the window, he rested his head on his hand and drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. This was the boring part. Waiting. There were only so many times he could play out his plans in his mind before he wanted to fucking go .
He was impatient with short term plans, but he was pacified by the knowledge that his longer term plans were beginning to come to fruition. These days, the Cusimanos appeared to be solid, but the in-fighting was slowly unraveling their entire power structure. The Passantinos just needed their elderly boss to retire or die, and he’d be succeeded by his second-in-command, a vicious Sicilian-born con artist with the Cusimanos in his back pocket.
And the Maisanos were nearly there too. Corrado was in good health and was well-respected by the Passantino boss, not to mention his own family. If something were to happen to him, he’d be succeeded by his equally well-respected son, Luciano. There’d been rumors that Corrado had other men in line for his position in case Luciano died before him. After all, no one wanted Corrado’s psychopath younger son, Felice, in power. But a series of tragic accidents, tips to the cops, and blatant executions had removed nearly everyone fit to fill the senior Maisano’s shoes. Everyone except for Luciano.
Lovely son you have there, Maisano. Be a shame if something happened to him .
Sergei wasn’t ready to make that move yet, though. As twitchy as he was about carrying out tonight’s plan— c’mon, Eugenio… —he was a patient man when it came to his larger goals. He had to be absolutely sure that all of the families were in checkmate, not just check, before he took out Luciano and Corrado Maisano. He had to be absolutely certain that Felice would take over and all other potential heirs had been eliminated. Once Felice did take over, Sergei would make sure Old Man Passantino “retired,” leaving his son in power. Putting those two opposite each other was like dropping a pair of rabid wolverines into a cage together. Except these two rabid wolverines would have an army of made men and the authority to sic them on each other. Then all that remained for Sergei was to skip town while the families finished each other off.
And once again, as he drummed the steering wheel and watched for Eugenio, Sergei’s mind wandered back to a particular Maisano. One who hadn’t ever played any role in his plans because he never seemed to play a significant role in anything besides the family’s bookkeeping.
And getting his ass beat, apparently.
Sergei didn’t know who had decided Domenico Maisano needed a beating, never mind why, but it didn’t matter. Mafia royalty or not, Domenico didn’t seem like much more than a pawn. On the other hand, Domenico’s father had left a shameful enough legacy to taint his son’s name as well as his own, and although Domenico was apparently a savvy businessman and a made man, there were plenty of people in all three families convinced that he was a rat waiting to happen. Though it was unusual for someone quite so high up in the ranks to be roughed up by a couple of goons, that night behind the club may very well have been a warning.
Whatever the case, Domenico wasn’t Sergei’s problem. He wasn’t even sure why he kept thinking back to that night, besides the intrusion on his territory by idiots who didn’t know how to be discreet. Somehow, though, Domenico kept creeping into the back of Sergei’s mind.
He shook himself, focusing on the black Lincoln parked outside the bar. The only piece of the Maisano clan he needed to worry about tonight was currently tied up and tripping balls in the trunk.
And what the hell? When it came to Mafia-connected Italians, Sergei didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body. Yet he was curious if Domenico had recovered.
Of course he was. A man like that getting fucked up by goons like those was a sure sign that the war was about to begin. It was entirely possible that he’d been meant to be
He was impatient with short term plans, but he was pacified by the knowledge that his longer term plans were beginning to come to fruition. These days, the Cusimanos appeared to be solid, but the in-fighting was slowly unraveling their entire power structure. The Passantinos just needed their elderly boss to retire or die, and he’d be succeeded by his second-in-command, a vicious Sicilian-born con artist with the Cusimanos in his back pocket.
And the Maisanos were nearly there too. Corrado was in good health and was well-respected by the Passantino boss, not to mention his own family. If something were to happen to him, he’d be succeeded by his equally well-respected son, Luciano. There’d been rumors that Corrado had other men in line for his position in case Luciano died before him. After all, no one wanted Corrado’s psychopath younger son, Felice, in power. But a series of tragic accidents, tips to the cops, and blatant executions had removed nearly everyone fit to fill the senior Maisano’s shoes. Everyone except for Luciano.
Lovely son you have there, Maisano. Be a shame if something happened to him .
Sergei wasn’t ready to make that move yet, though. As twitchy as he was about carrying out tonight’s plan— c’mon, Eugenio… —he was a patient man when it came to his larger goals. He had to be absolutely sure that all of the families were in checkmate, not just check, before he took out Luciano and Corrado Maisano. He had to be absolutely certain that Felice would take over and all other potential heirs had been eliminated. Once Felice did take over, Sergei would make sure Old Man Passantino “retired,” leaving his son in power. Putting those two opposite each other was like dropping a pair of rabid wolverines into a cage together. Except these two rabid wolverines would have an army of made men and the authority to sic them on each other. Then all that remained for Sergei was to skip town while the families finished each other off.
And once again, as he drummed the steering wheel and watched for Eugenio, Sergei’s mind wandered back to a particular Maisano. One who hadn’t ever played any role in his plans because he never seemed to play a significant role in anything besides the family’s bookkeeping.
And getting his ass beat, apparently.
Sergei didn’t know who had decided Domenico Maisano needed a beating, never mind why, but it didn’t matter. Mafia royalty or not, Domenico didn’t seem like much more than a pawn. On the other hand, Domenico’s father had left a shameful enough legacy to taint his son’s name as well as his own, and although Domenico was apparently a savvy businessman and a made man, there were plenty of people in all three families convinced that he was a rat waiting to happen. Though it was unusual for someone quite so high up in the ranks to be roughed up by a couple of goons, that night behind the club may very well have been a warning.
Whatever the case, Domenico wasn’t Sergei’s problem. He wasn’t even sure why he kept thinking back to that night, besides the intrusion on his territory by idiots who didn’t know how to be discreet. Somehow, though, Domenico kept creeping into the back of Sergei’s mind.
He shook himself, focusing on the black Lincoln parked outside the bar. The only piece of the Maisano clan he needed to worry about tonight was currently tied up and tripping balls in the trunk.
And what the hell? When it came to Mafia-connected Italians, Sergei didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body. Yet he was curious if Domenico had recovered.
Of course he was. A man like that getting fucked up by goons like those was a sure sign that the war was about to begin. It was entirely possible that he’d been meant to be
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