The Crowned Garza, page 1
License Notes
AZN30NOV00TRK2023
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by S. Ann Cole
All rights reserved.
Edited by: Lawrence Editing
Proofread by: Andrea Shacklee
Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Making or distributing copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For permission requests, contact the publisher via email: authoranncole@gmail.com.
Visit my website at www.AnnCole.net
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Santo
Chapter One
Tillie
Chapter Two
Tillie
Chapter Three
Tillie
Chapter Four
Tillie
Chapter Five
Tillie
Chapter Six
Tillie
Chapter Seven
Tillie
Chapter Eight
Tillie
Chapter Nine
Santo
Chapter Ten
Tillie
Chapter Eleven
Tillie
Chapter Twelve
Tillie
Chapter Thirteen
Tillie
Chapter Fourteen
Tillie
Chapter Fifteen
Tillie
Chapter Sixteen
Santo
Chapter Seventeen
Tillie
Chapter Eighteen
Tillie
Chapter Nineteen
Tillie
Chapter Twenty
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-One
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Four
Santo
Chapter Twenty-Five
Santo
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tillie
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tillie
Chapter Thirty
Tillie
Chapter Thirty-One
Santo
Chapter Thirty-Two
Santo
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tillie
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tillie
Gal Gang Group Chat
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tillie
Chapter Thirty-Six
Santo
Chapter Thirty – Seven
Santo
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Tillie
Connect With Ann
CONTENT CAUTION
The content ahead will expose readers to:
Violence
Sexual Assault
Reader discretion is advised.
For the readers who’ve stuck with me, who cheer me on, and genuinely enjoy my stories.
I appreciate you. Thank you.
Psst… Quick Heads-Up
This story spans over several years. As a result, there will be a lot of time jumps. Almost every new chapter jumps time. The jumps range anywhere from a few weeks to years.
By “time jumps” I mean the story is always moving forward in time, no back and forth between past and present. We’ll always be in the present.
If you’re not a fan of time jumps, this might not work for you.
Otherwise, happy reading!
QUICK INFORMATION GUIDE
(In case you are starting the series /with this book or have forgotten details from the previous books.)
The Family:
Father: Flavio Garza – Italian. Deceased. Used to be a famous poker tournament player.
Mother: Monica Garza – Jamaican. Biological mother of Tripp and Tillie Garza. Adoptive mother of Trent and True Garza.
Torin Garza – Oldest sibling. Born to a different mother in Colorado.
Trent and True Garza – Twins. Three years younger than Torin.
Tripp Garza – Middle child. Four years younger than True and Trent.
Tillie Garza – Last child. Two years younger than Tripp.
All of the Garza siblings are half Italian, half Black.
Red Cage Commando Security and Investigation Services:
Red Cage is family governed, but founded and owned by Torin Garza.
While Trent Garza, True Garza, and Tripp Garza are all vice presidents, Torin Garza has the last say.
Departments at Red Cage:
PID – Private Investigations Division
PSD – Private Security Division
SRD – Search and Rescue Division
ISD – Intensive Surveillance Division
CSD – Cyber Security Division
COD – Commando Operations Division
Branches:
Headquarters: Downtown LA.
Second Branch: Denver, Colorado
Covert Offices: Boston, Mexicali, Chicago, Washington DC, Miami.
Repeat Side Characters:
Reuben Grant - Vice President at Red Cage and right-hand man to Torin Garza. Pretty much considered a member of the Garza family.
Jules Grant – Reuben’s wife. Lyra’s best friend.
Guy – Head of Tech. The only man ever allowed in the room. The man who knows all and does all.
Stefano and Lorenzo Castello – Also known as the “Twins of Vegas.” They are blood-related cousins of the Garzas, but this fact is kept secret because the Castellos are cold-blooded criminals. (Quick fact: Monica used to date their father before she left him and got married to his brother, Flavio Garza.)
THEME SONG
War of Hearts by Ruelle
PROLOGUE
“You’re a Crown.”
Santo
Age 19
The Rossetti Estate, Italy
“PADRONE SANTO!”
Sofia finds me in the southern gardens. Cheeks flushed, breaths short, she skids to a halt and brushes her brown curls from her face, her sable gaze bouncing from my knife to the body floating face down in the blood-tinged pool, to my shattered phone on the pavement.
I wipe the blade of the knife with my handkerchief, staining the white material red. “What’s so important you came this far to find me?” Sofia is querulous and melodramatic. She would dig a hole to Hell to find me to whine about something. “If it’s another complaint about Paloma, I won’t ever touch you again.”
“I—” She blushes. “No, we did not fight again. Padrone Adamo sent me to find you. He says it is urgent.”
That gives me pause. “How’s his mood?”
“I…do not know. He is very hard to read.”
True. I drop the bloodied handkerchief in the pool and pocket my knife. “Call Egidio to come clean this up.”
“Yes, Padrone San—”
“How many times do I have to tell you to quit it with the honorifics when no one’s around?”
“Oh, uh, sorry.”
I start north toward the house. Uncle’s “urgent” summons are rare. He’s a troubleshooter. There’s not much he can’t handle himself. Unless I’m the subject of this urgent matter?
“Do you want me tonight or Paloma?” Sofia calls after me.
“Neither. You’ve both been annoying the shit out of me lately.”
Fifteen minutes later, I stride into Adamo Rossetti’s office. Nine hundred square feet of wall monitors that see and know all, that do both good and bad—more bad than good. There’s a lot of power in this room.
He kills all the monitors and gestures to the armchairs by his desk. “Have a seat, son.”
The last time he had that apologetic tone in his voice, he was delivering the news of my brother’s death.
I walk to the armchair but don’t sit. “Is Papa dead?”
“No…not quite.” He gestures again for me to sit, and I do. “Franco has been sick for a while and hiding it. But now he is about to undergo aggressive chemotherapy and…”
“He’s calling me back,” I finish for him.
Uncle squares his stalwart shoulders and lifts his bearded chin. He’s more of a father to me. We have a tight bond. He doesn’t want me to leave any more than I do. But he’ll never let it show. That’s how he is. He could teach a masterclass in eating emotions.
“We knew this day would come, no?” His tone is almost chiding. “With your brother gone, you are expected to lead the Luciani empire after your papa. We talked about this, no? This is what I have been preparing you for.”
“I know, Uncle.”
He tugs sharply on his collar, then clears his throat and crosses the space to the wet bar. A moment later, he’s handing me one of two bottles of Perrier.
Lowering into the chair across from me, he leans back and takes a breath. “It is no secret that I despi se your papa for how things went down with you and your mamma. The Luciani Family could have been thriving. Could have had us on their side. But Franco is a proud and foolish man. He had a strong alliance with us and pissed all over it. The diminishing of the Luciani legacy is all on him.”
“Does he know I’m made?” I ask. “Is that why he wants me there instead of putting one of my cousins in charge?”
Truth is, I don’t care about the Lucianis. I want to rise in the Rossetti empire. Keep learning from Uncle. Be close to Mamma. When I became a made man, I did everything to ensure that fact didn’t reach Papa’s ears. He had sent me away because he deemed me weak, useless, a disappointment. As long as he continued to hold that perception of me, he wouldn’t want me around him, and that’s what I wanted.
“You have earned a reputation for yourself. It was bound to get out,” Uncle says. “Do you know what they secretly call you?”
I arch a brow. “There’s a secret name for me now?”
“Cross Slasher,” he replies. “No one trusts getting too close to you. Not when they know how quick you are with your knives.”
How original. “My fault then. Thought I was being careful.”
“You were,” he assures. “But eyes see and lips speak. Things get out.” He takes a swig of his water. “Look, your plane will be here tomorrow afternoon. I do not care about the Luciani Family, but I care about you. Do you still have that business folder outlining all the things you would do differently if and when you were called back? You have not mentioned it in a while.”
Haven’t mentioned it because my focus has shifted to proving myself here. “I do.”
“Dust it off,” he says with a nod. “You have asked me before where my power comes from. How I am able to do all that I do, know all I know, make things happen. While I cannot provide detailed answers without the risk of immediate assassination, I can give you a gentle push toward getting those answers yourself.” He steeples his fingers. “What whispers have you heard about Arturo Conti?”
“That he’s a kingmaker,” I reply. “That he has the power to make or break. Give power, take power. That him making you a crime head means to be untouchable.”
Uncle nods. “The correct term for kingmaker is ‘Anointed.’ Chosen by the most powerful organization in the world, an Anointed is virtually invincible. But ‘heavy is the head,’ and every Anointed eventually needs a Crown.”
“Meaning?”
“A Crown is an extension of the Anointed. A loyalist. Someone more capable than the Anointed. Someone they trust implicitly and heavily to rely on. The Crown is there to support the head, not weigh it down. When the Anointed is indisposed, the Crown steps in and thinks, acts, delivers, and judges just as—or better than—the Anointed would. The Crown knows the Anointed inside out and thinks ahead of them.” He looks down at a crested gold ring on his index finger. “All privileges of the Anointed extend to the Crown. Not quite as invincible but still receives a high level of protection.”
Sounds hokey, but the truest truths usually do. Learned a long time ago that the crazier something sounds, the more authentic it is.
Regarding my uncle, I brush my thumb along the edge of my bow tie. “You’re a Crown.”
A mere kick of an eyebrow is all I get in response. But I know him inside out. Enough that I could be his Crown. I’m right.
“You have more Rossetti blood in you than Luciani,” he says. “Every bit of your mad genius comes from this bloodline. You have the focus, the wit, the acuity, and the dedication to get you to the top of any pyramid.” He leans forward, forearms on his knees. “When you get to the States, that is what I want you to do. Climb. Your papa is like a cockroach, so I am positive he will recover from this illness. But while you are operating in his stead, do what you must to iron out that Outfit. Find the thorns among the vines and rip them out without mercy.
“Then, once Franco is well and back at the helm, there is someone you should find. He does not know it yet, but he will be chosen as an Anointed. He recently registered a business license for a private investigation company. I will let you know when it is up and running. Apply for a job there and do whatever you must to ingratiate yourself with him. Make yourself indispensable. Irreplaceable. Earn his trust. Let him need you.”
I tug at my collar, uncomfortable with this. “Uncle, I’m good at most things. There’s not much I can’t do if I set out to do it. But...you know me. Kissing ass? I fail every time before I can even try.”
Uncle snorts. “I know, son. But the strongest, most powerful people I know are those who understand the game and the art of humility. Sometimes you have to stoop low to soar high.”
There’s still a big difference between being humble and being a lickspittle spaniel. “And I’ll be doing this to…hopefully become his Crown?”
He seems irritated that I’m not enthused about this. “One of the plans in your business folder is to cut ties between the cartel and the Families, yes? We know La Cosa Nostra in California is nothing like it used to be and there has been a mass exodus over the years. The Moretti Family is working to absorb all the pockets of Families left. They have strongly aligned themselves with the El Depravados cartel and plan to commandeer. The Luciani Family is still the largest and the strongest, so your papa will put up a fight, but with the El Depravados supporting the Morettis, it would only be a matter of time before he is swallowed up. The only way to prevent this dominance is to take the Luciani Family back to the top. As a Crown, you will have unimaginable power. You can make a lot of changes with that power. Reorder things however you please.”
Like he did. We’re having one of the most peaceful reigns under Adamo Rossetti. He’s ruthless about weeding out thorns so rich fruits can grow. And he does it with ease, without wars and blowbacks.
Now I know how.
The Luciani Family has been in shambles for a while now. As much as I don’t care about the empire, if I can successfully achieve the plans I’ve thought about over the years, it would be rewarding.
I’ve spent the last decade studying Uncle, aspiring to be like him. Now I know there’s more to his strength and power. Hands behind the curtain. No amount of studying and aspiration would’ve gotten me to his level. There’s a source. And he’s showing me the path to that source.
“I trust your advice and guidance, Uncle,” I reply. “As hard as it will be for me to glue my lips to someone’s ass, I’ll do it.”
“Oh, you will be thanking me later,” he says. “Being a Crown also means, as you younglings say, ‘rich as fuck.’”
I can’t help laughing. Uncle is such a laser-focused, button-up wizard that any kind of common speech coming from him is hilarious.
“It is good to hear you laugh,” he says with a ghost of a smile. “You do it so rarely.”
I shrug.
With a reluctant sigh, he stands up and rounds his desk. He opens a drawer, takes something out, and hands it to me.
It’s a photo of a man in a US Army uniform. Looks around mid-twenties.
“This is him?” I ask. “He looks so...normal.”
Serious. A little menacing. But still boringly normal.
Uncle snorts. “That’s the point. Our biggest mistake in life is judging people by their outward appearance. Take no one at face value, son. Half the people you come across are never who they say they are.”
Got it. “What’s his name?”
“On the back.”
I flip the photo over and there’s indeed a name and date of birth scribbled in red ink.
Torin Garza.
CHAPTER ONE
“What’s his name?”
Tillie
Age 19
Beverly Crest, Los Angeles
7 years later…
PRESTON MATTHEWS STARES DOWN the barrel of my gun.
“Whoa there, Tillie T,” he says with a nervous laugh, arms out in a placative gesture, briefs around his ankles, his unimpressive dick on display. “Just calm down for a minute. You’re misreading the situation, I swear.”
