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Grandpa grimaces. “We don’t know that. The judge showed leniency in giving him bail.”
“Daddy’s going to jail, Grandpa. We both know he’s guilty.”
“Thanks to Carmine.” Grandpa’s face twists into an angry mask. “Would we be in this position if it weren’t for him? I don’t suppose we would.”
“It doesn’t matter if Carmine leaked the documents. Daddy’s still guilty.”
Grandpa grunts. “Yes, you’re right, of course you’re right. Brice, honey, why don’t you go get some rest? You’ve been looking so… tired lately.”
He doesn’t need to say what he really means:you’ve been crying a lot and I don’t like having that around. I stand and give him a tight, fake smile. “Yes, Grandpa, I’ll go take my emotional displays somewhere else.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs as if I weren’t being horribly sarcastic.
I turn and walk away. Disgust shivers down my spine. I left one hell for another and now I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck here with my family, the people that barely care about me, and there are no good alternatives. I could go back to the apartment, but I don’t feel safe there, not until I’m sure that Panagos isn’t going to try to kidnap or kill me or something like that. And who knows how long that’ll be. Daddy’s “raising funds,” whatever that means, and in the meantime, I’m stuck.
I want more. I want Carmine. But Carmine’s a liar and he ruined my family and manipulated me into becoming his fiancée, and now I’m going to spend my days in this nightmarish manor, swallowed by its excess and its history, just another lost and forgotten piece of machinery in a vast network of lives.
And I’ll be lost here forever, if I can’t find a way to get out.
Chapter21
Carmine
Icrack my fist into Christopher’s face and the old capo’s head snaps back. He groans and blood and sweat drips down onto the ugly, stained tank top he’s wearing over a pair of ripped and soiled black slacks. I caught the fuck as he was getting ready for church, of all times, and I didn’t give him a chance to finish pulling his shirt on. I pressed a gun against his gut and told him he had a choice: die in front of his wife or follow me. He chose to follow.
His old lady didn’t say a word. She knows how these things go. She’s been living with the fact that her husband could be killed at any time for decades, and she knows we’ll take care of her no matter what. It isn’t her fault the man she married turned into scum.
His head lolls back and for a few seconds, I think I might’ve killed him. The basement below the Scavo family house is a nightmarish contrast to everything above. Up there, it’s warm and cozy and comfortable, but down here, it’s cold and damp and ugly: concrete floor with a drain in the middle; exposed pipes and insulation; an old boiler in the far corner. Christopher’s tied to a metal chair right above the drain with a single light shining above his fat, balding head, his thinning hair matted to his lumpy skull like sludge.
It’s dramatic, but effective. I like to set the mood when given the chance.
Slowly, he tilts his chin down and leans it against his chest, breathing hard, blood leaking from his mouth and nose.
“Guess I’m not surprised it came to this,” he says and spits blood on the floor. “Guess it always had to come to this.”
“It didn’t need to. You chose violence. What happens now is on you. I won’t hold it on my conscience.” I rub my knuckles and blood smears over my skin. I can’t tell if it’s mine or his and it doesn’t matter. Blood’s blood right now. My fingers got cut on his teeth on that last punch and I wonder if I knocked something loose in his mouth, not that he’ll be chewing anything ever again.
He says, “If it helps at all, I loved your old man. I would’ve died for that fucking guy. We came up together, me and him, you know that?”
“I know. I’ve heard the stories.” I pace in front of him, seething with rage. “Why’d you do it then? What were you thinking?”
Christopher goes quiet. He stares at me with those tired eyes. He knows what this is and how it has to end. He chose this and I won’t let myself feel sorry for the old fuck. I won’t let him live on in my head, not after what he did, but something still stirs in me, some feeling I refuse to identify, because if I start to really analyze what’s happening inside right now, I might not have the strength to do what needs doing. Once, I looked up to Christopher and all the guys in his crew, and all those memories taste sour now.
Over near the stairs, Angelo’s watching with a neutral expression, but I catch his grimace every time I hit the old capo in the face, like I’m hitting the very essence of the Scavo Famiglia.
In some ways, that’s right. I’m beating the shit out of the old Famiglia and making way for the new Famiglia, because the two can’t coexist, not anymore.
All thanks to Christopher.
“I did it for him,” he says quietly. “I know you don’t get that, kid. How could you? But your old man would’ve hated what you’re fuckin’ doin’ with the Famiglia right now and I couldn’t sit back and let it all happen.”
“So you made your move.”
He sits up straighter and gives me a hard look. “Fucking right I made my move. You would’ve done the same thing if you were me.”
I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong.” I step forward, hands flexing into fists. “I looked up to you when I was a kid. You know that? You and Dad and all the other capos, you were like gods to me. I’d follow Dad around like a puppy and picture myself hanging out with all of you, drinking and playing cards and running around the streets causing trouble, and that’s all I ever wanted in the world. Now imagine how I feel standing here with you tied up there, bleeding on my fucking floor, knowing what you tried to do. You say you loved my father, but here you are trying to shit on everything my father tried to build.”
“I’m saving it,” he snarls at me. “You’re the one running around Texas with some rich pussy, some fucking whore—”
