The music continued to play overhead and most of the people didn’t have a clue what had just happened, but all the tables that surrounded us had watched the violent scene with terrified expressions. A lot of people had left their seats altogether and fled elsewhere like they didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
My father remained where he stood and turned his stare on Wolfe.
I’d seen that look many times. Leo and I called it “The Wrath of God.”
Wolfe looked just as explosive, like he was tempted to pursue Warren and rip his head off in the middle of the dance floor.
“What the fuck, Wolfe?” My father raised his voice. “I told you to stop?—”
“I don’t care!” Wolfe yelled. “And I’m not fucking sorry. When someone crosses you, you handle it right then and there?—”
“Enough.” My father stepped away from the table and started to walk off. “Wolfe, come with me.Now.”
10
WOLFE
We left the hotel altogether and stepped onto the street, which was empty except for a few people crossing on the other side of the road. Motorbikes were parked on the curb, and we stopped underneath a streetlight, the bass from the music of the wedding still audible where we stood.
Don Mancini unloaded an entire clip of words into my chest. “I’m a man of my word—and you violated that on my behalf. You humiliated me in front of my allies and my adversaries. You caused a scene at my friend’s wedding and probably destroyed that friendship with your flames. I told you to stop, and you disobeyed me—and I can’t have a man in my employ who doesn’t follow my orders.” It was the first time he raised his voice and reprimanded me, the first time he seemed human with a showcase of emotion. He was several inches shorter than me, but what he lacked in height he compensated for with the fire of his angry demeanor.
“A word of advice. You let one man disrespect you—then they all disrespect you. I’m not sorry for what I did, and I judge you for not doing the same. How can you stand there and let someman speak about your own daughter that way? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I was about to get stabbed underneath that streetlight, but I didn’t care. I’d definitely lost my job, but I didn’t care about that either.
“I would have handled it, but you didn’t give me the chance?—”
“It’s my job to handle this shit on your behalf, Don. It’s my job to break arms and necks at your beck and call. I don’t give a shit if we’re standing at the altar in a church and the fucking pope is the one making threats about Francesca—he’s fucking dead.” I formed a gun with my thumb and forefinger, pointed it at my temple, and squeezed the trigger. “Nobody crosses you. That altercation was completely unwarranted, and he started shit that he wasn’t prepared to finish. He was a fucking coward who assumed you would just sit there and take it—and he was fucking wrong. Not only did he learn that lesson, but everyone who hears about it will learn that fucking lesson.” I slammed my fist against my chest. “Not to cross Don Mancini.” Warren had picked the wrong woman to stare at too long, but I would have broken his arm, regardless, because that little boy needed to mind his manners. “Fire me if you want. I don’t give a damn. Still not sorry, and yes, it will fucking happen again.”
“You broke his arm and humiliated him in front of five hundred people.”
I didn’t feel a drop of remorse. “He started it.”
“And now he’s going to want an eye for an eye.”
“Give him my phone number and address.”
“Wolfe.”
“I’ll kill him first. How’s that?”
“Like we don’t have enough shit on your plate, Wolfe. This was unnecessary conflict?—”
“That he started. He walked up to you in the middle of that wedding and poked the bear. And you know why? Because he thought he could get away with it.” My eyes shifted back and forth between his. “Don, I respect the way you do business. I could have gone to any other gang, but I chose you because I like you. But if you’re going to be in this game, then you need to be a top player. Otherwise, they’ll push you off the board. You always have to defend your territory—every fucking day. And it’s exhausting and repetitive and most of these battles are fought over egos rather than money or contraband, but that’s just how it is.”
He stared at me, his rage noticeably dimmed as he listened.
“I’ll handle it.”
He sighed as he looked away.
“I understand you just want to do business and avoid conflict, but business and conflict are bound together in this game.”
He continued to stare somewhere across the street.
“Being confrontational is the best way to prevent future conflict. I’ve already seen the difference. When we make our rounds, people pay on time. No one haggles on prices anymore. Whenever drops are made, they ask when it’s convenient for us. When we roll in an hour late, they don’t say a fucking word. You want to know why, Don?”
His eyes shifted back to me.
“Because they respect you—and they fucking fear you. In my book, respect and fear are one and the same.”
