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Blanc
You sure you don’t want to help DeLeon? Letting him die means your entire life changes.
Strange that you’re worried about someone as terrible as DeLeon. One might wonder if you’re scared you might get a similar letter.
Is that a threat?
An observation.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s noon on the east coast. In my office, I lift the secure line and dial the one man I trust on this earth. Brooks Henderson.
He answers with a grumble. “This better be fucking important.”
“Someone sent DeLeon a threatening letter. Said he’ll be dead before his birthday.”
“And I give a fuck because?”
“Damn, you’re grumpy in the morning.”
“Don’t act surprised.” There’s rustling, as if he’s throwing back his bedding. “There. I’m up. Now, there must be a reason you called. And don’t tell me it’s because you’re worried about DeLeon.”
“Hell no, I’m not worried about him. After hearing that list, I think whoever kills him will be doing the world a favor.”
“What’s the issue, then?”
“We both know I’m next in line.”
“And there it is.”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t be worried if our places were reversed.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “I would be worried. But why worry now? He’s not dead. And whoever is threatening him probably just wants money. Watch. In a few days, he’ll let everyone know he paid someone off and that will be that.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “You’re right. Thanks for listening to me.”
He snorts. “Any time, fucker. Now, I’m going back to bed.”
He ends the call, and I stand, looking out my window at the Vegas strip.
Brooks is right.
This will all blow over in a few days.
3
Alessandro
Brooks and I stand next to each other as the metal coffin passes us to its destination at the front of the church. The Brotherhood’s logo is stamped on all sides, paying respect to a fallen member. What a fucking joke. I have no fucking idea why DeLeon’s family wanted the coffin carried in, like he’s some kind of hero. They clearly don’t know shit about the man they’re proclaiming to love so much or they’re damn good actors.
Across the aisle, Blanc meets my gaze, his jaw clenched. It takes everything in my power not to crack a smile.
“You may be seated,” the pastor says to the congregation.
The wooden pews creak as everyone sits. Someone coughs and I think I hear someone sniffling from his family’s row. His wife, Missy, sits tall and stoic, dressed in all black. Her two teenaged children are on either side of her. The sad truth is they probably didn’t know what a monster he was. There’s no way his wife didn’t know, though. She’d have to be living under a rock or turn a blind eye at every moment not to know.
“Brother DeLeon was a good man who left this earth too soon…”
Just like that, I zone out.
