Page 30 of Beni

Theo DeLuca stood on Tommas’s right. Damian Rossi, the father to Joe and Cory Rossi who owned the shot-up club, stood on the man’s left. Despite it being close to twelve at night, all three looked as though they were ready for a full day of business in their three-piece suits.

Beni cleared his throat to gain Tommaso’s attention, and nodded toward the man’s father—their boss—when Tom looked his way. Tommaso whistled low, gaining the attention of the others who hadn’t noticed the shift in atmosphere.

Part of his mind was still on August, and the fact a few doors down, a nurse was currently cleaning and bandaging her hands. The other part was on this mess here, and what they would need to do about it. He would see August shortly, he was sure.

For now, he had to handle this.

Tommaso waved a hand, bringing in his cousins, Cory and Joe, before the four of them headed for the three men waiting at the other side of the room. That was the thing about the boss, and his men. They didn’t go to anyone. Not even if those men were their sons—they had to go to the boss.

Respect, and all.

“What happened?” Tommas asked his son.

Tommaso hitched a shoulder. “The gang shot up the front of the club while we were inside. The Easties.”

“How do you know it was the east side gang?”

Theo DeLuca asked the question that time.

Damian stayed quiet—then again, Beni barely ever remembered the man saying much whenever he was in his presence. It could be disconcerting, but Joe and Cory always said that was just their dad, unless, of course, he was in a family situation. Then, Damian was far more likely to open up, and seemed less like a block of ice.

Beni didn’t know if that was true.

“Because,” Tommaso continued, “word has already made the rounds.”

“And,” Cory added to Tom’s left, “someone outside reported to the cops that when the windows in the car rolled down before the shooting started, they saw some tattoos.”

Damian grunted under his breath, cold eyes turning to his youngest son when he asked, “Gang tattoos?”

“They described them accurately, so yeah.”

“I told you a club on the east end was not a good idea, Joe.”

Joe’s jaw tightened at his father’s comment. “Listen, we put word out on the street that we were going to be around tonight. It’s been only the east side crew that’s had a problem with the gang. They’ve never struck out against anyone outside of the crew. We didn’t have reason to believe tonight would be the night they—”

“You put word out that Outfit people were going to be at the club?” Beni asked.

All eyes turned on him.

He might have cared that he spoke out of turn on another night, but not this one.

“It was a precaution,” Tommaso said.

Beni nodded. “And actually, all you did was invite trouble.”

“Beni—”

“Nah, Tom, that’s what you did. You basically put us on a silver platter, and went, here you go, fuckers, take what you want.”

Tommaso turned his entire body to angle it in Beni’s direction as though the two of them were going to go head to head in two-point-three seconds if one of them moved. He was willing to accept the challenge from his cousin, though, considering the mood he was currently feeling.

“You think that’s what we did?” Tommaso asked.

“Unintentionally, maybe. Who the fuck puts word out on the streets that Outfit people are going to be at a club, anyway?”

“We do,” Joe snapped, “because it’s always worked in the past. We control this city, not the other way around. And we intend to keep it that way, so yeah, when we fucking speak, people tend to listen.”

Beni scoffed hard. “Except the Easties have been getting more and more violent toward a specific Outfit crew, and here we are, in their territory. Like feeding chickens to wolves.”