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“What was the hold-up?” Salem asks.
“We had a little run-in with a cop,” Baja says, his eyes darting to me.
“What happened?” Salem tenses.
“Motherfucker has it out for my woman and her mother.” Another wave of anger washes over me. “Sukie’s dead stepfather was this prick’s best friend and partner. He’s makin’ my woman’s life a living hell, so I plan on showin’ him what hell looks like if he does it again.”
There’s a breath of silence before the reason we’ve gathered in church commences.
“Not to overshadow anything, but we have more threats to address.” Salem looks at Laredo. “What did you find out about DeSantis?”
Every fiber in my body is coiled tightly like a spring, ready to snap at the mention of my father.
“I talked with an old contact of mine in New York. He dug and discovered that there’s been trouble brewing between DeSantis and an unknown man for the past two months. People in that circle of crime are talkin’ saying DeSantis double-crossed someone more powerful than him.”
Laredo’s voice muffles as memories flood back to me. Ones I’ve battled for years and tried to forget. The weight of my past feels like a massive boulder pressing on my chest.
“Harlem,” Salem barks, snapping out of my thoughts. “Get your head straight.”
“That doesn’t explain why he wants Harlem and is willin’ to fuck with the club for that to happen,” Baja says, not knowing what kind of man my father is.
Laredo continues. “My source had nothin’ more to add except that your father is looking to strengthen his stronghold in New York, possibly by allying with another family, promising a merger, with marriage being the binding contract. DeSantis is looking to grow his army and bank account, and this seems to be how he’s planning to do it.” Laredo stops talking long enough for the silence in the room to swallow me whole.
They all know my story. I don’t have to say a word for them to know where my head is at. That’s why he needs me. The motherfucker wants his prodigal son to come home so he can make good on his word.
Salem leans forward, with his forearms against the table, eyeing me. “You know your father better than anyone, brother. What’s our next move?”
I glance around the table at my chosen family and decide to give them a little more insight into who my father is and what he is capable of.
“When my father wants something, he will stop at nothing to get it.” I think back to the conversation I overheard in the weeks leading to the day I walked away from fulfilling what was ultimately my father’s destiny and not mine. “My father once ordered my uncle to kill a man, his new wife, and their young son for power and money. This family had control over parts of the city he wanted, and he wasn’t willing to share it once the alliance took place. He wanted complete control—no one standing in his way.”
“A kid?” Mystic’s face tightens.
I nod. “My uncle is a cold man, but he drew the line at killin’ a kid. He called my father a fool, saying he’d eliminated many threats in the past, but he wasn’t pullin’ the trigger on this one.”
My mind drifts back, and I’m standing outside my father’s office door. I knew my father was ruthless, but to put a hit on an innocent kid took me by surprise.
“I’m disappointed in you, Georgio. You’re my brother. We’re DeSantis.” My father’s voice is laced with anger.
“I’m no kid killer, Alessandro. That’s not what we do,” my uncle snaps back.
“You are what I say you are and do what I command. How dare you defy me!” My father erupts in a rage I’ve heard many times before.
“You are my brother. I am loyal to you, but I will not obey this order. You want the kid dead? You’ll have to do it yourself and live with the fact that you pulled the trigger.” My uncle fires back, and for a few seconds, I hear silence. “What the fuck?” My uncle’s tone is cause for alarm, and I step toward the door. “We are brothers—we are DeSantis.” My uncle’s tone is imploring, laced with fear.
“Those who don’t obey and stand with me, stand against.” My father’s voice sounds cold and detached.
A single gunshot follows his words.
The thick fog of the memory lifts, and I’m back in the present, sitting at the table with my brothers. They all stare at me after hearing my recount.
“He killed his own flesh and blood,” Juneau mutters.
“We can’t underestimate my father. He will take extreme measures to get what he wants. We need to find out who he double-crossed. Our solution lies with them.”
“How do we go about finding this ghost your father crossed?”
Only one person comes to mind. I haven’t spoken to him since leaving New York.
