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The guards stub their smokes and stand at attention.
Genaro Bernero bears passing resemblance to his daughter. They’ve got similar eyes, similar hair color, but that’s about the extent of it. I’d bet Mirella takes after her mother in the looks department, which is good. Genaro’s got a pug nose and a double chin despite being in decent shape for an older guy. He’s thick and big, built like a pit bull, and he grins as I get closer. He keeps on smoking, despite the heat, and despite the way I stare at the cigarette with clear disdain. He should smother it on the ground out of respect. Like I want to smother him.
“Fynn, what a surprise,” he says, taking a drag and flicking off ash. “I came to see if my daughter would like a word with me but these lovely guards here wouldn’t let me up to the house.”
“You can’t just show up at Villa Bruno, Genaro. You know that.”
“Ah, come on, that’s my daughter in there. Can’t a father see his flesh and blood?”
I move closer, staring him down. I’m taller, younger, stronger. I may have a cane, and standing isn’t my strong suit, but that doesn’t matter.
“She’s your blood, but I don’t think she’s your daughter, if you understand me.”
He laughs like I’m kidding, but I’m not joking around.
“Come on, Fynn, you have to understand. I was young and stupid back then. I made up with her mom a long time back but my girl’s stubborn. She won’t talk to me, hasn’t talked to me in years, and all I want to do is make things right between us. I figured I could talk to her, explain everything, then maybe she’d understand.”
“Mirella doesn’t want to see you.” I make sure he hears that my tone is final. “She made it clear once and I don’t think we need a repeat of that scene.”
He scowls, glancing away. “She shouldn’t have done that in front of the Don.”
I suspect he cares more about being embarrassed than he does about mafia decorum and respect.
“We already handled that, Genaro. I’d appreciate it if you turned and left now.”
He looks at me curiously, like he can’t quite figure out if what I’m saying is a joke or not. He hasn’t come to grips with what’s happening yet. He sucks on the cigarette and blows the smoke out, holding it cupped under his right palm like he’s hiding it from the breeze though the air’s stale and still. The guards shift from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. The fact that Genaro hasn’t turned around and fucked off already is a violation of my authority, and my anger’s slowly boiling up through my guts.
“Listen, Fynn, I’m not here for trouble. If you could just let Mirella know I’m here—”
“I said no.” I put all the force and authority of the weight of my family position into my voice. This is his last warning. “Turn around and leave now, Genaro.”
“What the fuck is this?” He’s still smiling, still acting like I’m not serious. He takes another drag. “You fucking kidding around, Fynn? I’m a Capo in your family, you know that, right? You can’t just tell me to fuck off. That’s not how your father ran the Famiglia. He treated his people with respect.”
“I’m not my father, but if I were, I never would’ve raised a two-bit back-alley hustler like yourself to a position of power, particularly not a little sniveling scumbag that ran out on his family. You’re trash, as far as I’m concerned. You’re garbage, and I will not waste another one of my precious seconds dealing with you. So turn around, fuck off, and don’t go crying to my brother like a little baby girl.”
He steps forward, bristling now. His smile’s gone, replaced by an angry grimace. He sucks on his cigarette then flicks it toward me, and as it flies through the air, I step forward, bring the cane back, and swing it hard into his leg.
The meaty crunch of my cane bashing into his kneecap is a glorious noise, almost as good as his pained cry as he juts forward and falls to the ground. I raise the cane again and bring it down, hitting him in the hip, then the arm, then the ribs. I’m breathing hard and in a lot of pain, but I only stop because the guards rush forward and restrain me from breaking Mirella’s father’s skull. He disrespected me by flicking that cigarette in my direction, but that doesn’t mean I can murder a made man.
Genaro groans as he rolls onto his back, panting hard. He stares at the sky for a few seconds as I pull myself away from the guards. They make sure I’m not going to lose it before they release me, and I stand my ground, leaning on my cane again. My legs feel like they’re going to shatter, but I do my best to keep the pain from my expression.
