Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

POV: DANTE

The apartment building in Williamsburg was nondescript...four stories, red brick, the kind of place that blended perfectly into the neighborhood of young professionals and artists who had no idea what actually happened behind closed doors in places like this.

Dante stood in the hallway outside Webb’s apartment at 6:42 AM, flanked by two of his best men. Paolo on his left, built like a wall, carrying himself with the ease of someone who’d broken more bones than most people had met. Giancarlo on his right, smaller but sharper, the kind of smart that came from years of reading people before things went violent.

They didn’t have to knock.

Dante had keys to everything that mattered in Brooklyn. That was the point of taking territory, knowing exactly how to move through it, exactly where the vulnerabilities were, exactly when to press.

Paolo used the key. The door swung open silently, Dante’s people had oiled the hinges weeks ago, and they entered into a modest living room that smelled like coffee and expensive cologne.

Marcus Webb emerged from the bedroom in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, his hand instinctively reaching toward the nightstand before he saw who was standing in his apartment.

His face went white.

”Dante Romano,” Marcus said, and there was a tremor in his voice that suggested he’d been expecting this visit someday but had hoped it would never actually come. ”To what do I owe the pleasure?”

”Sit down,” Dante said, his voice absolutely casual, as if they were old friends meeting for coffee.

Marcus sat on the couch. Dante took the chair across from him. Paolo and Giancarlo remained standing, flanking the exits.

”How long have you been running Dimitri’s Williamsburg operations?” Dante asked, already knowing the answer.

”Three years,” Marcus said. His hands were trembling slightly. He was trying to hide it, but trembling hands were hard to hide when a man like Dante was watching.

”Good money?” Dante asked.

”Decent,” Marcus said carefully.

”Not as good as it could be,” Dante said. ”I’ve been looking at your numbers. You’re profitable, but you’re leaving money on the table. You could be doing forty percent better if you were less interested in maintaining Valentino’s moral standards and more interested in actual profit.”

Marcus said nothing.

”I have a proposition,” Dante said. ”But before I make it, I want you to understand something. I’m not here to threaten you. I’m not here to intimidate you. I’m here because you’re smart, and you deserve to work with someone who values smart.”

Dante nodded to Paolo, who pulled out a folder and set it on the coffee table in front of Marcus.

Inside were photographs. Dimitri’s secondary operations across Brooklyn. Territory maps. Dealer networks. Financial flows. And underneath all of it, a clear picture of an empire in collapse.

Marcus looked at the photographs, and Dante watched understanding settle across his face like a shadow.

”What is this?” Marcus asked, though he already knew.

”The end of Valentino’s reign in Brooklyn,” Dante said simply. ”It’s already started. Three other dealers have already switched. Five more are in negotiations as we speak. By the end of the week, Dimitri’s Brooklyn operations will cease to exist.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened.

”You can fight this,” Dante continued, ”and lose everything when the transition happens inevitably. Or you can be smart. You can switch now, while the switching is good. While I’m still in a generous mood.”

”Generous,” Marcus repeated.

”You leave Brooklyn,” Dante said. ”You take your knowledge, your contacts, your money...all of it.... and you disappear. I’m offering you five hundred thousand dollars to make that transition smooth. No violence. No bloodshed. No dead bodies that will create problems for either of us.”

Marcus looked at the money...cash, arranged in neat stacks in the bottom of the folder. Five hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. Enough to start over somewhere else. Enough to disappear completely if he wanted to.

”And if I refuse?” Marcus asked.

”Then you stay,” Dante said. ”You fight. You try to hold Williamsburg for Dimitri. And when you inevitably lose, because you will inevitably lose...the money goes away. The generous offer disappears. And whatever happens to you after that is just the cost of being on the wrong side of history.”

Dante stood up.

”You have until eight o’clock to decide,” Dante said. ”That’s when we’re taking formal control of your operations. Either you walk out of here rich and alive, or you stay and find out what it costs to resist.”

Dante and his men left the apartment.

They were downstairs, in the car, two blocks away before Marcus made his decision.

A phone call came through to Paolo’s cell.

”He’s taking the offer,” Paolo reported. ”He’s calling his lawyer now to start the paperwork.”

”Good,” Dante said. ”Move to the next target.”

***

The club was called Venom, and it was one of Dimitri’s more profitable operations. Three stories, live entertainment, underground gambling in the back. The kind of place that made real money if you understood how to operate it.

Robert Chen understood how to operate it.

He’d been running Venom for five years, and the club was immaculate, clean enough to pass any inspection, dirty enough to make serious money, professional enough that nobody ever got hurt badly unless they deserved it.

Dante arrived at 10:15 PM, when the club was in full swing.

The front door opened, and the music died.

Not because of anything obvious. Not because anyone made a grand announcement. But because the bouncers saw who was walking in, and word traveled through the club faster than sound. By the time Dante reached the bar, every person in the place understood that something significant was happening.

Robert Chen appeared from the back office within thirty seconds.

He was a careful man...mid-fifties, sharp features, moving with the precision of someone who’d learned to read situations before they became dangerous. His eyes flicked over Dante, took in Paolo and Giancarlo, assessed the probability that this ended with bloodshed.

”Mr. Romano,” Chen said, approaching with his hand extended. ”This is unexpected.”