“It’s more than probably.”
He released a quiet chuckle before he grabbed his cigar from his front pocket and lit up. “You’re like the prince destined to take the golden throne, but you’ve decided to piss all that away by insulting the king.”
“I’m a man of principle. Always have been—and always will be. And a king who commits atrocities like that will eventually get his head cut off.” I took another puff before I released the smoke from my mouth. “He should consider himself lucky that I won’t be the one to do it.”
“I still think you’re making a mistake.”
“Ball’s in his court. He can make a choice…or he can make a mistake. That’s up to him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this venture goes south and gets abandoned within a year. Just wait it out. Or sabotage it. Threaten everyone we know to go behind Don Russo’s back?—”
“Santino.”
He sat back in the chair, leaving his cigar in the ashtray.
“You know this is wrong.”
His eyes shifted away, looking across the patio at everyone else.
“I’ve been in Cosa Nostra since I was a kid, and despite the blood on our hands and the alleyway deals and all the threats we make, I was proud to be a part of it. I couldn’t wait for the day I would be a man and truly be one of them. Ever since I watched Don Russo carve Erikson’s face to bits for crossing us, I knew this was what I was meant to do. No one has brought in more business, no one has bashed more skulls, no one has bled for Cosa Nostra more than I have. We’ve always operated in the shadows, always done our own thing, while innocent people didn’t have a clue who sat at the table beside them while a deal was going down—and I was proud of that. Because it’s a slippery slope from respectable organized crime to cruelty. This is that slope—and it’s steep and treacherous.”
He gave a slight nod as his eyes stayed down. “I get it.”
“I wash blood off my hands all the time, but the blood of innocents never comes off.”
“You think he’ll change his mind?”
“I don’t know. I made it clear I’ll leave if he doesn’t.”
“But you took a vow. If you leave, it’ll be considered a betrayal…and he’ll kill you.”
I smiled, a full-grown ear-to-ear smile. “I’d love to see him try.”
I stood in the courtyard of the villa, near the circular fountain that spilled recycled water on an endless loop. It was a beautiful, warm spring day, despite the rain that had fallen early in the morning. I was awake because I hadn’t gone to sleep yet.
I leaned against one of the stone pillars in the line and lit up my cigar as I stared at the large steel gate, the limestone that made up the massive walls that prevented drive-by shootings. The sunshine warmed the stone that I leaned on, so I could feel the heat travel through my long-sleeved shirt to my skin.
“Wolfe, Don Russo wants to see you.” Albert’s voice came from behind me, at the top of the stairs where the double doors were located.
“I’m sure he does.” I continued to smoke my cigar and enjoy it since I’d just lit it. I wouldn’t let something so good go to waste.
Albert remained behind me, not dumb enough to rush me.
A few minutes later, I tossed it on the ground and smashed it underneath my boot before I headed inside. It was a long walk to his office upstairs, and my heart was steady the entire way.
When I reached the double doors, they patted me down.
I smirked. “Guess I know what his answer is.”
They opened the double doors for me, and I stepped inside the large office, paintings by locals erected on the walls as a matter of Sicilian pride. We could easily get our hands on Renaissance pieces, but we were proud of our country and our heritage. Ever since the late eighteen hundreds, we’d been unified as a country, but true Sicilians still felt separate from the mainland.
Don Russo stood with Uncle Marco. Santino was there too, giving me a subtle warning with just his eyes, like I’d just stepped into trouble. Other guys were there too, extra muscle in case I snapped and lunged at Don Russo’s throat.
“I can see you’ve made your choice,” I said with a deep sigh. “I’ve said my piece, so I won’t try to change your mind. I hope you give me the same respect and let me go in peace.” Otherwise, I’d have to kill a lot of people in this room—a lot of people I still liked.
Don Russo didn’t move, his spine straight with his arms crossed, the top button of his collared shirt undone. He stared at me with exhaustion for a while before he rubbed his jawline. “Family doesn’t always agree. Family doesn’t always get along. But they’re still a family, Wolfe.”
My eyes shifted to Uncle Marco.
