Chapter 2 The Heir Burden

Dante Romano had killed his first man at nineteen, but twelve years later, he still felt sick every time he had to pull the trigger.

He stood in the basement of Giuseppe's Restaurant, watching Tommy "Three Fingers" Marcelli beg for his life while chained to a support beam. The basement smelled of oregano and fear-the restaurant above served the best chicken parmigiana in Brooklyn, while the soundproofed room below served justice in the Romano family's traditional style.

"Please, Dante," Tommy whimpered, blood streaming from his broken nose. "It was just fifty grand. I was gonna pay it back, I swear on my mother's grave."

Dante adjusted his Italian silk tie and checked his Rolex-6:47 PM. His father expected this business concluded before the dinner meeting at eight. Vincent Romano didn't tolerate delays, especially when dealing with thieves who stole from the family.

"Tommy," Dante said quietly, his voice carrying the soft menace that made hardened criminals nervous. "You didn't just steal fifty thousand dollars from our construction kickbacks. You stole from my father's pocket. You stole from my pocket. You stole food from the mouths of every made man's children."

"But Dante-"

"And worse," Dante continued, drawing his .45 automatic from its shoulder holster, "you made me look like a fool in front of the other capos. They're watching to see if Vincent Romano's son is strong enough to lead this family someday."

Tommy's eyes went wide as Dante chambered a round. "No, wait! I got information! About the Torrinos! They're planning something big!"

Dante paused. Tommy Marcelli was a degenerate gambler and a thief, but he'd been running numbers for the family since Dante was in high school. The fat little man heard everything that happened on the streets.

"Talk."

"Carlos Torrino is meeting with the Colombians next week. Big shipment coming into Red Hook. Fifty kilos of pure cocaine, street value maybe eight million." Tommy's words tumbled over each other in his desperation. "They're gonna use the money to buy military weapons. AK-47s, rocket launchers, the whole package."

Dante lowered his weapon slightly. "Where's the meet?"

"Warehouse 47, pier 19. Next Tuesday, midnight." Tommy sagged in his chains, hope flickering in his eyes. "See? I'm still useful! I can keep feeding you information!"

Dante studied the pathetic man who'd once been his father's trusted lieutenant. Tommy had taught him how to count cards, how to spot an undercover cop, how to break a man's fingers without damaging the bones permanently. Now Tommy was just another problem to be solved.

"You're right, Tommy. You are useful." Dante raised his gun again. "But dead informants don't steal from the family."

The single shot echoed through the basement like thunder.

Dante holstered his weapon and pulled out his phone, speed-dialing his cousin Marco. "It's done. Send a crew to Giuseppe's basement for cleanup. Make it look like the Torrinos got to him-I want the body found in their territory."

"Any last words?" Marco's voice carried dark amusement. He'd always enjoyed the violent side of family business more than Dante did.

"He gave us intel on a Colombian shipment. Warehouse 47, pier 19, next Tuesday." Dante headed for the stairs, eager to escape the smell of blood and gunpowder. "Pass it to Papa. He'll want to plan an intercept."

"Will do, cousin. How'd Tommy take it?"

Dante paused at the basement door, looking back at the body of a man who'd once bounced him on his knee as a child. "Like a Romano. Dignity at the end."

It was a lie, but Tommy Marcelli deserved that much.

Twenty minutes later, Dante sat across from his father in the restaurant's private back room, watching Vincent Romano devour a plate of veal marsala while discussing murder with the casual tone other men used to talk about the weather.

"Good work with Tommy," Vincent said between bites. "Clean, quick, sends the right message to the other crews. A man who steals from family doesn't deserve a slow death."

Dante sipped his espresso and said nothing. At fifty-eight, Vincent Romano looked like a respectable businessman-silver hair perfectly styled, expensive suit tailored to hide the .38 revolver in his ankle holster, manicured hands that had personally strangled three men. Only his eyes gave him away-cold, calculating, completely without mercy.

"The Colombians interest me," Vincent continued. "Eight million in cocaine, plus military weapons. If we take that shipment, we hurt the Torrinos and make ourselves rich at the same time."

"It could be a trap," Dante pointed out. "Tommy was desperate. He might have told us what we wanted to hear."

"Then we'll be careful. But if it's real..." Vincent smiled, and Dante suppressed a shiver. His father's smile was the last thing many men had seen before dying. "We could end this war in one night. Kill Carlos Torrino, take his drugs, steal his weapons. The other families would have to acknowledge our strength."

Dante nodded, though privately he wondered if ending one war would just start three others. Violence bred violence in their world-every death demanded revenge, every victory created new enemies. He'd been trying to move the family toward legitimate businesses for five years, but his father still believed power came from the barrel of a gun.

"Speaking of strength," Vincent said, signaling the waiter for more wine, "I have news that will please you. The Castellano situation has been resolved."

"What situation?"

Vincent's smile widened. "Your wedding situation. Roberto Castellano and I have been negotiating an alliance for months-his territory and shipping connections, our political contacts and enforcement capabilities. Together, our families could control the entire East Coast drug trade."

Dante felt ice form in his stomach. "Papa, I told you-"

"You told me you weren't ready for marriage. But this isn't about what you want, Dante. This is about what the family needs." Vincent leaned forward, his voice dropping to the whisper he used when making threats. "Roberto's niece Lucia has agreed to the arrangement. Beautiful girl, educated in Switzerland, perfect breeding for producing the next generation of Romano leadership."

"I don't even know this woman."

"You'll learn. The engagement party is Saturday night-neutral ground at the Meridien Hotel. All five families will attend to witness the alliance." Vincent raised his wine glass in a mock toast. "Congratulations, my son. You're about to become the most powerful man in New York."

Dante stared at his father, remembering Tommy Marcelli's terrified face and wondering if this was how it felt to be trapped with no escape. "What if I refuse?"

Vincent's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "Then you're not my son, and you're not the heir to this family. Marco would be happy to take your place-he's always understood that personal desires come second to family obligations."

The threat was clear. Marry the Castellano girl and inherit an empire, or refuse and lose everything-possibly including his life. Vincent Romano didn't make idle threats, even to his own blood.

"When do I meet her?"

"Tomorrow evening. She's flying in from Switzerland for the engagement announcement." Vincent finished his wine and stood, straightening his tie. "Wear a good suit. First impressions matter, especially when you're meeting your future wife."

Dante watched his father leave, then sat alone in the private room with its red leather banquettes and oil paintings of Sicily. The restaurant continued its normal operations above-families celebrating birthdays, couples on romantic dates, tourists sampling authentic Italian cuisine. None of them knew they were eating dinner twenty feet above a room where men planned murders and arranged marriages like chess moves.

His phone buzzed with a text message from his sister Isabella: "Heard about the engagement. Sorry, big brother. Want to talk?"

Dante typed back: "Nothing to discuss. Family business."

But as he prepared to leave Giuseppe's, Dante couldn't shake the feeling that marrying a stranger from the Castellano family was going to complicate his life in ways he couldn't imagine. He'd spent years trying to modernize the Romano operations, to find ways to generate wealth without spilling blood. An alliance with Roberto Castellano-a man whose reputation for brutality made Vincent look restrained-would drag them deeper into the old ways of violence and revenge.

Still, he had no choice. In their world, family loyalty wasn't just expected-it was the difference between life and death. And if this marriage could prevent a war between the Romano and Torrino families, maybe it was worth sacrificing his personal freedom.

Dante walked out into the Brooklyn night, past the line of customers waiting for tables at Giuseppe's famous restaurant. Tomorrow night he would meet Lucia Castellano, the woman who would become his wife whether he wanted one or not. He wondered what kind of person agreed to marry a stranger for political reasons.

Probably someone as trapped by family obligations as he was.

As Dante climbed into his armored Mercedes, he made a mental note to have his security team run a complete background check on Lucia Castellano. In his experience, people who seemed too good to be true usually were hiding something dangerous.

He had no idea how right he was.