Family Ties

Nat Chelloni FAMILY TIES Copyright © 2023 by Nat Chelloni All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. First edition This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Epilogue Chapter One Several limousines and expensive cars were lined up outside Brookline Castle, a popular wedding venue in Boston, Massachusetts. As Renzo Castellano climbed out of his black Audi A4, cold and crisp January air burned his skin, and snow crunched beneath the soles of his shoes. He tossed the keys to the valet and let his family of three—his parents and his uncle—precede him up the stairs to the mansion. The venue had gone heavy on the security. A large group of musclemen controlled the entrance to prevent nosy reporters from sneaking in for a scoop. It was an exceptional affair— “the Wedding of the Year,” as the media had dubbed it. One of Boston’s business elite, a former scion of the Cosa Nostra family, had tied the knot with the daughter of one of the most notorious crime bosses at St. Andrew’s Church that morning. Domenico Bonacci and Julia Leonardi. A sensational story, for sure. Who would have thought? Renzo shook his head at the irony of it. Fate had certainly weaved a web of love around these two against all odds. Damn if it wasn’t straight out of one of those frigging romance books his mother had been consuming lately. Glitz, glamour, and glitter overfilled a relatively small reception area that led into the vintage ballroom. People crowded the space. The bride’s parents warmly greeted the Castellano family at the coat check. “Thanks for coming. We appreciate it,” the bride’s father said, shaking hands with the men while the women hugged each other fondly and exchanged pleasantries. The sound of music and cheers filtered out from the ballroom. A young woman at the doorway, welcoming guests with two elderly ladies, caught Renzo’s eye. He fell a step behind his parents to check her out. She had a vibrantly beautiful face, smooth olive skin, and a killer body in a cocoa-beige dress. Her almond-shaped eyes were truly extraordinary, light whiskey-brown, and expressive. On closer inspection, he realized the face underneath the heavy makeup belonged to someone far too young for his taste. Reluctantly, Renzo pulled his gaze away from her and patted his father on the back. His dad stopped midstride before him and turned his head with a puzzled expression as if assimilating the location. He murmured something in Italian. “Stai bene?” Renzo asked with concern. His father’s eyes cleared, and he gave an affirmative nod. “Si, si.” A pang of sadness pierced Renzo. The formidable boss of the Castellano family, who had instilled fear and respect in the criminal world, was showing signs of rapidly progressing dementia. He’d been forgetting too many things lately, sometimes even reverting to his native tongue. It was an irreversible process; there was no medicine to cure it. The time when Renzo would have to take over the family business in his father’s stead no longer seemed that distant. He’d been vetted for succession, but he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect and the daunting responsibilities that came with it, especially with the current state of affairs. After being ransacked by the FBI in an unprecedented round of arrests that crippled their activities nationwide, La Cosa Nostra faced a massive uphill battle. The wedding wasn’t large by any standard. The space was thronged by a little over a hundred guests. The room glittered. Round tables were decorated with crystal candlesticks and white-rose bouquets. On either side of the head table, fountains of champagne and wine were served next to giant bowls of beluga caviar. Renzo maneuvered his family around the photographers on the way to the newlyweds’ table to avoid a random snap. Unlike other crime figures, the Castellanos had always kept a low profile and made sure they never appeared in the newspapers, where pictures of this wedding would eventually end up. Photographers profited from selling Mafia pics to the press. There was no one Renzo hated more than reporters and journalists, with their no-holds-barred policies for getting a sensational story. As the last one in line to greet the bride, he hugged Julia with the fondness he’d always felt for her. “I’m happy for you, Jules,” he told her. She smiled. “I know, and I thank you all for coming.” His handshake with the groom, though reserved, permeated mutual respect. “Congratulations,” Renzo said. “I wish you two a lifetime of happiness.” “I appreciate it,” Domenico Bonacci replied. The table closest to the newlyweds’ was specifically reserved for the most honored guests from the bride’s side. Most notable of them was Salvatore Abbiati, the head of the New England Mob faction. Renzo’s dad and his uncle, the family consigliere, settled on his right. Renzo waited for his mother to join the other wives at the table before taking a seat on Abbiati’s left. The business was never discussed at such large gatherings, even in hushed tones. There was always a chance the place was bugged, or one of them was unknowingly carrying a listening device, so the men resigned themselves to trivial talk. Renzo was relieved his father