Blurred Lines

The afternoon summer breeze swept through Trident City's beaches, conducting the palm trees into a violent shiver. Bishop Profacci sneezed suddenly, jerking back to consciousness. Everything was a blur except for the feminine figure beside him and the white powder strewn across the table. "How long was I out?" he muttered, glancing at the clock. Just past noon. He gave the woman a sharp slap across the buttocks. "Out!" She scurried toward the door, clutching her clothes against her chest. Bishop still felt lightheaded as he pushed through the door of Frido's Chops. He slid into a booth at the far end, staring out the window at the hapless crowds. "The usual?" the waiter asked. Bishop nodded, watching the street traffic when his phone rang. A burner phone. No one should have this number. "How'd you get this number?" Bishop demanded. "You have no faith in me, brother," came Marius's calm voice. "You think a burner keeps you hidden?" "What do you want, Marius? I've got a steak waiting." Marius's breath became ragged. "Father's gone, Bishop. He died in his sleep." The line went dead. Bishop sighed, finishing his steak with mechanical precision. Father's death meant one thing—his exile had ended. He grabbed his pre-packed briefcase and headed for the airport, his fingers running through his hair as he hailed a taxi. Traffic was sparse. Within hours, he was airborne, bound for Salt Lake City. Bishop reclined and let his mind drift to his father. Alfredo "La Bouchère" Profacci was boss of the Profacci crime family for thirty years. Born in Saint-Brieuc, France to ordinary parents, Alfredo learned early to fend for himself. After his parents were gunned down in a mass shooting, he moved to Sicily to live with his uncle. At fourteen, he knocked out a twenty-two-year-old bully—who happened to be the nephew of Little Chin Marcello, boss of the Marcello family. Little Chin mediated, taking Alfredo's index finger as penance but recognizing his potential. Over the months, he took Alfredo to underground fight clubs. Within a year, his reputation grew. He became a proper enforcer, doing the bosses' vilest bidding. After fleeing to France following a high-profile hit, Alfredo saw opportunity—bringing "products" through ferries. Over decades, he built a billion-dollar empire with roots throughout France, Italy, and Spain. He inspired fear across the criminal underworld until weaker families banded together under Fernando Cortizo's leadership. The war weakened the Profaccis considerably. "A pity he died fighting," Bishop thought. --- Ali, the family butler, waited outside as Bishop arrived at the estate. "I see the young master didn't bother to pack," Ali observed. "Hey, brother!" Marius called from inside, embracing Bishop warmly. "Looking prime for the job, I see?" "Can I see him?" Bishop asked, his face stern. Marius led him downstairs into the basement. The coroner pulled back the tarp, revealing Alfredo's corpse. "He still scoffs at us, even in death," Marius joked. Bishop smiled wryly. His father's face looked stern and uncompromising. But then Bishop noticed something—a yellowish discharge streaming from the corpse's nose. "We've got business to attend to," Marius interrupted. "The lawyers are waiting upstairs." They entered a mahogany-paneled room where a bald man with a scruffy beard waited. "Shall we begin?" the consigliere asked. Marius nodded. "As Patron and Boss of the Profacci Family, I, Alfredo Profacci, relinquish my entire estate and businesses to my oldest son, Bishop Profacci." Bishop's lips cracked into a smile. "This rests solely on the condition that he marries Valentina Colombo, only daughter of Patrice Colombo. Failure to adhere would result in the estate being split between both brothers." Bishop's face fell. He stood and left the room, fury building inside him. How could his father expect him to marry someone he'd neve r met? Especially when he was already engaged to the woman he loved.