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“You threw me a party. How could I refuse?”
“One man’s funeral is another man’s party, sure,” Alfonso says.
“You see, limp dick, there won’t be a funeral,” I say with confidence I shouldn’t be carrying.
“I’ve killed for a lot less than someone slapping my boy around,” Alfonso turns an annoyed brow up at his son. Leo’s back to wearing that smug piece of shit grin he had before I laid him flat in the Moonshine Saloon. “What makes you think you’re special?”
“I’d be dead if you wanted me dead? And better still, I come bearing gifts.”
“What gift?”
“The ten grand Artie Declan owes.” I pull a stack of notes from my breast pocket and throw it on the table.
His stoic façade cracks into a smile. It’s so slow-moving; I swear I can hear the muscles screaming to lift his fat lips.
“I thought you were slow,” he says, counting the bundle of cash. “An Irishman in America trying to bring about the great resurgence of the Celtic mafia. It sounded batshit. But you started turning heads and built your feeble little club into a money maker.”
“What can I say? I’m good at what I do.” I grab a box of smokes from my pocket and strike one up. Victor does the same.
“Which brings me to why you’re not dead yet.”
“Your wasted seed spilled the beans on that one. You want what’s mine,” I cut him off. There aren’t enough hours in a day to hear Alfonso go on some egotistical rant about killing my organization and absorbing my domain.
“Want is a weak word for weak men. I’m going to take it,” Alfonso says.
“If I decline?” I ash my cigarette on his floor.
“I’ll put a bullet in you myself,” he says.
“If I accept?”
“The bad blood between us is water under the bridge.” He opens a drawer and drops the money into it.
“You can’t be serious,” Leo shouts. He starts waving a hand over his face. “Look at what he did to me?”
Alfonso inspects me.
“And yet, I don’t see a mark on him. You should’ve given as good as you got, but you didn’t. The time for petty squabbles is over.” Alfonso reaches for an ornate box on the side of his desk. He slides it open and exposes two layered rows of foreign cigars.
“Let me get this straight,” Victor interrupts the fatherly lesson. “You want us to give you what’s ours, and what, drift off into obscurity?”
Like me, Victor doesn’t have time for their shenanigans. Whatever that bullshit was, it should’ve been dealt with behind closed doors.
“At least you’ll be alive,” Alfonso shrugs. “Look, take it or leave it. I don’t give a shit. You’re either walking out here with your heads held high and tails between your legs, or we’re carrying you out in body bags. The choice is yours.”
“When you make such a tempting offer, I don’t see how we can decline. Want to spit shake on it?” I spit into the palm of my hand and hold it out to Alfonso. “We can’t get our lawyers to draw up the paperwork.”
It’s easy to make promises when you’re not going to keep them. Easier still when the men you make them to won’t see morning.
“You’re a funny fuck,” Alfonso says. The lack of emotion on his face doesn’t mirror the almost joyous tone brightening his voice. He cuts the end of his cigar and jams it into his lips. “But with the business done, I’d ask you both to kindly fuck off.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I pull myself out of my chair and wipe the spit from my palm. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got a beautiful woman waiting for me at home. There’s no way I want to spend another second with you sorry bastards, if I can be in her arms instead.”
I won’t be going home. Not yet. My main goal was to kill Alfonso Ricci and use his death to cripple the Italian mob when I came to the States. It was always part of the plan. But the second his piece of shit son involved Brianna in this bullshit, he made things personal. I sucked up my urge to shoot this place up for a far moreexplosiveexperience.
Victor and I make our way out of the office, catching the last of the conversation while we walk.
“He won’t honor his agreement if we let him leave,” Leo says.
