19

Nico

I’m dealing with three idiot would-be coke dealers in my dungeon. Yes, my basement is a fucking dungeon, with an underground network of tunnels that lead out into the city. You might call them catacombs, because more than one body has been buried here.

They’re kids. Young. Stupid. Easy to scare.

Security caught them moving powder in my nightclub. They could’ve called the cops, but I prefer to deal with this kind of shit in my own way. A little dose of fear goes a helluva lot farther than the threat of a badge.

I nod at my younger cousin Sal, who busts one of the guy’s nose, then pulls his head up by the hair. All three of them have been worked over by my soldiers.

“This is Mr. Tacone, owner of the Bellissimo. He has something to say to you.”

The kid is shitting himself. I walk over and look down my nose at him. “You think you can sell drugs in my club? In my casino?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tacone,” the guy on the left babbles. “W-we didn’t know who you were. That you owned this place. W