Andre's New Dame

Fred

I wanted no part of any of this fucking mess. I’d done my time, paid my dues, and somehow gotten out of the mafia unscathed. Most men in my position, my age, would’ve been six feet under two decades ago, or have their bones resting at the bottom of the Atlantic by now.

But not me. I knew for fucking certain it wasn’t luck. This was God’s spite, I was sure of it. Letting me live a long life while I watched men like Andre Bianchi continue to thrive.

I’d bought my way out of the mess I’d made as a young, idealistic man. I’d groveled at Andre’s father’s feet and climbed the ranks to Caporegime while Andre was still licking the toes of strippers and swinging his gun around. He was the Bianchi prince at one time, capable of nothing, wanting for nothing, and somehow getting everything while the rest of us died or went to prison with RICO charges.

Then he’d become my boss, and I spent the rest of my miserable existence doing his bidding in the name of the family.

Andre wasn’t the kind of