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We’re backin the basement of the seedy strip club my father favors. Stupid fucking place to meet if you ask me. We should be meeting somewhere totally new, preferably off-grid in case shit goes sideways. Unless he’s trying to get us all killed. All it would take is one carefully placed bomb, no bigger than a can, and it’ll be lights out for the lot of us.
I shift in my seat, my legs wide and my gun resting on my thigh. My finger hovers over the trigger. Dante stands at my back, his suit jacket open, his gun within reach. I don’t trust a single person at this table. There are a few that I don’t actively distrust, but outside of Dante, they’re all capable of flipping.
My dad taps the end of his gun on the table as he looks around the room. He’s the quintessential mob boss right now: black suit, slicked-back hair, playing with a gun. “What happened?”
Anthony Romano clears his throat. “Best we can tell is Ralph banged his side piece like usual before coming home to his wife. His sons were home at the time, too. Whoever did it was quick and smart, disabled the security, left no note or calling card.”
“We need a name, and we need it now.” Dad’s always his most vicious when he’s quiet like this. It’s a deceptive calm, a sheet draped over the shark he is underneath.
“Is it possible that this is from two different forces? Could the Russians have an alliance with the cartel? All of these attacks feel both organized and spontaneous,” Victor Gallo says.
“Who would benefit from taking out a family?” Dominic Marino asks the question that’s been plaguing my thoughts since the phone call.
“The families next in line should be looked into.” Romano inclines his head.
Dad slams his fist against the aged table, the few drinks rattling with the sudden force. “This is more than a declaration of war—this is a taunt. These motherfuckers are taunting us and we’re talking about respect?”
“We don’t go around condemning families without proof, Angelo,” Marino snaps.
Dad holds up his index finger. “Correction: we didn’t. Until now.”
There’s a shift in the air, a collective breath held as we all watch my father devolve into living, breathing vengeance.
“They’re making us look like fools. Always scrambling to keep up, to try and find out who’s responsible and continuing to fail. You’re all failing me and the families.” He stabs the air with his index finger. “Those motherfuckers went into his home and put him down like a dog. It will not go unpunished.”
Murmurs of agreement sound around the room, but I keep my thoughts to myself. Instead, looking at the way each head of family reacts, trying to spot any weaknesses. Unlike my father, I know the importance a second has to his boss, so I include their seconds in my observation too.
“If they want to come for us? Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine. Don’t come back until you’ve reaped some vengeance for our fallen family member.”
The men shout cheers and my father sits back in his chair, looking like the picture of a cat who got the canary. His joy feels like oil, slimy and dark and thin.
By the time he’s done, there won’t be much left of the families to command.
