Cosa Nostra

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Three children stood in perfect formation, their suits crisp and their hair trimmed like a blade had narrowly missed their necks. They were, technically, no longer children—they were heirs: two sons on the outside and a daughter placed in the middle, all staring straight ahead with their hands folded neatly behind them. Their prim and proper stance was really only suited to the youngest son, who preferred sugar and milk in his coffee and perfume on his wrists to conceal the stench of gunpowder.

Their trade was what people referred to as a ma and pop business, as it was founded by their predecessors and run by the family—cosa nostra, some called it. Our thing. Some wanted nothing more than to be released from the business, but it wasn’t a freedom easily given. The three heirs were to be the pillars of the trade. They were triplets, and appropriately so—they all shared a gleam of treachery in their eyes and a chip of family rites on their shoulders. When the youngest let his gaze search the room, however, his smile made him differ from his vicious siblings. Their lips held expressions of spite, while his held one of gratitude; he was glad to have been born into his power. The only thing he had been unhappy with was the fact that he had to share it with his brother and sister.

It’s obvious, their lovely mother crooned as she looked upon her husband, "that Klaus will receive your position. He will make a fine sottocapo." The youngest son perked up, reveling in his mother’s pride.

We all know damn well what he’ll receive, their father spat. And he’ll receive it because I don’t have any other choice! The issue is what I should give to my other unfaithful children. He shifted in his seat, scratching his balding scalp. His wife, aging and lovely like a fine wine, smiled gently at her children. Corwin and Motavo should share my position, she suggested. "Don’t you think, marito?" The old man simply grumbled in reply. He stood up from his chair and glared hotly at his three heirs.

"Ha! Name these two as my consiglieri? Don’t make me laugh. How can they be trusted to negotiate on our family’s behalf when they can’t even be trusted to find their own heads with both hands and a map?" He ran his fingers through the remaining gray hairs on his head. The father spoke with ferocity, but his children did not fear him.

Matias, the woman said to her husband. They’re still young, barely old enough to be called adults. Give them time.

Time, Serah? Really? the old man retorted. "These ungrateful sons-of-bitches come into my office and expect me to reward them for their insolence and inaction? Dio onnipotente, I just don’t know how much more I can take of this! He sat back down in his chair. Just get out, you three. Get the hell out before I sic the dogs on you." His children obeyed. They retreated to the hall.

"Wonderful job, fratelli, Klaus chimed at his brother and sister once they were out of Matias’s earshot. How noble of you two to allow me all the glory of being Padre’s favorite. Bravo!" He clapped to himself, his grin making the other two shake in fury.

"Pezzo di merda, Corwin cursed him, clenching her teeth. You are not the favorite; Padre has no more trust in you than he does in us. He doesn’t even bother to look in your direction."

The man didn’t flinch.

Your pride will fall flat someday, his sister spat. She pushed up the sleeves of her black suit coat and stormed away, muttering curses under her breath. Motavo went to follow her, but was stopped by his brother. Klaus put a hand on Motavo’s shoulder and gave him a smile.

Although our sister simply cannot make up her mind, I know that you are more reasonable, Klaus cooed. "There is always time to join me. Just think of it, Motavo. We could be more than this pitiful bunch of upstarts—we could change things. Imagine the entire country not only knowing our family name—but fearing it. We could spread the glory of Sicily here in America. He released his brother’s shoulder. I know you’d love that, brother. I know better than anyone." Klaus strode down the opposite hallway.

The De Lucas were a powerful family even to those unaware of their mafia affiliation. The family owned casinos, hotel chains, gentleman’s clubs and many other such services all across the entire nation. Behind red velvet curtains, however, they dealt in the sale of black market goods: weapons, drugs, and secrets. Their influence spanned the country and even further. They had associates and fences and spies everywhere of note. They were untouchable. Anyone who knew of the mafia knew to fear the name De Luca.

Matias and his wife Serah hailed from Sicily, coming to the United States in their early age and building their life as immigrants. It wasn’t long before Matias, who came from a long line of Sicilian mafiosi, made his family name known in America. He spent his entire life building a legacy—a legacy that eventually was born as three siblings. Triplets. Three children who would inspire fear in anyone that came across them. They were the arms and legs of the De Luca clan. All who stood in their way were cut down.

"Come and look, fratello, the Sicilian woman cooed, beckoning her brother with a curling finger. Klaus is having a moment."

Motavo followed his sister down the hallway, both of them sneaking through the blackness, careful of the sounds their movements would make. Klaus rarely was able to detect them, as sneaking and creeping was never his specialty. When the twins peeked through the windows out onto the veranda, they saw their pale brother out under the night sky, pacing back and forth. He was talking to himself. They could make out bits and pieces of what he was saying by reading his lips, but otherwise, Klaus’s voice was muffled unintelligibly by the glass.

He’s barking mad, Motavo mumbled to his sister. This is nothing new.

Look closer, brother, Corwin urged him. Motavo looked again at his raving brother and noticed someone else was out on the veranda with him. There was a man—someone that Motavo didn’t recognize—sitting on the bench with his legs crossed and his hands behind his head in a relaxed position.

Who is that? Motavo whispered in Italian. I’ve never seen him before.

I am unsure. A lover, perhaps?

That’s unlikely. Klaus is uninterested in older men. That person looks as if he’s maybe—

Ah, maybe an unauthorized member of the mafia? One who has yet to pledge his oath? Corwin put her hands together quietly, her eyes widening in the moonlight that shone through the window. "Now that would be delicious. What could our dear brother be planning that would require a man who has not sworn his loyalty to the De Lucas?"

It’s probably for something ridiculous, Motavo argued with his sister. You know that all his schemes are nonsense. He’s a basket case.

Perhaps, Corwin mused, but my interest is piqued. The woman watched Klaus and the unknown man speak intently. Motavo watched, as well, but he was uninterested in what foolish plans Klaus could have been making with the man. His sister was much more entertained by such things than he was.

I’m going to bed, Motavo sighed, standing up and walking away.

Suit yourself, Corwin purred. But you’d best stay alert, brother. Something very interesting may be happening sooner than you think.

The flickering of lights, chatter of drunken patrons and thumping of music always gave Motavo a headache. Irrespective of how little he enjoyed his time at the casinos, Motavo never missed an opportunity to appear with his triplets in a show of influence. As the appendages of the De Luca clan, the siblings were called to figuratively, as well as literally, show the reach of their family. Klaus, in particular, loved such occasions.

Let’s flip the coin again, Corwin suggested to her brothers. I’ve got a good feeling about it.

It’s come up as heads for the last twenty-nine times, Motavo grumbled. Your luck is going to run out, soon.

It isn’t luck. The woman rubbed the coin between her thumb and her index finger. It’s a fifty-fifty chance. Realistically, the coin could come up as heads for a thousand more flips and still remain a fifty-fifty chance each time it’s flipped.

"Bullshit. That isn’t realistic at all. If the coin landed on heads over and over, the probability of it coming up as heads would get less each time. The odds would stack up. Realistically, no coin only lands on heads a thousand times."

The previous flip of a coin has nothing to do with the next, the woman explained with a mischievous bat of her eyelashes. What, do you think one side gets heavier each time it’s flipped?

Motavo huffed in irritation. He and his brother watched intently as their sister flipped the coin and slapped it on the back of her hand. She revealed the coin. It was heads.

Incredible, Klaus cooed. What are the odds of this happening thirty times in a row?

Fifty-fifty.

Motavo drummed his fingers on the table.

We should drink more, the palest of the three chimed with a cheeky smile. His brother rolled his eyes.

"The point of the casino visits is to keep a level head and to exploit others’ weaknesses, not our own, he argued. We let the others drink. We just watch."

And flip coins, Corwin added.

The two brothers looked over at their sister who sat beside them; the woman suddenly had two ladies on her arms: a petite blonde with a long cigarette holder in her fingers and a tall hourglass-shaped beauty. They had returned with drinks for themselves and Corwin. The Sicilian woman looked perfectly content to be the center of the girls’ attention. The atmosphere of the casino—loud and dizzying—didn’t bother her one bit.

A few drinks never hurt anybody, she mused. We are the law here. What have we to fear? She was handed a glass of wine from one of her companions and given a kiss that was followed by a girlish giggle. Smoke trailed from Corwin’s lips—residual from the breath of the blonde at her side—appearing as wisps against the blue glow of the nearest lights. The siblings sat on a raised arrangement of red leather couches; the area was fenced off to others. They had a view of the entire main rotunda of the casino.

We have plenty to be wary of, Motavo insisted to his triplets. We have an image to keep—we should be vigilant. We can’t miss an opportunity to keep people in line.

Speaking of which… Klaus whistled, gesturing with an absent hand to a man rushing in their direction.

Masters and Mistress De Luca, the man called to them. He approached the closed ropes on the border of the raised platform. His breath was choppy. We have winners. They’ve capped the limit on one of the machines. What should we do?

Were they cheating? Corwin inquired.

No—no cheating, miss—just lucky.

Finally, some excitement! Klaus cheered, his eyes lighting up behind his long white lashes.

Motavo stood and faced the man. Gather two others and politely ask the individuals to follow you to the back room, he instructed. We’ll be waiting in there to speak with them.

Yes, sir. The man scurried off in the opposite direction. Motavo, turning to his siblings, watched as they got to their feet. Corwin gave kisses to her lady companions and sent them along their way, much to their dismay. The De Lucas left their platform and headed to the back room, behind velvet curtains.

When the door to the room opened, two young men were brought in and sat down before the triplets. Klaus, sitting in a chair with crossed legs, was surrounded on both sides by his siblings; the twins chose to stand.

Having a good time tonight, gentlemen? the pale man asked with a smile. The two young men gave each other nervous glances as Klaus continued speaking. The whole place is filled with praise for you two. You’re quite skilled with the slot machines tonight, hm?

We didn’t mean to cause a scene, one of the young men blurted out. We just got lucky, we swear! We weren’t cheating! His companion elbowed him hard in the ribs to silence him. Klaus let out an amused giggle. Motavo could sense his sister smiling beside him.

Who said anything about cheating? Klaus asked with a shake of his head. I’m accusing nobody of such a thing. I’m complimenting your skill. He leaned his chin onto an upward palm. The two young men before the De Lucas were frozen in fear.

We aren’t in trouble? one of them gulped. Motavo could feel the excitement radiating from his siblings. He would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t also caught up in the energy. The occasions during which the triplets were given free reign to intimidate and terrorize were some of their most cherished.

Klaus pulled his silver-barreled revolver from his pocket. The two young men tried to spring to their feet and flee, but they were held down by the mafiosi behind them. They were restrained in their seats. One began to cry.

Goodness, what’s gotten you so worked up? Klaus mused. He took out a silky cloth and began to polish the barrel of his weapon. He observed it with mock interest. Listen, my friends, we aren’t here to hurt you. We aren’t here to take your winnings—gracious me, your luck is well-deserved. He gave a grin to the frightened captives. We only want to give you a fair warning. As we all know, luck is bound to run out at some point. Stroking the trigger gently, Klaus dismissively aimed the revolver at the two young men. It would be such a sad night if you were to continue pressing your good luck only to end up with nothing. He cocked the gun. So we think it best that you collect your earnings and take a ride home. What do you think?

The two men frantically nodded. They would’ve done anything to be released at that point. Motavo was a bit surprised that Klaus was letting them go so easily.

Good choice, the albino man purred. Luck is fragile. It’s better to not test it.

While Klaus continued on taunting the young victims, Motavo observed, from the corner of his eye, his sister discreetly take the coin from her pocket and flick it into the air. His eyes followed it as it flew upwards and fell onto the floor. When it landed, Motavo saw the face of the coin staring back at him.

The splintering of wood and splattering of blood made a noise that some mafiosi cherished. A groan, a thump, and a wheeze followed suit. Motavo regained his breath and lifted what was left of a baseball bat, slinging it over his shoulder. He used his free hand to wipe droplets of blood from his cheek. Corwin stood beside him, absolutely glowing with excitement.

Are you sorry? she jeered, her eyes wide and unmoving from their target.

Please, have mercy, the battered man begged with his remaining strength. It was surprising that he was even conscious after the blows that had been dealt to his skull. Crimson streams trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. Motavo kept his wince to himself, but he empathized with the man for a moment—blood in the eyes stung like a bitch.

"Are you sorry?" Corwin demanded, her adrenaline level seeming to spike from the desperation in the man’s eyes. The poor target nodded fiercely with his folded hands against his forehead in a plea. Motavo glanced at his sister and observed her posture and elated expression. Her eyes were swimming. Motavo wouldn’t have been surprised if she had started drooling. She was a wolf, and the man before her was simply meat.

I’m sorry, Mistress De Luca, the man pleaded. I will never betray the family again! I beg you, please spare my life and I will prove myself!

You pledge yourself to the family? Corwin asked, nearly breathless.

Yes. Yes, I pledge myself to the De Lucas!

Corwin inhaled deeply, her eyelids sliding shut over her wild eyes, and smiled.

Good. Her eyes opened slightly, just to peer over at her brother. "Riposa in pace." Motavo couldn’t even blink before his sister had torn the man’s throat open with the knife she had hidden in her boot. A shower of red fell over her, coating her olive skin and long black hair with glittering rubies. She reveled in the experience.

Motavo always felt strange to see his sister in such a state. Corwin seemed to love being in the mafia simply because she could fulfill her adrenaline addiction without fear of being persecuted. The De Lucas were untouchable and she knew it.

Corwin shuddered as she ripped the knife out of the corpse, exhaling sharply. She licked her lips.

It feels inappropriate for a brother to see his sister acting this way, Motavo mumbled.

"Oh, fratello, don’t act so holier-than-thou," Corwin scolded him.

Is that a new English phrase you learned that you’ll be using nonstop?

I do love the American way of speech.

Hm. Motavo threw the splintered baseball bat to the ground and went to pick up the body of their target. You know, there wasn’t a mark on him. He wasn’t even that much of a threat. We were only supposed to make him regret his betrayal.

Well, he certainly regrets it now, no? Corwin giggled. Motavo grunted in reply as he lifted the leftovers of the man into his arms and carried it to the dumpster a few yards away. He threw him inside and closed the lid, brushing off his shirt.

"Such a messy kill. We’ll have to have the mafiosi come and clean up the blood. You bled him like that on purpose, didn’t you?"

Corwin scoffed. Don’t make me laugh,