Guns, Not Roses

~Chapter Four: Does He Look Stupid?~

Paul ‘Ruthless’ Pirelli sat back in his chair and surveyed the room. To his right, sat his cousin from his mother’s side, Benji Romano, who was only twenty-two, and was as loyal as a show dog. Marco Conti, Pauly’s second-in-command, sat at his left. The other six members were already sitting at the grand, oval-shaped boardroom table, in respectful silence.

The meeting could begin.  

“I’m glad that you all arrived here on time,” said Ruthless, nodding at them all in turn. His eyes stopped on Paolo Brasi, a heavy-set, bald-headed man. “I know you support Manchester City, Paolo, my friend. You proud of their win last night?”

“It was a good game, Don Pirelli. Mancini works those boys hard,” he replied carefully. “I am only sorry for Chelsea.”

Ruthless waved one hand flippantly. “The best team won. I am not a sore loser.” He turned to look at his cousin. “And how is Theresa? The baby’s due, in what, two months?”

Benji smiled. “That’s correct. Two months. And Theresa’s fine. She wants you to visit.”

“I’ll be in the neighbourhood sometime. She only has to name a date.” Ruthless looked serious for a moment. “After all, family comes first. Am I right, brothers?”

They all nodded quickly.

“Family first, power second, and money last.” Pirelli took a sip of his water. Putting the glass down, he said, “Enough of this small talk. You are all aware that Vincent Ardeur is quietly stepping onto my turf?”

Nods.

“And none of you have decided to say anything to me about it?”

There was an interminable silence.

“Not even you, Benji? My blood relation?”

“I… I, uh, I thought –” Benji stuttered uncomfortably. He was secretly afraid of his much older cousin.

“It’s all right. Thinking is ultimately my job,” Ruthless drawled. He leaned back into the large corporate chair. “Ardeur has become quite big now. Of course, I always knew he’d be. He’s both cunning and smart. But he’s gone too far.”

“How so, Don Pirelli?” Antonio Russo.

Ruthless waited a beat. Then, “Last week, a distant aunt of mine was killed in a drive-by, by his men. She was walking home from the store. She got caught in crossfire,” he said evenly. “It doesn’t matter that I barely knew who the fuck she was. What matters is that she was family. Blood. And he, ultimately, killed her.”

Marco Conti wasn’t his second-in-command for nothing. He knew where Ruthless was going with this.

He spoke up, his voice gravelly after years of smoking. “The only family Ardeur has is his daughter,” he said slowly. “Surely you don’t mean to –”

Ruthless smiled at him. “Ah. Grazie, Conti. You truly make me happy.” He turned to the rest of the group. “I plan to organise a hit. A hit on Vincent Ardeur’s daughter. He fucked with the wrong Italian.”