—and the chaos began.
Inside the office of the restaurant and bar Alveare
“…Ronny still isn’t back?”
Molsa Martillo, the Martillo Family’s caposocietà, was speaking with Maiza Avaro, the family’s contaiuolo.
“No. He hasn’t sent word, either… This has never happened before.”
“Hmm…”
To Molsa, Maiza seemed superficially calm. However, his subtle gestures weren’t quite the same as usual; he was rattled.
“Well, he has ‘vanished suddenly’ before, from time to time. He told me it would happen when he joined the family. I took him on in the full knowledge of that, and Ronny has done enough work to make up for it. Wouldn’t you say so?”
“Yes. He’s saved the family time and time again.”
“The neighboring outfits probably think we can’t do anything if he’s not here. That includes the Runoratas.” Molsa chuckled.
Maiza hastily began to deny it. “That’s not—”
“Wait, not so fast. I didn’t say that to run us down.”
“?”
“I’m only saying this because I’m convinced that Ronny is fine, but…” Maiza didn’t physically react, but there was a question in his eyes. Molsa went on evenly. “What I’m getting at is that this is a juicy situation for us.”
“It is…?”
“We’ve got a whole bunch of outfits at that casino party, all in one place, and the Melvi kid who’s with the Runoratas messed with our family. Right now, the Martillos and the Runoratas look ready to go to the mattresses. Lots of people probably see it as a fight between a shark and a sardine… No, I bet they only see us as shark bait.”
As a matter of fact, the Martillo Family was one of the smallest syndicates in New York, and it didn’t have the sort of network the mafia outfits had. Like the Gandors, they were a tiny, independent organization that defended their small territory in isolation.
However, while their territory was small, it was Manhattan territory.
Lots of organizations would have liked to get their hands on those concessions if they could. The Runoratas probably thought the turf would make a perfect first step toward taking a bigger chunk of Manhattan.
“Not only that, but our linchpin Ronny Schiatto isn’t here… Isn’t that great? We don’t even have to pretend to be weak; the other guys have all let their guards down already. I know Bartolo Runorata isn’t a man to get careless, but from what I hear…I’m not sure that holds for Melvi, and he’s the one who picked a fight with us.”
“True, he does sound very confident in himself.”
Melvi Dormentaire bore a strong resemblance to Maiza’s little brother Gretto.
Maiza had mixed feelings about this, and he did want to know the other man’s real identity and where he’d come from. However, now wasn’t the time to focus on that.
Melvi had messed with his family. Even if he’d been his actual brother, Maiza had pledged to his syndicate that he’d take his knife to any enemies of the family. It had taken a lot of work, but at this point, he saw Melvi as an enemy, plain and simple.
Tapping a finger firmly on his desk, Molsa filled Maiza in on their game plan. “But we can’t sit here jawing about some guy we’ve never met and using our imaginations to fill in the blanks. That’s a surefire way to get sloppy. Firo’s the one who’s met him in person. When it comes to what we do at the casino, maybe we should trust his judgment the most.”
Wearing a smile that seemed somehow boyish on his seasoned, elderly face, Molsa turned to the handful of men who were in the room.
“Every once in a while, we should let Ronny know he doesn’t have to worry.