Two Weeks Later,
Life back in the Almano Crime Family felt surprisingly good; it was a strange contrast to the chaos we were used to. For starters, Tony was finally released from the hospital after what seemed like an eternity. The doctors had deemed him fit enough to leave, granted he would need to have monthly visits just as a checkup.
Henry and I found ourselves immersed in different kinds of work. Our days usually consisted of collecting debts from people who had either severe gambling or drug addictions. The work was a far cry from the shit we were once doing as mercenaries, where every day felt like a gamble with fate.
To be honest, I wasn't complaining. There was something almost comforting about going to a job without the constant fear of gunfire or ambush. The worst we faced were a few rough encounters that sometimes required us to teach the addicts a lesson or two, usually involving nothing more than a couple of well-placed punches to remind them of their debts.
One afternoon, the three of us gathered in the main office of the newly renovated family manor. The décor combined modern and classical elements, boasting grand chandeliers and leather furniture, giving it an air of both power and comfort. Luca leaned back in his chair, a slice of pizza in one hand, crumbs dusting his shirt and tie.
“I told you this would be better than being a merc,” he said, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “You’ve been back for two weeks, and in that time, you haven't been shot at.”
Henry, always the sensible one, furrowed his brow. “That may be true, but all it takes is one job for us to get our hands dirty again,” he remarked, his voice laced with caution.
Just then, a sharp, forceful knock interrupted our conversation, reverberating off the stark, concrete walls of the dimly lit office.
“Yeah!” Luca yelled, his voice tinged with frustration, not bothering to conceal his irritation at the interruption.
One of the soldiers stepped inside, his posture rigid and disciplined, like a statue come to life. He cleared his throat and reported in a clipped tone, “Mrs. Elizabeth Peralez is requesting a meeting with you, sir.” Luca exchanged furtive glances with Henry and me, a quick, silent agreement passing between us, before he nodded curtly, signaling for the soldier to allow her entry.
As Elizabeth entered the room, Luca quickly wiped the remnants of tomato sauce from his mouth with a pristine white napkin, straightened his posture, and extended his hand with practiced ease. Mrs. Peralez exuded a commanding presence, her tailored navy suit accentuating her professionalism and authority. There was a palpable air of urgency about her, sharp enough to cut through the lingering smell of our lunch.
“Mrs. Peralez. What a pleasure it is to have you join us,” Luca began, his tone smooth and inviting, masking the tension that was starting to coil in the air. “These two are my closest associates, Max and Henry.”
Without taking a moment to catch her breath, Elizabeth took a seat across from Luca, her demeanor shifting to an assertive, no-nonsense approach. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, my husband is running for a second term as mayor. Recently, however, we’ve encountered some unforeseen complications within our campaign.”
“What sort of complications?” I inquired, an unease creeping into my voice as I noted Elizabeth's troubled expression.
She reached into her elegant leather bag—its surface gleaming under the fluorescent lights—and produced a small, glimmering datashard, placing it carefully on the polished table between us. “Three days ago, we received this,” she said, her voice firm but edged with worry. “If this information leaks to the press, our reputation will be destroyed, and we’d likely have to enter witness protection.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Henry quickly picked up the datashard, sliding it into a sleek device nearby. A moment later, strands of data flickered across the screen, and I watched as his face drained of color.
“This isn’t good…” he murmured, his usually confident demeanor wavering.
Luca leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in focus. “Well, Mrs. Peralez, that sounds like a predicament we might be inclined to assist you with,” he replied, weighing his words carefully. “But I need to know one thing: what’s in it for us? What are you prepared to offer?”
Elizabeth met his gaze with unwavering determination. “I can leverage my influence to ensure that the NCPD ignores your activities,” she proposed, her voice steady, but a hint of urgency bubbled beneath the surface. “From what I've gathered, Mr. Almano, you're looking to reclaim the top spot as the city’s leading figure in the underworld.”
A wave of discomfort washed over me at her use of the term "underworld." “Mrs. Peralez, we’re not gangsters. We’re businessmen, and our operations happen to exist within the grey areas of the law,” I retorted, striving to clarify our position.
“Nevertheless, that’s my offer,” Elizabeth stated, her expression resolute as she laid down her final proposition with calculated precision. “Assist us with this threat, and I can ensure the NCPD turns a blind eye.”
Luca paused, exchanging wary glances with Henry and me, weighing the risks and benefits. “I’ll contact you regarding our final decision. I’ll have one of my soldiers escort you out. Have a good day,” he concluded, his tone shifting to a more formal cadence.
The two shook hands, and as Elizabeth exited Luca’s office, a palpable tension hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. Once the door clicked shut behind her, Luca reached for a packet of already-open cigarettes resting on his desk. He placed one between his lips but hesitated before lighting it, directing his gaze at Henry, curiosity mingling with concern.
“What does the datashard say?” he asked, his tone now serious.
Henry gingerly removed the shard and placed it back on the table. “It’s a blackmail letter. They say that they have evidence of money laundering and a pyramid scheme that, allegedly, Jefferson agreed to. But the most damaging information? Plans to instigate a fifth corpo war, aimed at completely resetting the power dynamics in this city. They are demanding 5 million eddies by the end of the week, or they will release the evidence.” He explained, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very implications could be overheard.
“Fuck… No wonder she came to us for help,” I murmured, still processing the gravity of the revelations and the risks now laid before us.
With determination replacing the earlier humor in his demeanor, Luca finally removed the cigarette from his mouth. “I’ll call her and set up a meeting for tomorrow at noon. You two can go for now; I’ll reach out if I need either of you for anything else,” he said, making it clear that this conversation was far from over.
With Luca granting me and Henry the rest of the day off, I decided to head over to my new place in Corpo Plaza. Given all the chaos that had unfolded recently, I was eager to leave my old apartment in Japantown behind.
I made the leap to secure a new home—one that was not only nicer but also situated far away from the asshole neighbors. I managed to find an apartment in Corpo Plaza, the kind of place that separated the rich from the poor.
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by glossy hardwood floors and well-painted walls. Everything was well-maintained, and the layout made it effortless to move from room to room.
What truly set this place apart was the view. My old apartment in Japantown had a dreary outlook—a patchy view of a few concrete buildings and a sliver of the highway beyond.
In contrast, my new apartment was perched high enough to see cars zooming by as well as the city center.
Standing there, I felt as though I was on the cusp of a fresh start, a new chapter unfolding before me. As I continued to take in the scenery, my phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the momentary peace. I pulled it out to find a text message from Luca that read.
“Charter Hill, Westbrook, 1:45 PM. Bring a piece in case things get violent.”
