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“What does he have to say about it?” I ask. The last thing I want is a man’s life on my hands because my father is giving me a test to assess whether I know how to come to my own conclusions.
“Ask him yourself,” my father offers, waving a hand in Giuseppe Gatti’s direction.
I nod to the captain holding the treasurer’s left elbow, and he jerks the older man’s gag down roughly.
“Please. Please, Nicolo, have mercy,” he sobs, shuffling toward me on his knees. “Think of my family. Would you take their father from them?”
Though my body screams for me to step back, I clench my fists and stand my ground. I can’t afford to hesitate and look weak. “I don’t want to hear your pleas, Gatti. Tell me what you took from my family.” Though the lead weight in my stomach makes me feel like vomiting, I grind my teeth through the nausea.
“Well, I-I-I–” he stutters, his eyes shifting from one uncaring face to the next in search of a potential ally. “I meant to pay it back,” he insists. “It was only until the loan came through on my house.”
Anger boils up in my chest as I listen to Gatti. He gambled his life on taking my family’s money, thinking no one would notice. But stealing as much as might cover the loan on a house? He’s a fool.
“And for all your claims of concern for your family, you didn’t think to come to us, your employers, and request our aid?” I keep an iron grip on my tone, forcing it to remain steady.
“P-p-please, Nicolo. Have mercy,” he stutters, seeming at a loss for any other words.
No, this is not a test to see if I might ferret out the real reason for why Giuseppe has been brought before me. This is a test of my mettle. To see if I’ll kill a man when I know it needs doing. Giuseppe Gatti chose to steal from our family. Despite his years of supposed friendship, he chose to skim off the top of our success, and that’s not the actions of a man who thinks he’s only borrowing the money temporarily.
Shaking my head, I look down at the ground. “Gag him,” I command through my teeth.
Mazza does as I say without hesitation as Giuseppe Gatti tries to protest once again. The captains struggle momentarily to keep him restrained as he jerks his shoulders erratically, his eyes growing wide as he sees his fate in my face.
The gentle click of my weapon of choice draws my attention to my father’s desk. A gun, a knife, a rope, a plastic bag, and brass knuckles await me.
“Prove you can do it, son,” my father instructs, his tone smooth and detached. “One day, you’ll be rich and powerful enough that you can have someone else do the killing for you. But today is initiation day. Every man must know how to take a life if he’s going to command others to do it for him. So… what’s your weapon of choice?”
Meeting my father’s gaze out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of anticipation there. This, too, is a test. I have to pick therightweapon, not just the one I might want to use most. Studying my options, I run through the possibilities. A gun would be too noisy in a house with my mother and sister and far too many people who aren’t privy to my family’s dealings. A knife would be too bloody for the same reason. Brass knuckles might make less of a mess, but then again, they would take too long and might potentially draw unwanted attention.
I consider the rope. Strangulation would be silent. But no, my father’s testing me to see if I intend to be showy. And that’s not what our killings are about. Brute force is used to deliver messages and serve as warnings. But Giuseppe Gatti is here to be executed, disposed of quietly so as not to make waves with the authorities.
Striding forward, I snatch up the sturdy plastic bag, and without giving myself time to think, I move behind Gatti. Fitting the plastic neatly over the middle-aged father of two, the happily married husband of Maria Gatti, I cinch the bag tight, leaving no space between the bag and his skin as I prepare to suffocate him.
Giuseppe Gatti thrashes violently, nearly ripping the bag, or at least yanking it from my hands. But I hold steady. Shoving my foot into the middle of his back and applying enough force that he can no longer resist. He tries to scream, and in his panic, the oxygen remaining in the bag vanishes completely.
Despite his age, Giuseppe puts up a considerable fight. By the time he’s finally shuddered his last attempt to break free, I’m winded from maintaining my grip. When I release the grip on the bag, Gatti’s head slumps forward lifelessly.
“Very good, son. You made the right choice,” my father praises me emotionlessly. “It won’t do to have a traitor in our midst. Disposing of this vermin will be much easier without a bloody mess.”
I nod silently, my eyes lingering on the body that hangs limply between my father’s two captains. I don’t dare say anything. If I do, I might throw up, and that would only serve to humiliate me and disappoint my father.
“Now, go clean up and get your siblings for dinner. You’ll join us tonight. To celebrate.”
Giving a sharp nod, I stride toward the door and yank it open, removing myself from the room as quickly and collected as I can manage. But as soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I race for the guest bathroom down the hall. I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit, and I collapse against the porcelain as I heave. I don’t stop throwing up until I’ve relieved my stomach of all its contents, and when I’m finally done, I wipe my sweaty brow with a shaking hand.
I flush the toilet and rise unsteadily to my feet, hoping no one heard me. Quickly rinsing my mouth with water from the sink, I also splash it on my face. Then I quickly dry off with the hand towel. When I look into the reflection of the bathroom mirror, a terrifying stranger looks back at me. My face looks pale, and my eyes hollow. I look as if what I’ve just done has sickened me inside and out. As ifIsicken myself.
“Pull yourself together, Nico,” I growl. “There’s no room for weakness in the Marchetti family.” Shoving away from the counter, I head back out into the hall and up the stairs to where my siblings are most likely hiding in their bedrooms.
I reach Silvia’s room first and knock on her door frame, then lean against it as I watch the way she sprawls on her stomach across her bed, her feet swinging in the air haphazardly. At the sound of my knock, she looks up and smiles.
“Done already?” she asks brightly.
I nod, fighting the way my stomach roils dangerously. “Father said it’s time for dinner,” I say when I have myself under control once more.
“Are you staying?” she asks hopefully.
“Of course.” I flash her a grin. “I’ll meet you downstairs. I’ve been put in charge of wrangling Cassio and Lucca.”
