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Papa smirks. “Boyka, return in thirty minutes. If we’re not done…”
“We’ll be done,” I interrupt, glowering at my father. I don’t have all afternoon for his games when I have the club to attend to.
Boyka reluctantly leaves.
“Are the women in this house allergic to fucking clothes?”
“None of them are allergic to fucking anything.”
I’m not doing this with the old man today.
“Why did you call me here?”
I start another cigarette. I keep swearing I won't touch another, then I spend five minutes around papa and change my mind.
He leans back in the hot tub, displacing several pints of water over the edge.
“I’m tired, Van,” he groans, leaning back and rubbing his forehead.
“From working?”
My father doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm. He hardly leaves his fucking hot tub anymore, and he hasn’t done anything even remotely resembling working at either of the nightclubs, restaurants, apartment complexes or construction sites around town.
If it wasn’t for me and Enzo, he wouldn’t have the fucking time to boink Boyka or whatever the fuck he does with all these young Slavic women.
I still have to tread carefully around him. He’s still my father, my boss, and I must obey him.
“Yes,” he says, coughing. “From working. I need someone to take my place and lead the family soon. I want to retire, Van. You and I both know I need a break.”
He spends every fucking day on vacation while his sons and nephews run his businesses. Vacation? We’re the ones who need a fucking vacation.
“Perhaps you should contact Matteo about that.”
My older brother spent his entire life preparing to be the boss. It’s not my fault he fucked off, leaving his worthless children with us, I might add. I’m already halfway through my fucking cigarette and he hasn’t closed in on the point.
Papa scoffs. “Matteo hasn’t left Albania in four years. He left his children, his business, his fucking money, and he’s not coming back. Give up on him.”
“You’re the one who trained him for the role. Send Enzo after him. Better yet, send his fucking son.”
I don’t want to go into the mountains to bring my jackass older brother back and I don’t want to have this conversation with my father.
“Why don’t you go to Albania?”
“Every time I’m in the same room as Matteo, he tries to kill me,” I remind papa. I love Matteo, but he isn’t exactly easy to get along with.
I’m surprised a woman tolerated him long enough to allow him to give her Eddie.
“Fair. But I need a replacement, Van. I don’t want to be the boss anymore. I can’t take the stress much longer.”
Stress? What stress? Does my father seriously think sitting in his fucking hot tub banging whores counts as a job?
“Have you considered the role?” He asks before I can spew something disrespectful in my father’s direction.
“Why would I want to be the boss of this fucking family? It’s filled with degenerates, fuck-ups, people who need more violence to be kept in line. I kill enough as it is. You don’t want me to be the boss and nobody in this fucking family wants me as the boss.”
“People respect you, Van.”
“People fear me. There’s a difference.”
