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I guess it bugged me that not everyone could see how many strides he’d taken already, how much shit he’d cleared up, how much money he’d made.
From the looks of things, it bugged Lorenzo too.
He didn’t work so fucking hard to be disrespected by some two-bit crew that was too stupid to know that shit had changed in the criminal world since he took power.
“Are we giving them a talk or making them an example?” I asked, watching as Lorenzo’s gaze lifted to mine.
I knew the answer before he even said it.
“Example. You know what that means better than most,” he said, giving me a nod. “Excuse me. I need to go help her,” he said as the baby’s cries became shrieks. “Emilio will answer any questions,” he added as he rushed out of the room and ran up the stairs.
“What do you know better than anyone?” Cesare asked, looking over at me.
“That if we want to make it look like its an example and a warning, it has to have classic signs that it was done by someone in the Family. On their knees, face to the wall, bullets to the back of the head.”
Execution style, as they call it.
Classic mafia shit.
Almost as classic as cement shoes.
Classic also meant it was more risky, more difficult to pull off. Which was probably why we were being put on the job so late at night.
“You want this done tonight?” I asked, looking over at Emilio.
“If it is possible, yeah,” Emilio said. “If it’s not, no big deal. We just want this done as quickly as possible. These crews need to know who they’re fucking with,” he told us. “There are clean guns, gloves, and duct tape in the bag on the sideboard,” he added, nodding behind us. “Don’t need you catching another murder charge, do we?” he asked, clamping a hand on my shoulder as he moved past. “Keep us posted,” he added before disappearing into the kitchen.
“My first official hit order,” Cesare said, nodding his head.
“You’re shitting me,” I said, surprised.
“I was left to my own devices up in Maine,” he explained. “Because the boss man didn’t exactly know the intricacies of the shit going on up there, he let me use my own discretion in… handling people who needed handling. And since I’ve been back, it’s mostly been Brio getting the kill calls. It’s finally starting to feel like I’m part of the crew,” he added, turning to take the bag. “You driving or me?” he asked.
“Didn’t bring a car,” I admitted. “So you are.”
I bought myself one in case of jobs that required me to head out of town. But as a whole, I used public transport or walked.
“I’m halfway down the block,” Cesare said, leading me to his sleek black car.
The two of us climbed inside. As he put the car into drive, heading us out into Lewis Crew territory, I slipped on the gloves, so I could inspect the guns.
“Any idea how many fucks there are in the Lewis Crew?” Cesare asked, glancing over at me.
I was usually the one who felt out of the loop.
It had taken me a long-ass time to catch up on crews and major players after I got out.
It felt kind of good not to be the one most in the dark.
“I don’t know an exact number. But I’d say ten or fifteen. Not a big crew.”
“And he wants us to take them all out?” Cesare asked, brows pinching.
“Nah. I figure we get the high-level guys. Leave them as a warning for the rest. If we leave no one to talk, then word won’t get around to the other organizations that our Family isn’t something to be fucked with.”
“Do you know which ones are the heads?” Cesare asked as we parked up the block and watched the guys standing around on the sidewalk under the dappled lights of the street lamps, looking up to no good.
“Blue basketball jersey is one,” I said, looking through the binoculars. “And that one sitting down? In the black. He’s the second. I don’t see their enforcer, though,” I said, having a bit of a sinking feeling at that realization.
