Brooklyn, Six years ago …
He was currently going by the name Dante Payne. The two men with him also used aliases. They were dangerous men who’d been relocated to America. Like those who came to this country before them, they looked to start over and make their fortune.
And they were perfectly willing to take a few shortcuts. Certainly willing to break a few laws.
Laws had been invented to keep the rabble in line. To keep lesser men out of the way while people like Dante took advantage. Everywhere he looked in America, he saw weakness. If he were smart and patient, he would get what he wanted with relative ease. There would be occasional resistance, but it would be swept aside. Dante had experience with such things, knew almost immediately by the look in an opponent’s eyes if he would fight or fold.
He browsed the back of the convenience store, hovering near a rack of potato chips and beef jerky. His compatriots stood next to a cooler of beer, dour and silent. The Korean behind the counter cracked open a roll of pennies to replenish the register.
Dante had done his homework, knew the routine, so they didn’t have long to wait. The goombahs waddled in at almost the exact time every week. Courteous of them to make it so easy.
Mick Nastasi wore a deep purple jumpsuit the color of an old bruise. A thick gold chain around his neck. Rings. A fat man, the result of a soft life. Gray hair thinning. The big man with him was muscle, a sports jacket over a polo shirt. He had a half-eaten chocolate doughnut in his fist.
Nastasi went to the counter, smiled at the Korean, said whatever he usually said. This was routine business, not reason to suspect today would be different or special. The Korean smiled and nodded and handed the envelope with the protection payoff to Nastasi.
Dante’s eyes slid to his men, and he nodded. They returned the nod then moved toward the counter and the two goombahs.
They struck calmly but without hesitation.
The first looped the garrote around the muscle man’s head and jerked it tight, the thin wire biting deeply into flesh, blood squirting. He was dead before he hit the floor.
Nastasi turned, opened his mouth to scream, but the clear plastic bag came down over his head abruptly, muffling him. He was forced to his knees, hands pawing uselessly at the hands holding the bag over his head.
Dante stepped up to the counter, fixed the trembling Korean with an ice-cold gaze. “You don’t pay these men anymore. You understand?”
The Korean nodded.
Nastasi began to kick and writhe in earnest, sucking for air against the plastic bag. One of Dante’s men held the Italian’s arms while the other one kept the bag over his head. Nastasi’s desperate breaths fogged against the plastic.
Dante waited a moment before going on. He wanted the Korean to see Nastasi struggle for a few more moments. It would leave a deeper impression than anything Dante might say.
“You won’t see me again,” Dante told him. “You don’t even see me now. One of my men will be along to pick up the envelope each week. It will be the same amount as always. Nothing will change. You understand this?”
The Korean nodded again, eyes flicking briefly from Dante to the suffocating man and back.
Nastasi had ceased struggling, hung limp in the grip of Dante’s men. He nodded to them and they took the bodies through the back where a van waited in the alley.
Dante nodded at the Korean one last time then exited through the store’s front door.
On the sidewalk out front, Dante paused and lit a cigarette. He squinted at the sky, exhaling a gray stream of smoke. It was a beautiful spring day, not too warm. A perfect time for new beginnings.
And his empire would begin here on this square block in a low-rent Brooklyn neighborhood. He’d decided to start with the Italians because they’d be the easiest. They’d become a cartoon parody of their former selves. A couple of families still ran rackets here and there, but they would be almost no trouble at all.
He would tackle the Tong next and then the Russians, who would be harder. There would be pushback, of course, but equilibrium would eventually establish itself. By then, Dante would have already set up several legitimate businesses through which to launder the money. In time, the legitimate businesses would stand on their own and he could separate himself from anything unseemly. Soon he would be on top again. He’d done it before.
And he’d do it again.