Chapter 1: family reunion

A slap on the face. A splash of water and a harsh shout emanating from a gruff, emotionless tambor.

“Alright, sit him up straight,” came a voice from out of the dark. Or, no. It wasn’t actually dark. Jimmy just had a burlap sack thrown over his head.

Jimmy started breathing heavily. The water-soaked cloth sack clinging to his mouth and nostrils didn’t make taking in oxygen all that easy and, what’s worse, he was having an anxiety attack. He had several guesses about what was happening at the moment, and none of them were good. Obviously, he had been kidnapped, no questions there. The man had been innocently strolling through the shopping plaza located on the Western District of town, the high-end district, racking up a pretty dime on his wife’s credit card as he filled his pockets with wholly unnecessary trinkets, jewelry and electronics. Ever the paranoid sort, he had noticed the curious, no, dangerous looks that the two men in track suits across the way had been shooting him; it was more than enough for Jimmy drop everything he was carrying and turn tail in a sprint down the other way. Only, clearly whoever wanted him had thought ahead, as he ran smack dab into reinforcements, men who had been tailing him from behind while the two in front served as a distraction.

Jimmy’s arms were held behind his back and a gag was shoved in his mouth before he could have time to shout for help. A sack was placed over his head, the very same that Jimmy could at the present moment feel dripping cold water on to his shirt and suit jacket, and he was shoved unceremoniously into a dark-colored van that swiftly drove away. Fast forward two nail-biting hours, and here Jimmy found himself.

“Alright,” came a female voice, “pull the bag off of him.”

Jimmy could feel a pair of muscular hands fumbling with the heavy wet material draped over his head. He wasn’t nervous anymore, though. A wave of relief, no, euphoria washed over him as the sack was pulled away to reveal the damp but alluring face of a strikingly handsome man who was only in his mid-thirties. In spite of the fact that he was currently tied to a chair in a location he didn’t know, the moment he had heard the voice speak out, he had known he was safe. Finally liberated of its burlap obstruction, his respiratory system was free to function at its normal capacity. Jimmy gulped in breaths of stale, still air, trying and failing to look the slightest bit composed as he looked up at the woman who had orchestrated his “abduction” and gave a weak smile.

“Long time, no see, sis,” he sputtered.

The woman scowled. She was standing directly in front of him; muscular goons with foreboding stances were surrounding them in a small circle in the wide, empty space, some abandoned warehouse or another, striking intimidating poses with visible firearms at their sides.

In contrast, the woman addressing him, his half-sister, was far less physically imposing. Nicole “Nikki” Marciano was a five foot five exceptionally attractive blonde, good looks having clearly run in the family, with strikingly piercing clear blue eyes and only a slight tan. She was an extremely plump woman but it didn’t work to her detriment; the extra weight that she did carry settled itself almost exclusively on her hips and chest and gave her a very exaggerated hourglass, accentuated by the form-fitting, custom tailored Armani suits that she exclusively wore when she was doing “business”. She had picked a gray one that day, and the way that it clung to her bulging hips and propped up her jutting bosom made her seem more like she was dressed for a pinup shoot than a day at the office.

Not that Nikki had ever stepped foot in a corporate office a single day of her life.

“Shut the fuck up, Jimmy,” she said to her brother, crossing her arms under her chest and propping it up even further. “I’m not in any mood for your bullshit. Not today, not for the past twenty years.”

Jimmy coughed and let out a chuckle.

“Is that how long we’ve known each other?” he joked.

It more or less was. James “Pretty Boy Jimmy” Marciano had been born into the Marciano crime family a full fourteen years ahead of his half-sister, which meant that the thirty-six year old had known her for almost the entirety of her life and the majority of his. Calling their relationship “strained” would have been like calling Pompeii “a little spill”. Nikki hated her burnout older brother. Jimmy could hardly blame her. As the heir to the Marciano throne, he had always taken his position of power and authority for granted. He’d never learned the ins and outs of the “family business” and had never given a damn about respect and integrity so, naturally, when his father, “Slick” Ricky Marciano handed him the proverbial scepter at age twenty-three, Jimmy went and ran the family name right into the ground. Between frequent bad deals, broken promises, disrespecting other families and downright idiotic lending practices, it had only taken Ricky a tempestuous four years to force himself out of retirement to boot his son from his seat as head of the family. When Jimmy protested, his father practically spat in his face, told Jimmy to give up on the crime world and go get an honest life before slamming the door in his face.

Jimmy had been at a complete loss at the time. The family business had always been his fallback, his safety net. He didn’t know how to do anything else. Certainly not anything that could have earned him the amount of money he was accustomed to taking for for granted. And certainly not anything honest.

But Jimmy was a very good looking guy, he knew. And sometimes all anyone needed to make a quick buck was a good smile, a pretty face and an easy mark.