Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Help yourself,” I tell him.
Giovanni goes over and pours two glasses of scotch. After a lifetime of working together, we know each other’s rhythms. He doesn’t need to ask me if I want a drink. He just pours one out of habit. I take the glass when he hands it to me, and I drink. The liquor burns down to my stomach in one gulp, giving me the jolt I need to clear my head.
“It’s not that,” I respond. “I’m just tired of watching my back all the time.”
“It has to be done,” Giovanni reminds me, sipping his drink with caution.
“Why don’t you be the boss for a day?” I ask him.
He laughs, walking around the expensive leather sofa in my office to take a seat. We both know it’s a joke. We’re comfortable in our roles, and he’s never expressed any interest in the leadership position. I wouldn’t mind sharing the crown, but I get it. He doesn’t want the responsibility. At least I know I’ve got a few people I can trust not to go running to the Andretti family with their hands out.
As boss of the Corello crime family, I have to pay attention to a thousand things at once. I’ve got men working for me all across the city, doing a variety of things that could get them into trouble. And each and every one of those men is looking to rip me off.
There’s a fine line between positive and negative motivation, and like any other corporate leader, I have to walk it. I appreciate the loyalty of my brother and Edoardo. There are other people I can count on: my son Frankie, even though he doesn’t exactly have the stomach for the more violent parts of the job. I can also count on Marcello, my consigliere, and right-hand man after Giovanni. He saved my life, taking a bullet for me. He even tried to save my parents but failed in the end, not that he could have made much of a difference that fateful day we almost all lost our lives. The day I took the throne as the Don, I rewarded his loyalty, and he’s never let me down.
I walk to the liquor cart to pour myself another. Two at a time is all I’ll allow myself. I can’t afford to get drunk on the job, and I’m always on the job.
“I am worried we’re gonna start a war if we go poking around, but it needs to be done,” Giovanni confesses.
“Worry less,” I say. “I’ll worry. You just go do your job.”
Giovanni nods, appreciating my gruff response. He stands up to go, but then my phone pings and I wave him back into his seat.
“Who is it?” Giovanni asks.
“Frankie,” I say.
Frankie was the apple of my eye when he was born twenty-odd years ago. When his mother passed, it hurt him badly. It hurt me too, and for a long time I wasn’t able to appreciate the pain my son was in. I know he’s got a good heart, but he doesn’t focus well. This law school thing is the latest in a line of activities he’s tried over the years. He tries hard, and I wish we had more in common.
“What’s he say?” Giovanni asks.
“He says he found a tutor,” I reply, reading the optimistic text my son just sent me.
“That’s good, right?” Giovanni guesses, not sure which way I’m going to lean.
“I guess,” I admit.
“Hey, go easy on the kid,” Giovanni suggests.
I sigh. Giovanni’s right. Sometimes I let my parental expectations get the better of me. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up and follow in my father’s footsteps. There wasn’t anything that could stop me from taking my place at the head of this family, not the sight of blood, and certainly not all the work involved. I was expecting my son to be the same, but he’s looking for a different way to help out. He doesn’t want anything to do with leading the family, and he’s been clear about that. I suppose I’m a little disappointed, but I need to get over it. Frankie’s doing his best, and I need to let him follow his own path.
Where’d you find this tutor? I type. The alcohol in my system only partially makes up for my general hatred of texting. In my day, people called each other on the phone or they wrote letters. None of this smiley face, eggplant emoji crap.
Frankie: On the street.
“He says he found the tutor on the street,” I tell Giovanni.
“What, in a dumpster?” my brother scoffs.
I have to chuckle. “I’m sure she’s just some pretty girl he met.”
“More than likely,” Giovanni agrees.
Me: And how much are we paying?
First things first. I need to know how much of my hard-earned money he’s throwing away on someone who hasn’t even been vetted.