Page 134 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

He simply wouldn’t like it.

“Where’s Edmond?”

“Yeah, where’s the boss?” another Capo asked.

A few men shifted in their seats, ignoring the gazes of the Capos who had asked after the boss. Or rather, who they thought was still the boss.

Gian had figured that word would have traveled by now throughout the ranks of the family, considering how many men had witnessed him murder and take the boss’s seat from Edmond. It certainly would have made part of this whole shit show easier.

No matter.

It seemed only a couple were out of the loop.

They would know soon enough.

Stephan and Dom stayed standing directly behind Gian, ready and willing to keep any man from leaving, if the need arose. Neither of them spoke as Gian tossed the extra large, heavy duty garbage bag to the checkered tiled floor a few feet in front of him.

All eyes went to the bag.

Gian didn’t make a move to acknowledge it, or even to open it.

“Seems we have a lot of problems in this family lately,” he said, still looking from man to man and never skipping a single one. “Seems we can’t get along like proper made men.”

They needed to know—all of them—that what had happened over the last several months, and the blood that had spilled throughout their streets, were all caused by their own hands. It didn’t matter if they had been the ones to pull the triggers. Their culture of avoid, evade, and ignore was enough to make them guilty in Gian’s eyes. Beyond that, the lines that had been drawn between the older generation and the younger made men, had not simply popped up all on its own. It was a divide that had come from unhappiness on one side, and entitlement on the other.

“You did this,” Gian said, loud enough for each and every man to hear.

He was not going to repeat himself after today.

A boss didn’t have to.

Not if he spoke properly the first time.

“Whether you looked away when things happened, or you personally held one of the weapons that took away members of this famiglia, you all did this,” Gian said with a shake of his head. “And you never considered who would be left cleaning up the mess.”

Gian pulled a pocketknife from his slacks, and bent down to slice a hole through the top of the garbage bag at his feet. Carefully, he grabbed the corner of the bag with the tips of his fingers, and used the toe of his shoe to kick it over.

The contents didn’t even empty completely from the black bag before the men in the pizzeria reacted to what they were seeing.

Chairs scraped.

Shouts echoed.

He was sure he heard someone gag, too.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight—bits and pieces of bodies spilling out of a garbage bag. A hand, a few fingers, a leg from the knee down, a bit of teeth, some congealed blood and gelatinous fluid, along with two battered heads.

As loud as the men’s reactions had been, their silence came on as strongly, and just as quickly, as they took in the faces of the severed heads resting on the restaurant floor.

Edmond Portella, their former boss.

Constantino Rossi, a fellow Capo.

“One from each side,” Gian said, drawing in the attention of the room again. He ran his fingers through his hair, knowing good and damn well, each man would be focused in on his actions, and therefore, would not miss his grandfather’s ring in its rightful place. On his fucking hand.

Gian waved at the random pieces of corpses at his feet. “One from each side, you see? A traitor—my friend,” he murmured, referring to Constantino. Then, he gestured to Edmond’s head, its mouth opened grotesquely, the nose shattered. “And another traitor—my mentor. They both thought that they could manipulate me to get them, or their agenda, where they wanted it to go. This is our family because of that.”

He smirked a little, adding, “None of you considered who would be the man to clean up the mess at the end of the day. Make sure each and every one of you takes a piece of this mess with you when you go, and dispose of it properly. You each had a hand in creating it, after all, so take equal part in cleaning it, too.”