"Your face," Dante said with a smirk.

The chattering around them quieted again.

"My fa-"

"That mess of hair above your lip. Get it gone."

"But-"

Dante held up a single hand. "The rules are clear: no facial hair. I didn't make the fucking rules, I just enforce them. By next month, it better not be there."

Leo's jaw clenched. "And I suppose Giovanni's three day scruff doesn't bother you a bit, does it?"

"He's not sporting a mustache, asshole. It's not the same thing."

"Yeah," Gio said, grinning like a fool across the booth. "Besides, I don't wear this look to be cute. I wear it because my wife likes the feeling of it on her-"

"Gio," Lucian cautioned.

"I was going to say her cheek, cafone."

Dante laughed. "No, you weren't."

Business as usual.

Conversation milled around the dining room at a dull roar as Dante's mother and his sisters-in-law served the table. Dante didn't think the Marcello tradition of having a large supper for their close friends and immediate family would ever change. He wondered whose house would be the next to take on the near impossible task of feeding twenty or more people after an entire morning and afternoon in church.

"How'd you do on Wednesday?" Antony asked Paulie from his spot at the head of the table.

"Good. Beat my overall."

Antony laughed. "You're the only fool I know who still likes to bowl."

"It's a good hobby," Paulie defended.

"It's bowling."

"And what should I do, old friend? Collect knives and cars like you do?"

"Better than tossing a ball at a bunch of pins."

Chuckles filled the dining room, including Dante's.

Lucian leaned over in his seat closer to Dante, his voice lowering so no one else around could hear. "Gio's got news about the blow issue we talked about on Wednesday."

"Oh?"

Dante wondered why his younger brother wouldn't have mentioned something. Gio was sitting to the right of Dante at the table, for Christ's sake. Then again, Gio was thoroughly involved in a discussion with his wife, and when Kim was in the picture, he cared little for anyone else. Dante let it go.

"I think he would have brought it up this morning before church, but he's trying this new thing where he doesn't prick Dad's nerves all the time, you know."

Dante rolled his eyes. "No business on Sundays. What's the fucking news?"

"Quit your whispering down there," Antony ordered.

Dante skillfully flipped his father the middle finger without his mother seeing as Cecelia sat down at the table. Turning back to Lucian, Dante scowled. "In a couple of months, I'll be twenty-nine, you'll be thirty, and he'll still be barking at us about whispering at the dinner table."

"He's never going to change," Lucian said, laughing quietly.

Cecelia had Antony distracted with some concert she wanted to go to, so Dante took advantage of that.

"Anyway, news." Dante picked up the cloth napkin and snapped it open, placing it over his legs. "What about it?"

"There's a small crew working their shit in at a majorly reduced cost compared to ours, and according to some, a better product in general." Lucian shrugged, mimicking Dante's actions with his own napkin. "So, there's that."

"What, like they're selling to the dealers?"

"No, they're dealing it, too. Which, I would think, is why they slipped by us so fast and did the damage they did before we finally caught up to them."

Dante grunted under his breath, agitated already. "See, that's a problem."

"I know."

"No, you're looking at it from a capo's perspective who is losing money. I'm seeing this as a territory thing. Nobody should be in our streets working anything unless we know about it or have had a good old sit-down with them so they understand the rules."

"That, too," Lucian agreed quietly.

"Somebody wanted to catch our attention."

"Could be."

Dante's gaze narrowed as he considered that. "But why?"

"That's your job to find out."

Yeah, Dante was aware.

"Make contact, ask for a meeting, and make it quick, yeah?"

"Will do."

"Dante," Antony called down the table. "Do us a favor and say grace."

Dante figured he'd prayed enough today in church, but he had no interest in annoying his father after spending more than a week ignoring one another. Or rather, Dante ignoring his father.

Antony never did things just because he wanted to. There was always a reason behind it and usually, it was a good one. Dante decided to remind himself of that whenever his anger caught up with him over Antony paying out his shares.

Time to let that shit go. That didn't mean Dante wasn't going to give his father hell in the real estate development market, because he sure as hell would when he got back to it.

"Sure, Papa." Dante smiled and held his hands out palm up for those sitting beside him to join in the prayer. Both his brothers' palms met his. He waited until everyone around the table were connecting as well before beginning. "Blessed Father ..."

Chapter Two.

"You're sure you don't want to be present for this?" Dante asked his father.

"Nope," Antony replied on the other end of the phone.

His father said it so nonchalant, as if Dante should have already known the answer, which he did. Two weeks after the surprise no-show at the tribute, Antony had done very little in regards to his Cosa Nostra. Dante, on the other hand, was overloaded.

"Besides, you have more patience for this sort of thing than I do. I'm liable to kill first and ask questions later when it comes to someone encroaching on my business."

"Well, I like to give them the chance to explain before I kill them," Dante joked.

Sort of.

"Fill me in when it's over, Dante. Try not to make too much of a mess." Before Dante could respond, his father added, "I'm kidding; you'll do fine."

With that, Antony ended the call. Dante climbed out of his Mercedes, straightening his suit jacket with one hand as he closed the driver's door. Lucian and Gio met their brother at the entrance of Gio's safest club.

Well, safest for a sit-down on a Thursday night, that was.

It hadn't taken long at all to make contact with the small crew filtering drugs that weren't a Marcello product onto the streets they controlled. A sit-down was arranged without issue and every demand Dante requested was apparently adhered to. The ease of the competition's agreement to Dante's wishes again led him to believe these people wanted to catch his attention for whatever reason.

He was going to find out what that reason was.

"How many people inside the club are ours?" Dante asked.

"About ten spread around," Gio said.

"And the unknowns?"

"No one, yet."

"At all?" Lucian asked.

Gio shrugged. "According to my workers, everyone inside is a regular or someone they've seen at least once or twice except for a redhead at the bar who has been sipping on carbonated water and scrolling through her phone. She's probably not the crew we're looking for."

"If they don't show up tonight, they won't be alive by the weekend."

Lucian clapped his hands together. "Ready, boss?"

Dante chuckled. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Thirty minutes and two rum and cokes later, three men strolled into the quiet club dressed in black slacks, black sport coats, and shined shoes. Their gazes swept the floor of the club, landing on the table where Dante and his brothers sat. He'd asked Gio earlier in the day to have the table set into a corner so his back would be to a wall and no one else during the meeting.

Dante tilted his head to the side, catching his brother's attention. "I believe our guests have arrived. Greet them?"

"Sure," Gio said.

Lucian and Gio left the table and their drinks behind. Greeting the guests in the Marcello way had nothing to do with a hello and a handshake. Instead, Dante watched his brothers carefully search the three men, and thankfully, not one of them put up a fuss about it. By the looks of it, not one of them had a thing on them but wallets and cellphones, either.

As the three men approached his table with Lucian and Gio right behind, Dante stayed sitting. The tallest of the three looked at Dante, waiting for the man to stand and welcome him. Dante wouldn't. Bosses didn't stand to meet lower level associates, and certainly not rivals. They were to bend down and greet him, but he didn't expect these outsiders to.

"Sit," Dante said, waving at the chairs across him.

The men stayed standing. The tallest nodded once and said in clear Italian, "Salve, Dante Marcello. Come sta?"

Dante allowed nothing to register on his features for the man to pick apart. The man's greeting was formal instead of friendly, which he appreciated.

"Bene, grazie. Come si chiama?" Dante asked.

"Gaetano."

"And your friends, what are their names?"

Gaetano smirked. "Associates."

"And them?" Dante asked, firmer the second time.

Gaetano canted his head in the direction of the second tallest man to his right. The man sported a scar above his brow. "Carlos." Then, he gestured to the other man at his left and said, "Pao."

It didn't escape his notice how Gaetano offered no surnames for the men, nor did he call them employees. In fact, he used the word associates, which led Dante to believe he considered himself at the same level as the other two.

It was odd, if nothing else. One of these men had to be the boss, so which one was it and why had he allowed Gaetano to introduce them all? Dante didn't like to be toyed with.

Dante waved at the chairs. "If you refuse to sit again, I'll ask you to leave without giving you the chance to explain the ridiculous idea that your crew could somehow work on my streets without my knowledge or permission. Believe me, you want the chance to explain. Please, sit."

After they were seated, Dante waited for his brothers to settle in at either ends of the table before he continued with anything.

"Obviously you wanted to catch my attention, and now you have," Dante said quietly.

"We wanted nothing," Carlos replied, sitting back in his chair, almost too relaxed for Dante's liking. No boss would react so unbothered.

"You must have wanted something," Gio said to the far right end. "Because otherwise, you're just a bunch of-"

"Easy, Gio," Lucian said before turning to their guests. "Where is your product coming from?"

"Not from your importing ventures, if that's what you're asking," Pao answered with a lift of one shoulder. He examined his fingernails as if he were bored with the entire situation already. "Our contacts that manage our shipments have nothing to do with Mexico as yours does. We checked up on a few things, you see."

"And," Gaetano drawled, tapping his finger to the tabletop, "... ours comes direct from the source, so we're not overpaying for the cost of it traveling hands. Some might think it's a little riskier, say if the only hands before ours were caught ... we disagree. It's a good arrangement."