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I punch him hard in the cheek and he groans. His chair nearly topples over, but I right it with my boot and hold it there. His breathing is ragged and wheezing, and I think I broke something in his face, some important little bone that’s making it hard for him to breathe right. Not long now.
“Talk about Brice again and I’ll make it slow. I’ll make it very painful. You know I’m good at that. I’ve got all the time in the world now.”
Christopher sucks in a ragged, wheezing breath. “All right, kid. I hear you. If you want me to beg, I’m not gonna.”
“No, I don’t think you will. You’ve been around long enough. You understand what has to happen. I only want to know one thing.” I lean forward and meet his gaze. “Why’d you use the Panagos, Christopher?”
He shrugs like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “They’re the only crew dumb enough and violent enough to take the job. Simple as that.”
I let it sink in.
That Panagos attack wasn’t aimed at Brice. It took me a while to figure it out, but as soon as she was gone and I started thinking about everything, it snapped into place.
The whole thing made no sense. If they wanted to get their money back, they needed her alive, because dead people can’t pay back a debt. It’s something the mob understands very well and we’re constantly walking the line between letting a mark get away with holding out and hurting him just enough that he’s afraid to hear our boots on the floor in the future. If the Panagos had kidnapped her friend, or hurt her grandpa, or threatened her father’s life in prison, that would’ve felt familiar. I’ve done shit like that a dozen times, just add a little pressure to make the mark cough up some dough. But jumping right to killing her in cold blood in the middle of the day? That’s the sort of thing mobs do out of desperation. They weren’t desperate yet.
Which made me realize.
The Panagos weren’t there for Brice.
They were there for me.
From that understanding, it didn’t take long to figure out it was Christopher. I had a good friend of mine, Lorenzo, do some digging, and Lorenzo is a master when it comes to finding out information. If it exists, he can pull it from the web like a miner panning for gold. That’s how he found the wire transfer, and that’s how I went to Christopher’s soldiers and made one of them admit that his capo was in talks with Stephen himself, and it all clicked into place.
My own people tried to kill me.
“You should’ve tried talking to me first,” I say, turning my back on him. “But you chose your fate.”
“I know I ain’t walking out of this basement alive, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Good. I hope you know this isn’t personal. I meant it when I said I looked up to you.”
“Yeah, I know. You were a good kid. You still are. But if you keep going down this path, you’re going to fuck up the family. Listen to me, Carmine, I know you’re gonna put a bullet in my head, but it’s not too late. Stop this shit with the oil and the Texas girl and focus on your people. They’re the heart of the Famiglia, and if you forget them, if you turn your back on them for money or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing, you’re gonna lose yourself. Listen to me and hear me, Carmine, if this is the last thing I say on earth then remember it, don’t fuck up the Famiglia. Don’t fucking do it.”
If I had a heart left, those words might sway me.
Instead, there’s only coldness in my chest.
I walk over to Angelo and hold out my hand. He meets my eye and puts his gun in my palm. I take it and turn back to Christopher. The old capo’s breathing fast now. He’s scared, and even if he’s brave and understands how this shit works, that doesn’t mean it’s easy to face your own end.
“Anything else?” I ask and hold the gun against his head.
“When you kill me, the boys are gonna be pissed. You’re gonna have a war on your hands.”
“Is this your way of begging for your life?”
“We can work something out,” he says but even he knows that’s not true. It’s one final act of a desperate man.
“No, we can’t.”
I pull the trigger.
Christopher’s blood splatters against the floor, the wall, and my shirt. He slumps to the side and stays there, leaking into the drain. Exhaustion hits me like a train and I feel every muscle in my body like they’re trying to crumble to dust, and the night isn’t over yet. I’ll come down later and hose what’s left of my former capo off the concrete and have a few of my people scrub it down with lye until the stains are all gone. The body is a bigger problem, but it’s a problem my family is very familiar with.
I hand the gun back to Angelo. “Congratulations,” I say as I try to keep the heavy weight of what just happened off my shoulders. “You just got a promotion. Christopher’s old territory and position are both yours now.” His eyes widen as he takes the gun, wipes it off, and puts it in his jacket. I pat his shoulder and climb the steps.
“Are you sure?” he asks, and all I do is wave him off.
Killing a made man like that is no small thing and we both know this isn’t the last friend I’ll have to put in the ground before this mess is done. Giving him a promotion like that won’t be easy—he’ll have to fight for every single inch of his turf and there will be more blood before it’s over.
