Chapter 5 - The Smell of Rats
The next morning, I called a meeting of all my capos at the back room of my legitimate front, an upscale Italian restaurant in Manhattan. The air was thick with cigar smoke and tension. News of Marco’s "disappearance" had already spread through the ranks like wildfire. They knew something was terribly wrong.
I sat at the head of the long oak table, Bruno resting faithfully at my feet. I looked at the six men sitting around me. Men I had promoted, enriched, and protected. But Marco had shattered my illusion of absolute loyalty. If my underboss could sell me out to the Volkovs, who else was on their payroll?
"Marco Ricci is dead," I announced bluntly. No sugar-coating. No euphemisms.
The men shifted uncomfortably, but no one spoke. They knew better than to interrupt.
"He betrayed this family," I continued. "He was brokering a backdoor deal with Alexei Volkov. And in the process of covering his tracks, he murdered an innocent civilian. A child. I executed him myself."
Murmurs rippled through the table. Paulie, an older capo with a scar across his cheek, leaned forward. "Boss, if Marco killed a Volkov lieutenant, Alexei is going to retaliate. He’s going to hit us hard, and he won't care about the commission's rules."
"I know," I said. "And we are going to hit them first. We are going to wipe the Volkov syndicate off the map."
A heavy silence fell. Going to war with the Russians was suicidal. They had numbers, they had military-grade weapons smuggled in through the ports, and they were utterly ruthless.
"Before we make our move," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous register, "I need to know my house is clean. Marco couldn't have negotiated with the Russians alone. He needed access codes to our shipping routes. He needed someone on the inside of our logistics."
I looked at the men. "One of you helped him."
Outrage erupted. They all started talking at once, swearing their loyalty, kissing the rings, offering their lives as collateral. I raised my hand, and the room went dead silent.
I reached under the table and snapped my fingers. Bruno stood up.
The capos looked at the dog, confused. They knew Bruno. They knew he was my shadow. But they didn't know what he had done at the funeral parlor.
"Bruno," I said softly. "Find the rat."
I gave the command in Italian, a subtle shift in tone. Bruno began to walk slowly around the table. He sniffed Paulie’s shoes, then moved on. He passed by Silvio, Tony’s cousin, without a second glance. He walked behind Joey 'The Hammer', stopping for a brief second before continuing his pacing.
The tension in the room was suffocating. Grown men, hardened killers, were holding their breath as a golden-furred dog walked behind them.
Bruno reached the end of the table. He stopped behind Carmine. Carmine was my youngest capo, a wizard with numbers, the guy who ran our port logistics. He was sweating profusely.
Bruno didn't just growl. He lunged.
With a terrifying snarl, Bruno’s front paws slammed into Carmine’s back, pinning the man against the table. His massive jaws snapped inches from Carmine’s neck. Carmine screamed, throwing his hands up to protect his face.
"Call him off! Boss, please! Call him off!" Carmine shrieked, tears streaming down his face.
"Did you give Marco the shipping schedules?" I demanded, not moving an inch.
"Yes! Yes, God forgive me, I did! They offered me half a million! I didn't know about the girl, I swear to God I didn't know!"
I whistled sharply. Bruno immediately backed off, though he kept his eyes locked on Carmine, teeth still bared. The room was utterly silent again.
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"Tony," I said wearily. "Take Carmine downstairs. Find out everything he told the Russians. Everything. And then..." I didn't need to finish the sentence.
I looked at the remaining four capos. They were pale, staring at me—and my dog—with newfound, absolute terror. "Our house is clean," I said. "Now, we prepare for war."
