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“I have nothing for you.”
“Except the unconscious immigrant in the back of your car,” Enzo replies calmly, stealing another cigarette from Eddie’s shirt pocket. All they fucking do is smoke and run women. Maybe my father’s right and I need to take control of this family. My stomach lurches at that thought, combined with the knowledge of the woman in the backseat of my car.
“Why bother drugging and kidnapping a prostitute if we can’t even use her?”
“If he doesn’t want her, I’ll have her,” Eddie snickers, taking the lit cigarette from Enzo and taking a huge puff.
“Put out the fucking cigarette. We don’t need a lure, we need patience, something you stupid fucks know nothing about. We drive to the Jew and we wait for him to exit alone. We trust he will exit alone. If we can’t get him tonight, we get him tomorrow night. Understood?”
My tone sets them straight this time. Enzo puts out the cigarette. They can’t disobey direct orders. Even if they might not fear me, they both fear papa. Then again, judging by Eddie’s averted eyes and sheepish glances, perhaps I’m more terrifying than I thought. Matteo would have whipped them into shape. I hope Albania is worth it, you stupid fuck.
The boys get into Enzo’s car and he drives away first. I want to take my time out here on this beach, with this woman, and assess this mess of a fucking situation. Never trust a Greek bearing gifts. How many fucking times has papa warned me about the Pagonis family? They’re tricksters. I wipe my sweaty hands on black jeans and open the back of the car.
Fuck you, Cass.
She couldn’t have made a bigger effort to deviate from my exact specifications for what I wanted in a woman — and, more importantly, what I wanted in a womb. How am I supposed to produce an heir with… her? I specifically said blonde. This woman couldn’t possibly come anywhere close to blonde. And her skin color…
My stomach twists in an incomprehensible knot as I stare at her unconscious body, a tight party dress barely covering her thick thighs. Her thighs are… large. Everything about her is larger than the typical Amalfi Coast club girl. She doesn’t look like she’s afraid to eat anything denser than lettuce, to start. She has curves. Very full curves. She’s not my type, but my cock doesn’t appear to get the message. I feel like a fucking teenager.
She isn’t suitable for this job, but perhaps she’ll have her uses. I’ll examine my prize later. I have to kill the Jew before the woman wakes up. Considering how little Cass obeyed my instructions, I may not have much time. I follow Enzo’s route to the bar where the Jews hang around, shooting dice and drinking like the rest of us. I have nothing against the religion — it’s the people. It’s tradition.
Our families have been at war for generations. They blame the past on our people, even if two generations ago, they were the ones bankrupting humble Italian families and taking ears and noses as collateral for unpayable loans. Without the family, without the protection and organization under papa and his trusted advisors, they would have owned all of us, kept us no better than slaves.
So no, I don’t hate the Jews — but I have pride in myself and my family. I am an Italian man. Nobody owns me.
Enzo texts me when he’s in position. This is the boring part. I stop the car and allow everything to settle into pure silence — except for a soft sound in the back seat. Snoring. I find the sound unsettling. I spend nearly every waking moment that I can alone, so her soft noises remind me that there’s a stranger, another fucking problem, lying in my back seat.
The crowd around the Jewish bar thins shortly after our arrival. It’s late enough that couples and foreigners and groups of students on vacation spill out of the bar and onto the cobblestone streets. Foreigners don’t care who owns which bar or which club. They just want to spend their money, blissfully unaware of the work that goes into keeping Italy their playground.
I know the man I’m going to kill. We’re friendly. In public, us Italians hold nothing against the Jews and they hold nothing against us. Our war happens in secret. I attended school with David. We played football together in high school. Tonight, I’ll chop him up into several pieces and… well, you’ll see how it goes.
After an hour, Enzo finally messages me. Eddie saw him and he’s leaving through the back, drunk and stumbling home alone. Eddie has eyes on him, but we’ll need to move the cars to get him. Easy. I command Enzo to pick him up since he has Eddie on the street. We’ll take him to the beach. It’s the best place for a born and raised Italian to die.
We drive thirty miles up the coast to the beach where we work. You don’t shit where you eat, right? The woman sleeps peacefully in the back seat the entire time. It’s for the best. Enzo and Eddie wait for me to get there, only pulling the Jew out when I leave my car. They might be fuckups, but when it’s important, they make an effort at obedience.
He doesn’t struggle and not just because of the gun Eddie presses into his stomach. He knows his time has come. Everyone in the life knows this is most likely how we’re going to die, a bullet to the fucking head that’s had our name on it for years.
“Take his hood off. He knows who we are.”
Enzo obeys, but Eddie keeps a tight grip on the Jew before removing the cloth hood from the man’s head. He raises his gaze instantly.
“I don’t want to do this,” I tell him.
“Don’t give me the speech, Van,” David chokes out. “Just finish it. Don’t draw it out.”
“You know what you’ve done and why this is happening. We have to send a message.”
“I have money, Van. Enough money to set the three of you fucks free. You could leave Italy. Forever. Money. Information. I have anything you want.”
Every man behaves differently when he faces death. Death isn’t pretty. You piss and shit yourself in front of other men. You cry for your mother. You deny what’s happening — and with the Jew, you attempt to strike a bargain. You attempt to give your killer what he wants, hoping he sets you free and allows you to disappear. Believe me, you get this far and free yourself, you want to disappear.
The Jew has made a grave miscalculation. I will never and would never choose money over family. Even if it’s just my sister Ana, who I strongly dislike.
“We don’t need money from you people anymore.”
“I know. I know… But Van… we have history.”
“Fuck, I’m tired of this. Uncle, can I shoot him?”
