Chapter 206: Surprises

The cold morning air of Christmas Day bit at Ricky’s cheeks through the open ventilation louvers of the Pierce-Arrow Model 48.

?He sat in the deep leather rear seat of the big blue motorcar, a thick, folded wool scarf tied securely over his eyes as a blindfold. On his left sat Patrick Williams; on his right sat Patrick’s brother, Sean. Both men were leaning against him with exaggerated weight, keeping their arms firmly draped over his shoulders to make sure he didn’t try to peek underneath the wool.

?Up front, Jimmy Williams held the heavy wooden steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the snow-dusted gravel lane ahead, while his brother Michael sat in the passenger seat, resting his arm along the door frame. The smooth, sixty-horsepower six-cylinder engine hummed with a quiet, expensive purr as the car cruised east through the quiet Westchester countryside between White Plains and Rye.

?"Seriously," Ricky said, leaning his head back against the leather cushion. "What is this about? Why do I need a blindfold on a Monday morning?"

?Michael turned around in his seat, laughing softly. "It’s a surprise, boss. You’ll see when we get there."

?"The gift itself is rather large," Jimmy added from behind the wheel, a wide grin visible in the rearview mirror. "That’s why we figured we’d save you the trouble of seeing it halfway down the road."

?Ricky let out a brief chuckle, shaking his head against the wool scarf. "You four are ridiculous."

?Patrick and Sean exchanged a quick, silent glance over Ricky’s head, their shoulders shaking as they fought back a pair of snickers. They had been sitting on this secret for eight months, watching the invoices, the construction crews, and the delivery wagons move through Westchester without Ricky noticing a single detail.

?The Pierce-Arrow turned off Kenilworth Road, its heavy rubber tires crunching cleanly over a long, private driveway lined with towering, frost-dusted white pines. The motorcar glided through a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates that stood swung wide, coming to a smooth stop on a broad circular gravel turn.

?Jimmy cut the ignition. The heavy engine died with a quiet click, leaving only the crisp sound of the winter wind whispering through the pine branches.

?Jimmy stepped out onto the gravel, pulling open the rear passenger door. "Alright, boys. Help him out."

?Patrick and Sean grabbed Ricky by his elbows, carefully guiding him down onto the crushed stone path. The air smelled sharp and clean—rich with cedar, frozen earth, and fresh pine needles.

?Ricky stood in the center of the driveway, his hands in the pockets of his dark wool overcoat. "Alright. Come on. What is it?"

?Michael walked around the hood of the car, stopping right in front of him. "Ready?"

?"I’ve been ready for the last twenty minutes," Ricky said.

?Patrick reached behind Ricky’s head, untying the knot and pulling the wool blindfold away.

?Ricky blinked against the bright morning sun reflecting off the light crust of snow on the lawn.

?Standing before him was a sweeping, two-story country estate.

?It wasn’t a modern steel-frame mansion, nor was it a gaudy summer palace built by Fifth Avenue millionaires. It was a substantial, beautifully proportioned Westchester country seat built of dark fieldstone and deep red brick. The broad, symmetrical main facade featured a slate roof with four tall brick chimneys, multi-paned windows reflecting the pale blue sky, and a broad covered stone portico guarding the double oak entrance doors. Two extensive wings—one extending east, the other west—stretched outward from the central structure, surrounded by mature oak trees and winter gardens.

?In the center of the circular gravel turn stood a carved stone fountain wrapped in evergreen boughs and holly garlands.

?Standing formally along the stone steps of the front portico were twenty young men and women, dressed neatly in wool coats, dark suits, and simple winter dresses. They were graduates of the second Pound Ridge training batch—recruits who had finished their tradecraft and physical drills a month prior and were currently awaiting field assignments.

?Jimmy stepped up beside Ricky, sweeping his arm toward the house with a wide, proud smile. "Welcome to your new home, boss."

?Ricky stood completely motionless on the gravel. His eyes drifted from the slate roof down to the stone portico, over to the expansive East Wing, and finally to the twenty agents standing quietly on the steps.

?He let out a low, breathless scoff, rubbing his chin. "...You’re kidding me."

?The Williams brothers instantly erupted into loud, boisterous laughter. Patrick slapped Sean across the back, and Jimmy let out a loud whistle that echoed across the clearing.

?"YES!" Jimmy shouted, pumping his fist in the cold air. "Now that’s what I call a winning Christmas gift!"

?Michael walked up, grinning ear to ear. "Eight months, boss."

?Ricky turned his head, staring at Michael. "Eight months?"

?"Renovations," Michael explained, gesturing toward the brick facade. "Roofing, interior plaster, electrical wiring, plumbing, and expanding the wings."

?Ricky walked slowly toward the stone steps, his boots crunching against the gravel. He kept his eyes locked on the broad front doors, still trying to absorb the sheer scale of the property.

?"How?" Ricky asked, turning back to Jimmy. "How did you even acquire a place like this?"

?Jimmy shrugged casually, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "Ah, don’t worry about it."

?"Jimmy," Ricky said, his voice dropping into a flat, warning tone.

?Jimmy grinned. "Marek bought the land."

?Ricky paused on the path. "Marek?"

?"The property had an old, abandoned estate sitting on it that had been tied up in a probate court for six years," Michael clarified. "Marek bought the deed through one of his commercial holding companies back in April. We planned together to give you the best Christmas present. Instead of building something new from scratch, he handed the keys over to us. We spent the last eight months hiring carpenters from Port Chester and running materials up from the White Plains yard."

?Jimmy’s grin softened slightly as he looked at his brothers. "Last Christmas, back on Aunt Molly’s loft in Washington Street, all of us were sitting around drinking whiskey and talking about gifts. Me, Michael, Patrick, Sean, Arthur, Tom, Frank Murphy, Evelyn, the McClain brothers, Caleb, Eli..."

?"We decided to make a little competition out of it," Michael added with a soft chuckle. "Whoever could give you the best Christmas gift this year."

?Ricky looked around the circular driveway, taking in the stone fountain, the lined pine trees, and the brick wings. "And this is yours?"

?"Ours," Jimmy corrected firmly. "And Marek’s."

?Ricky shook his head, a rare, faint smile touching the corner of his lips. "You guys didn’t have to do this."

?Michael laughed softly, his tone turning grounded and sincere. "We know, Boss. That’s the point."

?Ricky stopped near the base of the stone steps, looking at the four brothers standing beside him.

?"Over a year ago," Michael said, looking out over the snow-covered lawn, "we were a bunch of street hoodlums in Greenwich Village."

?Ricky remembered. "Petty rackets. Small distribution runs. Running from precinct cops."

?"Night deliveries," Ricky added quietly, a flash of memory taking him back to September of 1910

?Michael chuckled. "Exactly."

?"I remember it very well," Ricky said softly, his voice reflecting the weight of those early days. "Back then, it was just me, Marek, John Caldwell, and the Murphy brothers. Two wooden wagons and a pair of old horses."

?Jimmy let out a bark of laughter. "Two beat-up wagons that creaked louder than a church organ."

?"We moved cargo through Greenwich Village at night because we didn’t want precinct patrolmen inspecting our crates during the day," Ricky said, looking at the Williams brothers. "And then you four showed up. You weren’t just good at selling things, Jimmy. You actually enjoyed it."

?Michael grinned proudly, adjusting his collar.

?"You four are core founders of this organization," Ricky said, looking back up at the majestic stone estate. "We’ve come a long way from two wagons in an alley and now you guys have your own company. You’ve expanded to Port Chester and Rye and starting to expand to more to the east and south. But we’re only getting started."

?Jimmy nodded firmly, his eyes bright. "You got that right, boss." He turned and gestured toward the grand oak entrance. "Come on. Let me show you around the inside."

?They walked up the stone steps together. The twenty young agents standing along the porch snapped to attention, opening the double oak doors as Ricky walked through the threshold.

?Stepping inside, the biting cold of the morning was instantly replaced by the deep, inviting warmth of a roaring fire. The air smelled of beeswax, polished oak, woodsmoke, and fresh pine boughs.

?The entrance opened into a grand central foyer with soaring ceilings. A broad, curved oak staircase led up to the second floor, its dark wooden handrails draped in thick evergreen garlands and red velvet ribbons. A heavy wrought-iron and crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, casting a warm golden light over polished hardwood floors that gleamed like glass. To the left and right, grand corridors connected the central house to the East and West wings, while discreet panel doors near the rear led toward the service areas.

?Near the entrance to the main sitting room stood a massive, ten-foot balsam fir Christmas tree, fully decorated with glass ornaments, paper stars, and popcorn strings.

?Ricky stopped in the center of the foyer, looking up at the decorated staircase. "You decorated the entire place?"

?"Of course," Jimmy said proudly, taking off his hat. "Can’t hand over a Christmas gift without tinsel."

?They moved into the Grand Sitting Room off the foyer. It was furnished with deep leather couches, plush velvet wingback chairs, floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, and a massive stone fireplace where thick hickory logs crackled merrily. It was a formal, elegant room—designed to receive guests, businessmen, or local officials who had no knowledge of the organization’s true operations.

?Adjacent to the sitting room was the Formal Dining Room. A long, dark oak dining table capable of seating twenty-four people had already been prepared for the evening. Fine porcelain Christmas china, polished silverware, crystal goblets, and tall white candles sat atop a crisp linen tablecloth, surrounded by pine cone centerpieces.

?Ricky walked around the table, touching the back of one of the carved wooden chairs. "...You people really went all out."

?From behind him, Patrick grinned. "You haven’t even seen the East Wing yet."

?They walked down the eastern corridor, where the formal architecture gave way to a space designed entirely for recreation and informal gatherings.

?The first room was a private bar, complete with a dark walnut counter, a polished brass footrail, and mirror-backed shelves stocked with bottles of whiskey, gin, French wines, and dark rum. Round card tables and comfortable leather chairs were arranged around a secondary stone hearth, creating a space where senior members could sit, drink, and speak freely without worrying about outside eyes.

?Beside the bar was a larger entertainment hall featuring a low, raised wooden stage. Several musical instruments sat arranged on stands—a polished upright piano, three violins, two acoustic guitars, brass trumpets, and a trap drum set.

?"We figured we’d have live music tonight," Jimmy noted, pointing toward the stage.

?Further down the hall was a games room equipped with a heavy slate billiard table covered in green felt, chess sets, writing tables, and card tables. The upper floor of the East Wing contained seven spacious, fully furnished guest bedrooms designed to house visiting senior agents or out-of-town operatives staying overnight.

?Ricky took in the layout, realizing the brilliance of the design. This wasn’t merely a luxurious mansion for him to live in—it was a fully functional private retreat and executive headquarters where the syndicate’s inner circle could meet, rest, and operate in total security.

?"Come on," Jimmy said, waving his hand toward the opposite side of the house. "Now let me show you the West Wing."