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Twenty-Four
The bloody, severed heads of The Council hung from the balcony, as if piked in some medieval castle. They were all there except Dario, who Anteros saved for last. Each of their faces was twisted in a dying breath, the face of their final mortal moment. It was garish and undignified, nothing like the men they had professed to be their entire lives. They were faces of surprise and indignation, of cowardice when confronted with a loss of steely privilege.
The blood dripped slowly now, unlike the moment of their death when it had gushed quickly and with purpose, painting the banister red and violent. Now it was lethargic and calculated, building into a bulbous tear that fell with a drip into an already big pool on the floor.
Anteros adjusted his rolled sleeves completely drenched in blood. Maybe it was ostentatious, but no one would question him. The blood from the bodies pooled around his shoes; where people usually got high, drunk, and danced, now blackish red liquid pressed against his soles. It shined even in the darkness.
Only a few dim bulbs lit the room and the dingy yellow light blurred the lines. Even the bodies appeared faded in the darkness.
“I haven’t seen you get this bloody in years,” Little O commented. Anteros turned from the severed heads, grinning at Little O. Next to Little O’s feet four headless suits slowly soaked up blood, their necks finished with expelling themselves.
“It’s for a good cause. Finish up here.” Anteros raised the knife in his hand to gesture at the headless bodies on the floor. The knife gleamed like it was satisfied with a job well done. When Little O started readying the bodies for the cleanup crew, Anteros headed for the stairs, his shoes squeaky with blood.
It had been awhile since Anteros had felt happy, if that was what this was. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually felt the emotion, even. Climbing the stairs, he thought this must be it. His limbs felt lighter, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Earlier in the library with Frankie, it had hit him, like the buzz of really good liquor. News of the councilmembers’ abductions had already reached him and everything was going according to plan. The coup was going to work.
There was no one left to oppose him.
It must be happiness. Beauty, the drug they sold in the warehouse, promised the feeling for forty bucks a pop. No wonder people went broke. His hand was slippery against the banister, blood sliding against the polished wood. It didn’t matter; the entire warehouse would be cleaned in the morning, and when the cleaners came, they would spread the word. They would see the heads and then everyone would know.
The Council was through. The crumbling columns they had been propping up with Anteros’s back had finally been knocked down. Even if you hated the Beast, you’d have to follow him.
Anteros entered the office. Pretty Boy and Big O held Dario on his knees, hands on each of his shoulders. Against the wall, Crazy A leaned. Even if he hadn’t been present for the planning, he’d at least shown up for the finale. Dario struggled against the hold, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to get out.
“If you think you can get away with an unsanctioned kill of a councilmember—” Dario paused to laugh, looking up at Pretty Boy and Big O then back to Anteros “—you’re stupider than I thought.” Anteros slowly advanced to Dario, bending down until he was eye level.
“There is no council.” Anteros gripped Dario by the lapels, pulling him up. Still holding him by the lapels, Anteros shoved Dario out of the room, making him stumble down the stairs of the warehouse until he was in the middle of the room. Holding him up so that he could see very clearly, Anteros directed Dario’s attention up to the banister where the severed heads of the former council were piked.
Dario’s eyes widened. Anteros thought it was the only time he’d ever seen Dario truly stunned. A flicker of fear passed over the man’s face, even. Dario was always a stolid, impassive man, never showing his cards, the perfect poker player. Seeing the piked heads of the councilmen had caused him to stumble, to momentarily flash his hand.
“You’re next,” Big O said from behind Anteros.
“Obviously,” Little O said a moment later.
“It was implied,” Pretty Boy added with exasperation. Ignoring them, Anteros shoved Dario to his knees. Falling to the bloody floor, the man’s bespoke suit soaked red at the knees. Whatever fear or surprise had been on his face before vanished. As he looked up at Anteros, he was once again the picture of impassivity.
Anteros could respect Dario in his death, at least. Faced with the grim reaper, he did not balk. Unlike the other council members who had pleaded and begged for their lives, Dario faced him with a steely glare, goatee pinched around a thin emotionless line.
“Last words?” Anteros asked.
“You can kill the entire family,” Dario said. “You still won’t be a Pavoni.” Anteros narrowed his eyes as the man continued. Dario’s impassivity broke with a bitter grin as he said, “Your blood is trash. You will never be recognized as a true Boss of this Family.”
Clenching his jaw, Anteros raised the knife and sliced through the councilmember’s neck with one quick motion. It rolled clean off his body, landing on the floor with a thud. Seconds later, Dario’s headless body lost the ability to stay upright, landing on the floor as well.
Hand gripping the knife tightly, Anteros stared at the final councilmember’s head. Dario’s severed head was unlike the others—cruel and impassive, mocking even in death. With a deep, craggy exhale, Anteros turned and faced his Wolves.
One by one they got to their knees on the blood soaked floor.
Little O lowered his head. “Boss.”
Big O followed, bending his own head. “Boss.”
Pretty Boy continued, tilting his head in succession. “Boss.” They kept their heads bowed for a moment while an unfamiliar feeling filled Anteros’s chest—was it validation? Pride? The moment continued until Little O lifted his head and looked to Crazy A, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Big O and Pretty Boy lifted their heads next, looking to Crazy A.
He shrugged and said, “Boss.”
All at once, everyone got to their feet.
“Well, that was climactic,” Big O said, shaking out his shoulders.
