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“Watch your tone with me, boy.” He lowered himself into the leather club chair across from me. “This is still my company. We run the firm my way.”
Buratti Investment Research Advisors, Inc. was founded shortly after the market crash of nineteen-twenty as a front for the Society. The era was our golden years. Booze, money laundering, and racketeering activities was how Dad built this company from the ground up.
I was here merely to make sure the engines were well-oiled, and the money kept flowing. Being CEO was an easy gig. What the Society required of us took a bit more effort on my part. As Don Buratti’s second-in-command, I oversaw investments and real estate, but also, whenever Rex needed to take care of someone, he would call upon my crew—which was all a bunch of nice words to say, I was the Society’s assassin. My crew and I, we took out the trash. We were the best at it.
From the beginning, since I was barely a teenager, I had a knack for tracking down those who’d done us wrong. I could smell our enemies’ fears and guess their next move, their next hiding place. My guys nicknamed me the Punisher. I didn’t mind it. The name suited me.
“Yes, Dad. This is still your company. Shall we get started with our monthly review?”
The meeting tended to go a lot smoother when we were focused on business matters and not my personal life.
“We could’ve been done with these meetings a long time ago.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a Cuban cigar, cut off the tip, and lit it. After a few long draws from it, the tobacco ignited, and Dad settled in. “You’re ready to take it on, son.”
“I’d like to point out that I’ve been doing this job for two years now.”
“I mean all of it. The firm, the Society, our family.”
“Don’t let him talk circles around you.” Rex entered the room with his usual pompous air.
Behind him, Lia rushed in with a tray, carrying three more glasses of whiskey. She set them on the coffee table facing the windows and then left. Dad stood and hugged Rex. A year ago, he would’ve left my office. Or punched Rex in the face. How Rex became king didn’t sit well with him. But a lot had changed in the past year since Rex officially took over the Society.
Dad eventually saw the benefit and the need for the five original families to band together. Correction: four original families. After the FBI came after the Society last year, the entire Gallo family was executed. They came after us, too. But Rex managed to find a way out and handled the pigs. Dad appreciated that. So now Rex had our full support.
“Good to see you, old man. The last time I spoke with Santino, he acted as though you were on your deathbed.” Rex sat on the club chair in the living area and sipped his whiskey.
“My death has been highly exaggerated.” He chortled at his own joke—a stolen one from Steve Jobs.
“Not that I don’t appreciate your visits, Rex, but what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Don Buratti invited me.”
“Oh, fuck me.” I grabbed my drink and perched myself on the sofa armrest. “Is this some sort of intervention? Is it my drinking?”
“You’re not taking your birthright seriously.” Dad’s deep voice had a sad tinge to it.
The Society and this mobster life were his legacy. He was afraid it would all fall apart when he passed. “You’re strong as an ox, Dad. I have years before I need to take anything serious.”
“You’re thirty years old. At your age, I was well on my way to taking over from my father.”
I chose not to point out the fact that Dad had stabbed Granddad in the back to push him out of his role as Don. The man sitting across from me looked like a decent man, a concerned father. But he was as ruthless as they came.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re disappointed I haven’t killed you in your sleep and taken over.”
He grunted. “All you have to do is get married.”
Rex sat forward and watched me intently. So that was why Dad had invited Rex to our monthly meeting. He wanted to talk about succession, marriage, and children—lots of children. Dad liked big families. But I would never do that to another human being. The women in the Society tended to die quickly. In our mafia world, the innocent always paid the sins of the wicked.
“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other.”
“I’m done asking, Santino.” Dad shot to his feet. Ten years ago, the boom in his smoker’s voice would’ve sent me running from the room. “You will find a wife and take your rightful place as the head of this family.”
I opened my mouth to ask, “Or you’ll do what?” but Dad beat me to it. It started with a cough. Then a gurgling sound like he was choking. And then, he collapsed. I heard my own voice calling for Lia, but every sound was muffled by the fast thumping of my heart. Rex got on his phone and walked away from me while I worked on undoing the knot on Dad’s tie. Was he having a heart attack? Dad was in his late sixties. He was technically too young for that. Wasn’t he?
“Come on, old man. You can’t leave me just yet.” I did short compresses on his chest, just to get some air into his lungs or to jump-start his heart. Who the hell knew? This small act felt better than sitting on my heels and watching my only parent die. “Come on.”
Dad was never what one would consider a loving father. He was brutal with his teaching methods. Life was pain. Trust no one. Shoot to kill. I learned that from him. Whatever he was or wasn’t for me though, I needed him alive. Why couldn’t we stay the same? Why did things have to change?
“Santino.” Rex squeezed my shoulder. “Let the paramedics do their job.”
