CHAPTER 4

"Power is not brute force and money; power is in your spirit. Power is in your soul. It is what your ancestors, your elders, and your gods gave you." - Winona LaDuke

Piero Antonio POV

As I held the phone to my ear, the distant voice of my oldest son, Fabiano, reached me. His words were concise, reflecting the efficient nature of our conversations. I could sense the detached demeanor that surrounded him, a characteristic shared by all my sons.

They exuded a cold and deadly aura wherever they went, their emotions veiled behind a hardened exterior. In that moment, I couldn't help but yearn for a daughter, someone who could bring a touch of sweetness and warmth to their formidable presence.

"Son, I appreciate you keeping an eye on the businesses. I will be home soon," I responded, my voice filled with a mix of responsibility and power. The burden of my duties as a father and a leader of the family was always at the forefront of my mind, even as I navigated the treacherous world of organized crime.

Fabiano's response was swift and to the point, his words cutting through the air with precision. "The paperwork is piling up, Dad. We need your signature on important documents. When will you return?"

I sighed, a hint of weariness seeping into my voice. "I understand the urgency, son. I am dealing with some matters that require my attention here."

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture Fabiano's stoic expression as he considered my words. Finally, he spoke, his tone unchanged. "Make sure you handle those matters quickly, Dad. We need you here."

The call ended, leaving me with a mix of pride and concern. My sons had inherited not only my business acumen but also the weight of our family legacy.

As I looked out the window at the bustling streets of New York, I couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a balance between the world I had built and the desire for a softer, more affectionate presence within it.

As I descended the stairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the enticing scent of a sumptuous breakfast. Santino, one of my trusted associates, sat at the table, already engrossed in his morning meal. The maid, trembling and anxious, placed my coffee before me, her hurried departure indicating her apprehension in my presence.

Seated across from Santino, I took a sip of the steaming beverage, allowing the rich flavor to awaken my senses. It was during this moment of respite that Santino broached the subject of Mr. Perez's debt, the deadline for which loomed ominously.

"Boss, today marks the deadline for Mr. Perez's debt. Shall I assign some of our men to handle the matter, or do you wish to personally visit him at his residence?" Santino inquired, his voice laced with a mix of caution and deference.

A flicker of disdain crossed my face at the mention of Perez's name. The audacity of his transgressions gnawed at my patience, fueling a fiery determination to exact what was rightfully mine. The thought of visiting his abode personally, imposing my presence upon him, held a certain satisfaction.

"I will personally pay a visit to that wretched man's house," I replied, my tone brimming with contempt. "I want to witness his trepidation firsthand when he realizes the gravity of his actions. Let him understand the consequences he shall face for his deceit."

Santino merely shrugged in response, accustomed to my preference for hands-on involvement in matters of importance. However, a slight smirk played at the corner of my lips, betraying my amusement at his nonchalance.

I added with a hint of annoyance, "how many times must I remind you that you can address me by my name when we are in private? Save the formalities for others."

Santino, unperturbed by my display of irritation, simply shrugged once more, seemingly unfazed by my request. The familiarity between us spoke volumes of our shared history and the trust I placed in him. Yet, a brief expletive slipped through my thoughts, silently condemning his stubbornness.

As we stood outside Mr. Perez's rundown house, a nagging sense of unease continued to gnaw at my consciousness. The unsettled feeling grew stronger during our journey, each passing mile adding to the weight of anticipation that pressed upon my chest. I knew that entering this bastard's dwelling would not be a mere formality; there was an underlying danger that lurked within those walls.

Santino, ever the steadfast companion, rapped on the weathered door, which swung open to reveal a disheveled Mr. Perez, his face contorted with anger and his voice slurred by intoxication. The sight of him in such a state both disgusted and intrigued me, igniting a flicker of morbid curiosity as to what awaited us inside.

In his inebriated state, Mr. Perez seemed taken aback by my personal visit. His words, laden with an air of resentment and surprise, invited us into his humble abode. With caution and a heightened sense of vigilance, I followed Santino across the threshold, my men filing in behind me.

What I witnessed within those walls struck me with a peculiar sense of dissonance. The house, shockingly clean, stood in stark contrast to the squalor that surrounded it. Yet, the putrid stench of stale alcohol and the scattered remnants of meth pockets polluted the air, casting a sinister pall over the apparent cleanliness. It was a scene that hinted at a darker reality beneath the surface, a fragile illusion of normalcy desperately maintained amidst a world of addiction and decay.

Santino's gaze met mine, his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and trepidation. His voice trembled slightly as he uttered words that both intrigued and alarmed me. "Boss, you should prepare yourself for who's behind that couch."

As I stood before the couch, bracing myself for what lay behind it, a surge of emotions flooded through me as I beheld a sight that struck me to the core. There, passed out amidst the remnants of addiction, was my ex-wife Natalia. It had been three long years since our divorce, but the wounds of her betrayal still seared within me.

Natalia, the mother of my child, had chosen greed and treachery over loyalty and love. She had sold vital mafia information to the Russians, compromising the safety of my men and ultimately leading to the deaths of members of my family. It was a betrayal that had shattered the foundation of trust upon which our marriage had once stood.

In that moment, as I gazed upon her fallen form, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions churned within me. Anger, hurt, and resentment surged through my veins, threatening to consume the last vestiges of compassion I harbored for her. I could feel the weight of her choices, the consequences of her actions, pressing upon me like a suffocating vice.

Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that raged within, a profound sense of responsibility and respect for the role she played in our children's lives stayed my hand. I had chosen not to take her life, for she remained the mother of our child, and I believed it was important to honor that connection, no matter how strained it may be.

It was Natalia who bore the blame for the cold demeanor our son displayed. Her choices had irrevocably altered the trajectory of his life, leaving him scarred by the betrayal of his own mother. In that moment, the memories of her betrayal resurfaced, fueling a burning anger that threatened to consume me.

As I stood there, my gaze fixated on her crumpled form, a myriad of thoughts and emotions collided within me. The sight of her ravaged by meth and consumed by anger served as a stark reminder of the devastation her actions had wrought upon us all. It was a moment that forced me to confront the depths of her betrayal and the lasting impact it had on our lives.

With a heavy heart, I turned away from Natalia, leaving her to confront the consequences of her choices. Though she had fallen far from grace, her presence served as a constant reminder of the importance of loyalty, honor, and the lengths one would go to protect those they cared for.

With a dismissive wave of my hand, I instructed Santino and my men to leave Natalia behind. Her presence held no significance in that moment, overshadowed by the pressing matter at hand. My focus remained fixed on Mr. Perez, the man who owed me a debt that could not be ignored.

The disdain and annoyance I felt towards Perez were palpable as I confronted him, demanding my money with an icy tone that left no room for negotiation. I had grown tired of his deceit and evasive tactics. The time for mercy had long passed, and I made it clear that the consequences for non-compliance would be severe.

Trembling, Perez handed over the money, his face etched with a mixture of fear and a desperate attempt at bravado. His feeble attempt to mask his anxiety with a smug expression did not go unnoticed. I knew better than to trust his words alone, so I had Santino meticulously count the funds to ensure their accuracy.

Once the count confirmed that the money was indeed complete, a fleeting sense of satisfaction washed over me. The debt had been repaid, albeit under duress. Without a second glance at Natalia, we swiftly exited the squalid dwelling, leaving behind the remnants of a life I had long discarded.

As we made our way out of that hell hole, my focus shifted to the path ahead. The encounter with Natalia had served as a stark reminder of the betrayals and hardships that had shaped my life, but it also reinforced my unwavering determination to protect those who remained loyal to me.

My ex-wife's presence, though painful, could no longer divert my attention from the bigger picture. The pursuit of power, justice, and the preservation of my family's honor demanded unwavering resolve. Natalia, consumed by her own vices and choices, had become nothing more than a painful memory, fading into the depths of my past as I forged ahead.

As we made our way towards our next destination, a sudden thought struck me. With the late hour and the need for a brief respite, I decided to stop at a nearby convenience store. It was important to maintain the morale and camaraderie of my men, and a small gesture like providing them with snacks would go a long way in fostering that sense of unity.

Santino and I entered the store, the bell above the door announcing our arrival. The dimly lit space was filled with an array of snacks and beverages, providing a brief reprieve from the darkness that cloaked our endeavors. As my men scattered throughout the store, selecting their preferred treats, I took a moment to observe my surroundings.

It was then that I noticed a police car zooming by in a flurry of flashing lights and blaring sirens. My instincts immediately went on high alert. The timing of the police presence, coupled with the urgency of their movement, sparked a surge of caution within me.