Cenzo: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bregoli Mafioso Book 3) by Lolah Lace

Author:Lolah Lace [Lace, Lolah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WriteChick Publishing
Published: 2022-08-16T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

LORDES

I don’t know why I wasn’t nervous. I was going to be inducted into la cosa Nostra. I waited outside with my security guy Punchy right beside me. Nicco had made the ritual of being a made man seem so fancy. I didn’t grow up in this life, so I wasn’t sure how serious I should take it. I arrived later because I was going to be the surprise guest.

I hadn’t been waiting long when Nicco walked up to me with no readable expression on his face.

“Hey bro, time to get made.” Nicco hit me on my shoulder with his palm and grabbed and squeezed arm. That was my sign to follow him. I strolled a few paces behind him with Punchy a few steps behind me.

This is a day of change. This was the day I would be official, a man of honor. I wasn’t excited, but I was felt something that was hard to describe. My brother was the King. He was groomed to be the King, and I hoped he reigned for a very long time.

As much as it was his day, it was also my day. We entered the room filled with dark-haired Italian man of all ages. Some men I remembered from the burial and some I remembered because Nicco had shown me pictures and told me all I needed to know about these men.

All eyes were on me. Some nodded in my direction. I followed Nicco to the head of the table and stood beside him. I held my stance firm with my shoulders squared and my hands clasps together to make one fist.

“This man will take the oath today and become my underboss.” Nicco said.

There were audible gasps in the room.

“Don.” Nikoli, the capo of New York, said. “We ‘posed to know this wise guy?”

Nicco chuckled. “Lordes Romans Bregoli, is my brother.”

“Your blonde brother?” Ray Capello said.

“Yes, he is my blood.” Nicco looked over at me. “He’s my father’s son. He has been tested. His DNA is my father’s who is a full-blood Sicilian don. Tonight, he will be a part of the organization.”

“He is not an Italian. He’s Irish.” The man they called Uncle Gianni heckled like Nicco was doing a stand-up act at a comedy club.

I got the urge to punch that old man in the face. Not so much for calling out my heritage, but for disrespecting the don. Apparently, I was taking this underboss position seriously.

“See Uncle, this is where your words mean nothing. I don’t care if he’s Africano (African), Giamaicano (Jamaican) or Straniero (Alien). If I say someone will be a made man, then that’s final. There is no vote, no opposition, no chatter. My word is absolute and final. This is and never has been a democracy.”

Ouch, there was a grumble in Nicco's tone that bounced off the walls. Nicco was calm, but you could feel the threat in his tone. I feared he would kill his own uncle if the old man didn’t simmer down.

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