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Half an hour later, our first stop is the Newtown Crematorium, a fine establishment that boasts four twin cremators. Its owner is a cousin who shares the same great-grandfather, but not the Montesano last name.
The cremation chamber’s atmosphere is heavy with the mingled scents of burning metal and wood. Ventilators hum and gas burners roar, providing the perfect backdrop for a mass execution.
It’s already cramped with eight of my men standing within its white-tiled walls among four gurneys containing cardboard coffins lined up at the entrance of each cremator.
In the middle of the room kneels a quartet of familiar-looking men with their arms tied behind their backs.
“Nicky Dellucci, Joe Napolitano, Val Esposito, and Vito De Luca,” I say, “It’s been a long time.”
All four of them shiver, as they should. They were once Dad’s loyal lieutenants, who sided with Capello within days of my arrest.
I still remember a newspaper article that displayed a picture of Capello and his piece-of-shit attorney, Joseph Di Marco, cutting the ribbon of the hotel they built beside Dad’s stolen casino. All four of these motherfuckers stood behind them, grinning like proud uncles.
“Status report,” I ask Benito.
“We’ve had the cremators burning all night. All their underlings are nothing more than ashes,” my brother replies, already sounding like the casino’s new boss. “All that remains are these four, who we saved for you.”
“Any last words, gentlemen?” I ask.
Three of them bow their heads, already knowing that nothing they say will save them from their fate. Vito De Luca is the only one who looks me in the eye.
“Believe me when I say I never betrayed your family. Enzo was dead and you were behind bars. Benito was away in law school and Cesare was busy in medical school. They were both too young to take the reins. The business had to continue.” He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales a shuddering breath. “How was I supposed to know Frederic stole the casino from under your family’s nose?”
I rub my chin, my gaze meeting Benito’s, before turning back to De Luca’s. “You mean to say that you thought you were still working for the Montesano family?”
He gives me an eager nod. “I swear to god.”
“Ah.” I nod back, my jaw clenching.
Nicky Dellucci chooses this moment to pipe up. “Roman, I’ve known you since you were a kid. This isn’t like you. This whole situation is a misunderstanding.”
The other two captives murmur their agreement.
“Then explain to me why you didn’t reach out to my brothers the moment that bastard renamed the casino.” I spread my hands wide, eager to hear what bullshit they’ll spew next. “Or did you just miss the giant neon sign that flashed Capello Casino?”
All four of them fall silent.
It’s exactly as I thought.
I turn to Benito. “Do you have anything to add before we put them to rest?”
“Capello took control of the casino because of cowards like you who switched allegiances,” Benito says, his voice flat. “Now, you get to serve him in hell.”
“Please,” De Luca screams. “Don’t do this.”
I flick my head toward my men. “Put them to rest.”
My brother and I step back to give our people space to lower the four betrayers into their cardboard coffins. Each of them snivels and begs for their lives, their voices adding a melody to the snap and crackle of the furnace.
“When you betray the Montesano family, you pay for disloyalty with your lives,” I say.
Gil moves to my side. “Do you want them to tape down the lids?”
“No,” I reply. “Let them get a preview of their fate.”
The wails increase in volume, mingling with curses and pleas for mercy, even as the men slide the coffins onto metal rollers that feed them to the cremator.
The furnace comes to life, and flames spring out from both the top and bottom of the chamber. Heat shoots out from the mouth of the cremator, sending out bursts of warmth.
