The Don's Doctor

Casino Conflicts

Vincent's POV

Chiara was patching Renzo and me up for the third time this week. Fixed annoyance on her face tells us more of what she was thinking that her voice ever could. We have messed up her initial work again.

“I told you that you had to rest your hands, Renzo, there hasn’t been skin on your knuckles for the entire week. I think you have an infection in your left hand!” She says, while scraping the dirt out of the wound.

Reaching over, she takes an iodine dressing and covers his knuckles on both hands, ignoring his sharp intake of breath, before turning her attention to my bruising.

Although it hadn’t been our intention to be involved in any fighting, eager to conserve our reputation with the influential people who often used our venue, we couldn’t ignore a challenge when it was on our own premise.

For many years, Renzo and I have thrived from a shared investment in a casino which is attached to our hotel. It was one of the legitimate businesses that was a steady stream of profit for us, and since it was one of the first businesses that we had made a success of together, we had a soft spot for it. Each month, we try to go and enjoy the ambiance, flit some money on the roulette wheel, and on occasion splurge on the high stakes poker table. Since we had reburied my parents and taken Barone’s to an unknown place, the violence on the streets has been vigorous, it had been naïve of us to think they wouldn’t attack our legitimate businesses too. Niccolo is past the point of preserving his own commerce, his own goal is to kill me.

Underestimating him, we were enjoying our evening, when his capos arrived in our private section of the game room. Seasoned in this type of intimidation, I didn’t look up from my cards, but I did instruct our casino dealer to close the blinds to give us more privacy, and take our guests to the bar for some free drinks. Franco four fingers, Barone’s second, was practically salivating at his need to settle the score with Renzo. He looked like a deranged hyena, and I smirked at the visual. Beneath their long coats, they pulled out various weapons: knuckle dusters, bats, and crow bars. It was an annoyance, but I craved the release.

“Let’s begin.” I announced, fearlessly.

Renzo, immediately, pulled the crow bar from Franco’s hand and swiped it at the back of his knees until he was rolling on the floor. After that there was little more Franco could do, but accept the beating that Renzo rained down on him. I think he was glad to pass out in the end. I already had one of the low-ranking capos eating the green mat that covered the table. His knuckle dusters had knocked the pile of chips over. I was too preoccupied to notice the second capo who hit my lower back with his baseball bat.

“Is there blood in your urine?” Chiara asks me.

There is, but I deny it. I don’t want her thinking about my piss, and for the first time ever I wish it was her dad asking me these questions.

“That means yes, you’re a terrible liar.” She smugly confirms, while firmly pressing into my back where my kidneys are. “If it doesn’t improve in two days, you’ll need some further treatment. Here these will help with the pain.” She passes me a strip of painkiller, before sanitising all surfaces.

I wish I could stay with her, but given the rising violence throughout New York, a meeting of the consigliere has been called, and I’m expecting to have a summary from Luca on his return.

Renzo follows me to my office, his hand dangles by his side, but there’s an amused expression on his face, which is unusual given we both have to pay for the damage this event caused last night.

“If you're pissing blood, imagine what the other guy is doing.” He comments, before we both laugh.

“I think I’ve given him a lifetime of blue balls so hopefully he won’t worry about his ugly face!” I reply.

Truthfully, this was the first fight I’ve had in a long time where I was in control for the entire time. I defended myself, and I immobilised them so that we could get away, but I didn’t do anything that they couldn’t heal from. It was measured and appropriate violence. It was a significant positive change.

Luca is already sitting in his usual seat, his face stony. His walking stick that he is becoming more dependent on is resting against the chair, and he looks worn from the efforts of the day. Peacekeeping was the hardest job in our world, diplomacy was an art form that needed a quick mind and experience. Luca was our representative, but on this occasion I didn’t expect much from him. Neither family wanted peace, but the other families were being pulled in both directions. I had demanded that Barone be exiled back to Italy, and he called for nothing other than my demise and the return of his parents.

“It was worse than I expected. The families wish to stay neutral, but acknowledge that many of their dealings are with the Benedetti family, and recognise you as the head of all families. Therefore, if pushed, they would join our cause. It wasn’t with enthusiasm though, and it’s not an alliance we could trust in. Barone’s consigliere wants the bodies of his parents back, and until that is provided they will continue with their war against us.” Luca conveys.

“Did you point out that they were the ones who targeted my parents’ resting place?” I ask.

“Of course, and the other families agreed that it was the catalyst of the increased violence, they were fervent in their agreement that it had been deserved, but urged us to hand over the bodies, and end the heinous violations of graves for ever more. They want it to be written in the code. I told them that it was your decision to make,” Luca explains.

It gives me something to think about. The last thing I want is to be viewed as unreasonable. People don’t respect or work with despotic leaders and when all this is over my reputation will need rebuilding. I nod at Luca in thanks. I can only imagine how tense the meeting would have been, and he is an excellent person to have defending our family.

“There’s one more thing. Barone’s man gave me this as we were leaving. He told me to tell you that Niccolo hasn’t forgotten what he is owed.” Luca pulls out a white A4 envelope.

“Call Federico. We will need to test if the glue is poisoned.” I tell Renzo.

Intrigued as I am to look inside the envelope, I know I have to exercise caution. In the mafia wars of my father’s generation, it hadn’t been unheard of to poison the mail that was sent to the house. The person would slip their hand under the sealant and carry the poison around on their hands, usually eating it when they consumed their next family meal. It was for that reason that our parents always opened mail with a letter opener. It has become a good habit of the household. Federico arrives, handing out surgical gloves before allowing us to open the mail. Using his que tip, he runs it along the line of the glue residue, and puts it inside a tube waiting for a colour to appear. When no reaction takes place, Federico nods and pushes it back to me. Eager to see what offensive message is inside, I tip the contents onto my table. My enjoyment of the situation instantly fades. Anger soars through my veins, and I can tell I am struggling to keep hold of my rational thoughts.

“They are from my home.” Federico comments forlornly, as he looks at the hundreds of photographs where his daughter’s head had been severed and crosses had been scored where her eyes should be.

Hysterically, he tries to separate the images, walking us through where each one was taken. Graduation. Prom. Birthdays. Jobs. Holidays. Needing it to stop, I scoop them all back into the envelope.

“They’re going to kill her. It’s my fault. They are going to kill her like they killed her mother. My precious girl. She will never forgive me. What have I done?” He pants out his words, and Renzo places him on a chair.

“They won’t kill her. I will eradicate their entire family before they are able to lay eyes on her. Chiara doesn’t know what you did to Barone’s mum, she blames me for what is happening. They have broken into your home, but they have only damaged things that can be fixed. They will never hurt her, I promise you.” I vow to him, and to myself.

“She’s too good for your world. I never should have opened the door to it for her.” He cries, and I can understand his guilt, for I share in it.

“She is safe in this house, and Renzo and I will work on the threat. She will be able to be free again soon, and she loathes this life, so it won’t be difficult to convince her to run as far away from us as she can.”

I look to Luca to support our words, but it is as if he is choking on them. His face is ashen, and his eyes seems to be looking back at a different time. My confidence suddenly feels like arrogance, and I wonder if I will be able to keep my promises.