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The shouting rang out from outside, multiple voices yelling at once. Carmine turned in disbelief as something slammed against the door, forcing it open. He flinched as the same noise echoed on the other side of the house, the back door torn from the hinges. Instinctively, he covered his head as a series of loud bangs ricocheted through the downstairs, bright lights blinding him as the police flash bombed the house.
An influx of men in SWAT gear burst through the doors, screaming for them to get down. Tess cried out from the living room as Dominic cursed, their voices muffled to Carmine’s ringing ears. It happened fast, and Carmine was cemented in place as Celia dropped to the floor with her hands above her head.
“Get down!” an officer screamed, pointing his weapon at Carmine, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. Celia grabbed his foot and yanked it, sending him stumbling. He dropped to his knees, and the officer shoved his face into the floor. They forced his arms behind him, and he cried out, trying to pull his hands away when they grabbed handcuffs.
“Don’t resist,” Celia said. “They need to detain us for their safety.”
He relaxed his arms to let them secure the cuffs. The officer nearly cut off his circulation as he tightened them.
“Vincenzo Roman DeMarco, you’re under arrest for violation of the RICO Acts, Title 18 of the United States Code, Section 1961,” an officer declared as he walked down the hallway, leading Vincent to the front door. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
Carmine grew frantic as they neared. “Dad!”
“Keep your mouth shut, Carmine,” he said as they led him outside. Officers pulled Corrado off the floor next and read him the same rights, placing him under arrest too.
“Call the lawyers, Celia,” Corrado said calmly. “I don’t want them seizing anything without one present.”
“I will,” she said, her voice shaking a bit. “Stay strong.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Corrado said. “I’ll be fine.”
An officer helped Celia off the ground and searched her before they walked away, and others led both Dominic and Tess out of the living room. They pulled Carmine to his feet last and pushed him against the wall, vehemently patting him down and taking everything out of his pockets.
Once they were satisfied he had no weapons, they led him through the front door. The street was blocked off and covered in police vehicles, dozens of FBI agents and local officers swarming the area. Carmine watched as they put his father and uncle in separate unmarked dark SUVs, his footsteps faltering as the reality of it hit him.
“Walk,” the officer said, pushing him.
Carmine stumbled a few steps and winced as they shoved him down on the curb beside Celia. “Take it fucking easy, man! I’m hurt!”
“Do you need a medic, son?” an older man asked, stepping in their direction. Carmine narrowed his eyes, reading Special Agent U.S. D.O.J. written on his vest in bright yellow letters.
“I’m not your son,” he said. “And what I need is to get the fuck out of here.”
“Patience would be nice. I’m Special Agent Donald Cerone, head of the organized crime division.”
Carmine cocked an eyebrow at his Italian name. “Cerone? Must be new slang for traitor.”
The agent snickered, motioning for the other officer to give him Carmine’s belongings. Carmine sighed when the agent opened his wallet, knowing what he would find.
“Ah, what’s this?” he asked. “Carmine Marcello DeMarco. Tell me, son, what year were you born? We have two different IDs here with two different ages.”
“Vaffanculo.”
“Carmine,” Celia warned. “Stop goading him.”
Agent Cerone just laughed again.
A female agent released Celia from her handcuffs and handed her a cell phone to call a lawyer. They gave her paperwork, explaining what they were doing as officers released Dominic and Tess from their restraints. Carmine watched as calmly as he could, but his patience was severely thin.
“Are you gonna take mine off?” he asked. “This is bullshit, Cerone.”
Agent Cerone ignored Carmine’s request and instead tried to ask him questions, which Carmine in turn ignored, refusing to say a word. He ached and shifted position, but every time he did a dozen agents eyed him like he was going to run.
He would. He would run if he could get away.
They brought boxes and bags out of the house, all of them tagged with evidence tape. Carmine leaned back on his elbows and stared at the ground until someone yanked him to his feet. “Should I release him now, boss? We’re nearly done.”
Agent Cerone shook his head. “Take him downtown.”
