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"Twenty tons,"

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"Twenty tons,"

"Go fuck yourself,"

Luca Armani heaved out a sigh and looked at Vitterio. My brother simply shrugged, and finished rolling his cigarette.


"Go fuck yourself again,"

Lucas's fist connected with the steel table, and Vitterio jumped, "Fuck you, Rossi! You want to dry out my business!"

I took a puff of my cigarette, and leaned back in the chair, "No, you're drying out your own business by being a bad Capo. I'll give you six tons and ten good men. I'm sure your beef with the Irish will be done after that,"

"I don't want your fucking men!"

I lifted my hands then, "All right. Then you can fight the battle against the Irish mob yourself. I gave you a solution, you don't want to take it, cos'altro posso fare?"

Luca Armani was one of the Made Men from Sicily. He made his business in Irish territory and for that, he's now at war with them. It has nothing to do with me, but he agreed to give me sixty thousand dollars worth of military machine guns.

Now, this might cause some strain between the peace between the Cosa Nostra and the Irish. But, if I played my cards right, Luca would be bleeding out and half way to death within the week. Then, no more beef between Sicily and Ireland, and my treaty with the Irish would not be affected.

Owning the Cosa Nostra is one of the hardest jobs I've ever had, but it's, without a doubt, the best job.

The money is beautiful, but the power— it's addictive.

"Deal, or no deal? Decide quickly, Armani. My patience is running thin,"

"Go fuck yourself, Rossi,"

I sighed, "Your daughter already does that for me,"

And then, guns were drawn. But I could only smile. Vitterio pointed a glinting silver gun at Armani's forehead as he pointed his own gun at me.

My brother said through his cigarette smoke, "Who the fuck are you pointing your gun at, stronzo? Do you want to die?"

I stood up slowly, "Vitterio," I said, and he looked at me and slowly put the gun down.

"Luca, we're all friends here, eh? Take my deal. Make your life easier. Protect your wife and kids. The Irish are relentless, they'll kill anything that moves,"

And with that, I answered my ringing phone, and walked out of the warehouse.


"Mio Dio! Lucifer, per favore, vieni in fretta. Something has happened!

Anxiety bloomed in my chest like a spring flower, "Eh? Mamma, cosa è successo? Stai bene?"

"Sí, sí! It's not me!"

CAPITANO | BOOK ONE.Where stories live. Discover now