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He doesn't reply.
I'm not surprised. My brothers, Primo and Constantino, both took more of a "man in charge" attitude when it came to the family business. It kept people like Tony in line.
I, on the other hand, know I'm not "Don of the Mafia Crime Syndicate" material, and I'm okay with that. Up until recently, both of them wanted the job so badly I'm pretty sure if someone told them all they had to do was cut off their left nut for it, they'd willingly splice and dice.
Of course, now things have changed. My oldest brother, Primo, had to go and fall in love with his lawyer and knock her up. She made him promise to go legitimate or he'd never see the baby. So, of course, he agreed.
Then Giovanni took over, thinking he was going to take the family clean. He did for a while, but then he married a mob princess and is helping her run the Cuban mafia down in South Florida. So, that was a bit of a 180.
In his infinite wisdom, he pissed off the Irish and then dumped the problem on me. Which has led to not great consequences, because I don't really know what the hell I'm doing.
"...that's me in the spotlight..."
The actual Marco, the one that usually goes with me on these jobs, has been helping me try to run things, but even with his help, stuff is messed up. It almost makes me wish Constantino was around.
Almost.
He is sort of a rageaholic and did murder Marco's father. But, hey! It is the mob, so not like it hasn't happened before.
I clap Tony on the shoulder, and he visibly winces. "Loosen up, it's just me," I say to him. "Come on, you gotta tell me. What do people say about me when no one's around?"
"Nothing," he replies quickly.
"Nothing?" I repeat, squeezing his shoulder, perhaps a little too hard. He yelps, and I pull my hand back.
"That's a little demoralizing, don't you think?"
"I guess I don't follow."
"Wouldn't you be sad if someone told you that no one cares to talk about you behind your back?"
"Are you sad?" he asks.
I twist my lips and look to my right at the church. "Actually, I'm sad about a lot of things, Tony," I reply.
"...that brought me to my knees, failed..."
Just then, his phone screen lights up.
"That's the signal," he says to me.
I give him a face. "Marco usually says 'Good to go,'" I say. "I kinda like it. Rolls off the tongue. 'That's the signal' just doesn't have the same ring to it."
Tony is somewhere between intimidated and frustrated. It's a shame that I can't poke at him anymore. I would like to see his true colors.
"Good to go, then," he replies.
I scrunch my face and open the car door. The music shuts off. "It just doesn't have the same feel to it when you say it."
I shoulder my supply bag and run forward. Tony lets out a curse behind me as he tries to catch up. I hate working with anyone, even Marco, but I also need a lookout.
Cleaning up a scene takes a lot of careful concentration. It isn't like how it was back in the old days. Today, even a stray hair can give away someone's presence at a crime scene. It's imperative for me to have someone who can concentrate on what is going on around me so that I can focus on my task.
Not to mention the fact that I never work without my music. I'm usually never without music.
I slip into the designated side door, not wanting to risk being seen going through the front entrance. Tony finally catches up to me, and I can tell he is out of breath.
"Tell them to cut the power back on to the block," I say to him.
