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Alceu waves dismissively. “The boy was tied to a chair. His muscles are. . .twitching.This happens. Let me get a good look at you, boy.” He hums as he scrutinisies Jimmy. “You still have that fire in your eyes. Your father had it too. It is that fire that brought me here. I came all this way to hear you speak. To hear the truth from my grandson’s mouth. I’m impressed with what you have created here,se?I’m very proud. Not many men would have me travel across the world at my age to hear them speak. I gave that to you. I gave you that honour.” Alceu points at us. “These boys. Luca’s boys.Myblood. They are your operation. Have you told them how important they are to us?” Sighing with strained disappointment, he eyes Jimmy thoughtfully.
I drop my gaze to watch Jimmy’s fingers twitch by his side, and I wonder if he is picturing the blade strapped to his leg. “Luca‘s boys,” he repeats, spite filling his deep, smooth tone.
Clay steps away from me, positioning himself on Alceu’s right-hand side. “My family. Your men. They don’t trust you anymore, Jimmy. And you have been operating as though you have no one to answer to. As though you are, the boss.” He looks at Alceu, drilling in his message. “We’re a family first. Have you forgotten that?Cosa Nostra.Ourthing. Family. What are we if not family men?”
A slow smile moves across Jimmy’s face as he measures the situation, moving his knowing gaze from Alceu to Clay. “Do you know how my saint died?”
Alceu turns and places his hand on Clay’s forearm. “I’m glad I came to see you both. I’ll retire for the day. Boys,” he says, signalling the guards. “These three need some family time. Leave them.” I grin as all the guards shadow Alceu into the heart of the abattoir. The metal door slides shut behind them, enclosing us inside together.
“Yes,” Clay states adamantly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “He was killed by his son.”
“Yes.”Jimmy nods slowly, respect sailing back into his eyes. “I’m proud of you, my boy. You will kill me now, take my place, and run this city with my grandchildren. Another great achievement of mine.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Jimmy.” Clay takes a few steps backwards with a calculated smooth grin. “I don’t kill men with my fists anymore.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulls out a silver knuckle duster. The shiny piece flashes under the overhead orange light as he passes it to me. Taking it, I notice the cracked dried blood on my hands. The feel of it on my face, like clay, forces my awareness of its presence almost everywhere. I must look as mad as he believes me to be.
I grin from ear to fucking ear.
He made me mad.
He wants mad.
I can give him mad.
With my heart beating like a war drum, excitement rushing through my veins, I say, “How many men have I killed for you, Jimmy? I’d put the count in the fifties. Twice as many as any of my brothers.” I look down at his ankle as he shuffles his feet. “Get your knife out, mate. You can fight me like a Sicilian does, and I’ll kill you like a Butcher does.”
He reaches down. Pulling the thick, shiny blade out, he lowers his head and glares through his lashes at me. The reality of this moment hammers down on me.
I’m going to kill Jimmy.
“Do you respect me, my boy?”
I nod, gripping the bloody blade in my hand. “Yes.”
“Tell me why?”
Glancing at the corpse on the floor, I say, “Because everyone else does.”
“Do they?” Jimmy leans down to meet my eyes. “Or are they afraid of me? Do you know the difference?”
I shake my head because I don’t. “No.”
“That’s because there isn’t one.”
I move in, jabbing him in his cocky mouth with the metal duster, spilling pretty rich red fluid from it. Hissing, he swipes at me, but I jump back just in time. The blade grazes my shirt, leaving a tiny slice in the material. We circle each other. Jimmy goes in again, connecting with my side, drawing a bloody stripe along one of my ribs.
A daring smile curves across his lips.
“Offer everyone your smile, my boy.”
My brows draw in. “But what if I don’t like them?”
“Smile harder. They’ll never know what hit them.”
Stifling a violent sob at the reverie, I force a smile to match his own. Lunging forward, I jab him in the right eye, step back, jab, step, jab, step.
He falls to the floor, and I pounce on him, kneeling on either side of his body. A sharp sensation shoots through my hip, drawing my focus to the pain. Gazing down, I see a black handle bobbing, the blade completely embedded in my flesh.
“He was your friend,” I say, staring at the smoking hole between the man’s brows.
