Chapter One ¦ Gian

Brooklyn, New York

Theft, murder, and fraud weren't unusual requests from Uncle Mario. But this? This was new.

Gianmarco fixed his eyes on the man who sat in the plush swivel chair behind the desk. His uncle looked like he was wearing one of those inflatable costumes under his dress shirt. The armpits were wet, and his uncle's thin hair was combed across his forehead, plastered down by sweat, even though the only workout he probably got was being pulled out of his bed this morning.

"Let me get this straight." Gian sucked in a deep breath. "You want me to go on a... treasure hunt?"

"If you want to call it that." His uncle pressed his cigar stub into the ashtray and ground out the ashes. "You're leaving tomorrow."

Gian kept his hands folded in front of him and his expression neutral, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

They sat in Uncle Mario's office in one of his buildings in Brooklyn. The office was in the basement of a run-down Italian deli-windowless with a hint of mildew mixed with cigar smoke. It was the place where plans were made, negotiations held, and information wrung from rivals.

The priggish smile on his uncle's face told him this next assignment was punishment. Not the worst punishment, that was for sure, but enough to get Gian out of the way for a while. He suspected he knew why.

"Is this because Rossi escaped?" If only that idiot delivery man hadn't gotten in the way. Gian would love to get his hands on that guy, too. First to smash his phone, and then to smash his head.

"What do you mean?" Uncle Mario grunted.

"Rossi should be dead. It's my fault he's not. So you want me to leave-"

"Don't worry about that piece of garbage." Uncle Mario waved a dismissive hand. "Your job now is to find that gold. It's mine and if anyone has laid their hands on it, blow their face off."

Gian glanced down at the letters on the desk that had brought him here today. The pages were yellowed and stained with age. A flowing, feminine script swept across the paper, entirely in Italian. At the top of the first page, a short piece of prose began the correspondence.

Beneath the silent sentinel's gaze,

Where roots of ancient oaks doth graze,

In sacred soil, our riches lay,

Coveted, cursed, until this day.

-Rasce of Velthuria

Gian shook his head, unable to continue reading. It was ridiculous. Uncle Mario had completely lost his mind.

"Loosen up, Gianny." His uncle spoke lightly, as if he'd just closed a deal. Gian closed his eyes and took in a long breath through his nose. His chest tightened and blood grew hot at the sound of the nickname, but the slow release of his breath calmed him. Uncle Mario was the only one who wouldn't get stabbed for saying that. A second later, Gian had his features back under control.

Uncle Mario continued, "It's an easy job. Consider it a vacation. Enjoy it, practice your Italian, eat some good food. Once you've got the gold, a percentage will be added to your accounts. And, maybe it's time for you to get off the streets and at the head of the table with me."

Gian sat up, his pulse quickening. "What?"

"You heard me."

"But what about Sal?"

"You're the one who figured out Rossi's embezzlement scheme. You're the one who put him on the run. He got away with fifty G's. It would have been a lot more if you hadn't been paying attention. The gold you find will more than cover the loss. And Rossi won't be able to hide forever."

Gian sat back in his chair. While a ping of pride swelled in his chest, his thoughts lingered on Uncle Mario's omission of Sal, his own son.

Uncle Mario continued, "I need someone I can trust to take care of the west district. I think you've proven yourself to me, even if you haven't proven yourself to... yourself."

"The west district?" Gian raised an eyebrow. His uncle must be really upset with Sal. The west district was promised to him for as long as he could remember. "I thought Sal was supposed to-"

"Sal isn't ready." His uncle scowled. "He's all wrapped up in the clubs and whatever goes on there. If he'd focused on the important things instead of acting like a perpetual teenager, maybe he'd have earned it. So, I'm giving it to you. Maybe that'll wake him up. I'll be surprised if it does."

A smile tugged at Gian's lips. Sal was one of the biggest idiots he knew. All he cared about was fun, using the drugs they trafficked, and avoiding actual work. He expected everything to be handed to him on a silver platter. He was a fool... a fool with a temper.

"He won't be happy."

"I don't care. Let him throw his tantrum. It won't change my mind. Hard work and usefulness might, though. Not sure where I went wrong with him but it's not too late for him to turn things around."

Sal would throw his pathetic tantrum... and probably blame Gian for it. He would deal with it if it came to that. It would be nice to see Sal squirm.

"I have to say, I knew I wouldn't regret taking you in when Frank and Margaret died. Even when you were little, you had drive. Didn't shed a tear. Made yourself useful. Kept out of trouble. I knew your dad thought leaving New York would be the best for you. Didn't work out so well for him, but you ended up in a good place. After raising you for twenty-three years, you're like a son to me. A true Mariani."

Gian had stopped listening. He pressed his lips together, as if doing so would suppress the rising memories. It didn't work. He'd only been five at the time, but he could still see every detail of his parents' murder. Their gunshot wounds. The blood. Everywhere. The sound of a dog barking in the distance. It had been a random mugging, and somehow Gian had been spared. Even the mugger found his end by overdose a few months later.

A phone rang, snapping Gian from his thoughts, and Uncle Mario picked it up from the desk and answered with a grunt. He listened for a moment, then spoke, "Tony is here? Good. Let him in."

Gian stood and turned to leave.

"Stay here, Gianny. I'm not done with you." He waited a beat, until his grimace vanished, then turned and stepped to the side of the desk as they waited for the newcomer.

A moment later, there was a knock, and a bald, middle-aged man with the build of a bulldog walked into the office.

"Tony," Uncle Mario barked. "Whatcha got for me?"

"We found him, boss. Gian." Tony nodded at each of them as he spoke.

"Who?"

"The delivery guy. The one who stopped Gian from bumping off Rossi."

Gian's hands curled into fists. "Where is he?"

Tony tilted his head toward the door. "Just outside. I already confiscated his phone." He patted his pocket where the phone was housed.

At that, Gian pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. He reached for the phone while Uncle Mario told Tony to bring their visitor in. A scrawny man, who couldn't have been older than twenty, was dragged into the room. The zip ties around his wrists and legs prevented him from being able to walk in himself. He was shoved into a chair in the middle of the room.

Gian stepped over to him and shook the phone. "Has anyone seen the video?"

"No," the man stuttered, staring at him with red, worried eyes.

That wasn't convincing. Gian pulled his switchblade from his pocket and flipped it open. He grabbed the man's face and squeezed, making the man's eyes water, and held the tip of the knife next to his eye.

"Who has seen the video?" he asked, dangerously slow.

"No one. I swear." The man shook with a sob.

"Is it saved on a cloud?"

"I-I don't know."

"Well then, why don't we delete it?"

The man quickly agreed and unlocked the phone with face recognition. It only took Gianmarco a few seconds to find the video in question and delete it. Once satisfied it was gone, he turned to Tony. "Got a hammer? Crowbar? Bat?"

A moment later, Tony pressed a hammer into his hand. Gian placed the phone on the desk and swung the hammer, smashing it onto the screen. It shattered, sending tiny pieces of plastic and glass flying through the room.

"What about Rossi?" Uncle Mario asked.

"Just getting to it," Gian grunted, then turned back to the man, swung the hammer again, and struck him in the knee.

The man howled and folded together, falling from the chair.

"Where did you take him?" Gian asked once the scream stopped. "The man who jumped in your truck." He pulled the delivery guy off the floor and shoved him back into the chair. "Where did he get off?" He held the hammer ready, fully aware the man's eyes were on it.

"Central. Central Station," the man blurted.

Gian bounced the hammer against his palm, as if contemplating his next move. "Did he say anything?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing."

Gian glanced at him sharply. "Really?" He tightened his grip on the hammer, shifting into position to swing again.

"He didn't say anything. Just said thanks and left."

The man was telling the truth, Gian was sure of it. But it had taken the man too long to get there, and he couldn't let that slide. He struck the man again on his knee. As the man's howls filled the room, Gian faced his uncle, waiting for his prompt.

"I've heard enough," Uncle Mario scoffed. "Put this useless piece of trash out of his misery."

Gian hesitated. Just for a split second. Did that man need to die? The man had gotten in the way, taken an incriminating video, and helped Rossi escape. His uncle was right. Broken knees were not enough. Gian turned back to the man, who watched him with pain and panic in his eyes.

"No. Please, no."

But Gian raised the hammer and swung it, striking the man's head with a sickening crunch. And then, as if on autopilot, he couldn't stop.

Red-hot adrenaline surged through him. He hit him, again and again and again. Until blood, sweat, bone, and chunks of flesh covered him, the floor, and the walls.

Then he threw the hammer on the floor in disgust. Disgusted with the bloody pulp before him. Disgusted with Uncle Mario.

Disgusted with himself.

"Flight leaves at four pm tomorrow," Uncle Mario called from behind his newspaper.

Leaving the mess for Tony to clean up, Gian peeled off his gloves, grabbed the letters from the desk, and strode out the door. He needed to pack.



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Author's note:
Oh, hey! It's me again! Yes, I'm back! Life got crazy, and I was busy with other things, but I've missed this place and the stories and the peoples. I'm going to try and jump back into it, so... here's a first draft of one of my newest stories, The Etruscan Secret. While the draft is complete, it'll probably be rough in places, but I'll try and sort stuff out as I post.

And one note on the book title. This is tentative, as I am terrible at titles. That's the best I could do for the time being. So yay. Secrets!

But, what do you think of Gian? He's a little ray of sunshine, isn't he?

[edited to add: sorry about any formatting issues... hopefully I caught it all. >.>]

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