The Vilenzo Family Book 1: Omertà
highlight_author
Laila Callaway
highlight_reads
635K
highlight_chapters
19
Chapter 1
Book 1: Omertà
LUCCA
“Is he ever going to show up? I’m freezing my ass off here.”
Marcello’s grumbling falls on deaf ears as I absently spin my gun around. I’m leaning against the deserted warehouse wall, bored out of my mind. There are much better places I’d rather be. After all, I have a party to attend tonight.
I push off the wall and start to pace when the glow of a car’s headlights sweeps across the open warehouse door.
“Finally,” Marcello mutters under his breath.
The car engine dies, and the doors slam shut. Rocco, my right-hand man, and Valerius drag a beaten man toward us. They toss him onto the ground, and he scrambles to his knees. He’s a bloody mess, but I’m more annoyed that he’s still breathing.
“Why is this guy still alive?” I ask, irritated.
Rocco shrugs. “Thought you might want to do the honors, Boss.”
Marcello snorts. “Bacia il culo,” he mutters, kiss ass in Italian.
Rocco shoots him a glare. “Screw you,” he retorts.
I groan. “Jesus, you’re both coglioni,” I say, using the Italian slang for testicles.
They were supposed to pick me up after getting rid of this fucker from the Russian mob who decided it was a good idea to deal in my territory. He should’ve known better.
Marcello and I had handled the local dealer that was supplying him, and these two were supposed to be here, without the Russian, thirty minutes ago. I hate tardiness.
I raise my gun and shoot the Russian between the eyes before he can beg for mercy. I hate begging too.
“Get rid of him. I’m taking the car; find your own ride. I have a party to attend, and I’m late,” I tell them, my gaze pointed.
I stride out of the building. Marcello and Valerius stay behind to deal with the body while Rocco rushes ahead to get in the driver’s seat. I slide into the car, the cool leather pressing against me.
With steady hands, I start cleaning my gun, each motion careful and routine. My gaze shifts to my suit. I smooth it down, making sure it’s perfect. Appearances are important in my line of work.
“Thanks, I needed that,” I tell Rocco, rolling my neck.
Nothing like a quick execution to kick off a celebration. I could use a drink.
ILLARIA
“Holy crap, how much money does your family have?” I exclaim, staring at the massive stone lions lining the driveway.
Georgina rolls her eyes and sighs. “Stop staring. You knew I was rich,” she says, and I scoff.
“Not this rich. This is crazy.”
Who needs this many stone lions?
I close my mouth, which had been hanging open. The party at Georgina’s parents’ nightclub is already in full swing.
We’re running a little late, but calling this place a nightclub feels like an understatement. I mean, it has its own sprawling driveway. It’s more of a mansion than anything else—luxury oozing from every corner.
I’ve never been to the club before, mainly because the cover charge alone is more than I usually spend on drinks in a night.
But tonight, Georgina’s parents are throwing a party for their business associates, and they want their only daughter there. Georgie agreed to attend, but on one condition: she could bring me as her date.
We’ve been friends since secondary school, nearly ten years. We’re both nineteen and still as close as we were back then. But she’s leaving for university in two weeks, and I’ll be alone. I try not to think about it too much. It’s going to suck.
It’s hard to believe a regular person like me became friends with someone so wealthy, but it’s all because I got a scholarship to a prestigious private school. Turns out I’m pretty smart when I apply myself.
It did mean I was the poorest kid in a school full of rich kids. It was a weird experience, but I had good friends. It turns out not all rich kids are snobs.
The only times it’s a problem are birthdays and Christmases. I can never match the gifts Georgie gives me. I’ve told her too many times not to spend so much on me, but she never listens.
She’s the reason I have a suitable dress for tonight. She bought it for my eighteenth birthday last year.
It’s designer (she’d kill me if she knew I didn’t know or care which one), with sleek black fabric that hugs my curves and a plunging neckline. The hem barely grazes mid-thigh, revealing more leg than I’m used to. It’s bold, eye-catching, and far more daring than anything I’d pick for myself.
But since it’s a party in a nightclub where I don’t know anyone, I feel confident enough to wear it. Plus, I only have one year left as a teenager, so I’m ready to make some reckless decisions and silly mistakes tonight.
“Let’s go get some drinks,” Georgina suggests, grabbing my hand.
She leads us to the long bar with neon uplighting. The bartender recognizes Georgina as the owner’s daughter and immediately comes to take our order. Everyone else has to wait in line.
What must it be like to live like this all the time? To be so rich that people literally run to serve you.
I only experience what it’s like to be this rich a few times a year, and it blows my mind each time.
We clink our cosmos together and take a sip. I scan the crowd, looking for any men who catch my eye. It’s been almost a year since I last slept with a guy. Georgina teases me about it, saying I’ve been celibate for way too long, but she gets why.
My ex was a total jerk. He seemed perfect at first, but the cracks started showing pretty quickly. I got burned, and now I’m extra protective of my heart. I’d love to fall in love again, but I need to be sure it’s with a good guy—someone who’ll take care of my heart, not break it.
This is the perfect place to find someone attractive for a night of no-strings-attached fun. While nightclubs are usually easy to find a hook-up, this place is a serious upgrade from the clubs I usually visit.
Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find someone ambitious and capable of holding a decent conversation, instead of the lazy losers that hang out at my usual spots.
Georgina catches me looking and tuts. “Illaria Laura Dupont, remember what I said. These are my father’s business associates.”
I press my lips together and nod. She’s often warned me about getting involved with her father’s colleagues. He has ties to the Mafia.
It’s not discussed in her house, but Georgina isn’t stupid. She knows what goes on behind closed doors and why her dad is so rich.
“These men are dangerous. So be careful around them. And if you really have to get involved, keep it to one night,” she whispers in my ear.
I take her warning seriously because I trust her. As I glance around the room, it’s hard not to notice the pattern—older men with stunning, much younger women draped on their arms.
The women are beautiful, but their eyes betray the real attraction here: wealth. It feels like every gold-digger in the city has found her way into this room tonight.
Movies have trained me well, and I can spot a Mafia guy a mile away. They’re all wearing suits that probably cost more than my rent. They look and smell rich.
But more than that, most of them have tattoos peeking over their collars, in their hair, or on their hands. That small detail, ink on the skin, changes the room from business associates to badass ones. You rarely hear of clean-cut CEOs covered in tattoos.
Most of them look Italian, which makes me think that’s where Georgina’s dad’s connections are: the Italian mob. I realize I’m working off of stereotypes, but it makes sense.
There’s an unsettling sense of danger hanging over the room. Something cold and dark flickers in their eyes, promising trouble—not the good kind. They look like they could snap your neck in a second without batting an eye.
It’s terrifying and exciting at the same time. It’s probably easy for me to say since I have the protection of being Georgina’s friend. But I feel safe, and it’s not like I’m a threat to them. I’m not after their money or business.
“So, just one night of fun, right?” I confirm with Georgie, and she nods.
She smiles at me and clinks our glasses against each other. “Let’s go man-hunting, girl,” she says.
