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Lighting my cigarette, I sat amongst my men in the small parlour of Mario's family home—Mario being one of my enforcers.
With the police still lurking around, our usual spots to discuss business had to be changed. Mario's family home would house one of those locations.
As tired as I was with the antics of the police, I knew there was nothing I could do about it except wait it out. They couldn't keep tabs on us forever, somehow, someway something else would take their attention off of us and I waited patiently for that time to come.
"Are we still to go ahead for the search for Vincenzo?" Leo questioned from where he sat adjacent to me.
I wasn't sure myself.
My father's orders were to not attack Vincenzo—he made that very clear. However, he never said I couldn't search for him.
I pondered on the thought, tempted to continue the search when I decided against it. It still went against my father's wishes in some form as by searching for Vincenzo, it simultaneously meant looking for war, and that was the last thing he wanted.
I wouldn't do it, especially not behind my father's back. That idea alone was akin to betrayal and betrayal was the highest form of disrespect. Betrayal would get you killed, regardless of your ties and your position in the Famiglia.
"We'll leave it. The Don wishes to let things play out first." I replied rather begrudgingly. This isn't what I wanted but it's what had to be done.
My men shared looks, probably thinking the same as I did but they knew better than to protest against it.
"What about the other informants? Do we leave 'em do what they were sent to do?" Ragi chimed in, a close associate of mine.
Considered an outsider to most due to his mixed background, he was accepted into the Famiglia due to his father's connections. Though he would never be able to become a made-man due to his mixed heritage, his father's connection to our family provided him with some leeway.
His father being Sicilian and his mother Indian, it was a union not many would accept due to the fact that Ragi wasn't a pure blooded Italian or Sicilian—the one important factor to becoming a made-man. However, in his case, he was well respected. His father was a high ranking soldier of my father's before he passed away.
"We'll just have to. Interfering will only make Vincenzo paranoid. If we make him believe we know nothing, he'll eventually slip up and show his hand. Only then will we strike." I said with a slight shrug, taking another drag of my cigarette.
"You boys sure you're not hungry?!" Mario's mother waltzed out of the joined kitchen, prepared to make the five of us present a meal.
"I'm okay, Mrs Corigliano," Sergio spoke up, and the rest of us murmured in agreement, declining her offer.
