covering her heart as she laughed. Tony continued his story, his face relaxed and amused.
I turned back to the street—cold, dirty, unforgiving—a stark contrast to our bright and inviting home.
I’d done what I’d needed to do to protect my family, to make sure we didn’t go hungry. So had Mamma.
A memory flashed, a scene from a movie I’d tried to forget. I pushed it away, disgusted. I didn’t want to think about what Mamma had sacrificed to put food on our table. The blood that stained my hands was for her. To make sure she never had to sell her blood again. To make sure Gina was never faced with that decision.
But I couldn’t protect them if I starved to death in a federal penitentiary doing hard time for narcotics. It didn’t matter how much I owed Big Frankie. The DeVitas came first.
A sharp blast of wind struck my face. I chewed the bitter end of my cigar and popped my collar against its brutality.
The front door opened and shut with a click, and my sister stepped up next to me, her sweet perfume cutting through the earthy smoke. “She’s grumbling about ungrateful sons who no longer appreciate their mamma’s cooking.”
I chuckled and tossed the butt of my cigar onto the pavement, snuffing out the final smoldering ember with the toe of my shoe. Gina shivered beneath her shawl and rubbed her arms. I placed a hand on her shoulder and led us inside.
The light and warmth of home wrapped its comforting arms around me, and I paused to take in the familiar scene. Gina walked into the kitchen and sat next to Tony. They picked up their animated conversation, loud and fast Italian interrupted with bouts of my sister’s infectious laughter. The scrape of cutlery on china and the trickle of wine into crystal. Mamma served up thick slices of steaming braciole, and Papà poured wine while getting a lecture, “Not too much!” Garlic, tomato, and parmesan beckoned.
We’d come a long way since my childhood. No more haggard faces huddled over thin soup and stale bread in a one-room, basement apartment.
Mamma threw me a pointed look. I took off my hat, shrugged out of my coat, and hung both next to the door before taking my seat at the head of the table.
The four people I cherished most in the world ate, drank, and laughed. For two decades, I’d been secure in the knowledge I could provide for them and keep them safe with the power of the Valenzanos at my back. Tomorrow, I’d talk to Big Frankie and all responsibility would fall on my shoulders and my shoulders alone.
Determination steeled my resolve. I’d sacrifice anything to provide for each person at that table, to protect blood demons and immigrants, anyone in our community who couldn’t protect themselves. But I’d do it my way, without Vinnie or his drug money.
Back to basics. Bribes, extortion, gambling. These were the rackets I knew, the rackets that got me made. Back to my roots. Even if it meant building my own empire.