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“All I know is that at the time, I was in Jersey City, and the Russos were fighting me on a project. They wanted me to approve some fuckin' low-income housing and they were riling up the community for it. But I had a deal with Metro Homes to put in those high-rises. They were giving me a lot of incentive to approve it. Russos kept coming to my house, fuckin’ driving me insane, threatening to expose me,” the senator says as if he’s annoyed that someone had the gall to try and stop his devious doings.
“Never understood those assholes. You could have all the power in the world, could have everything, and you choose to use it against your own fuckin’ interests? Stunads, all a’ ‘em.”
“So, I go to Tony, say I need help, that the Russos are giving me issues. He tells me he can’t step in, his father wouldn’t like it, but that I don’t have to worry. That soon they’d be consumed with their own issues—those are the fuckin' words he said, swear to God—and it would all be forgotten. I asked what he meant; he said don’t ask questions. A week later, it was all over the news—Arturo was shot in that drive-by, no suspects. A week after that, I approved the high-rises, bought my boat.”
Acid churns in my stomach at the careless words.
My father was murdered, and this man bought a fucking boat with a kickback.
These people are monsters. Absolutely vile.
“But I still don’t understand why? If he wasn’t doing it as a favor to you, why would Tony tell you that it would be handled?” a third man asks, the superintendent of a local school district. Some would be surprised to see someone like him here, but I’m not.
You don’t realize how deep the greed goes until you’re sitting in hell and see all of the ghosts.
“Who the fuck knows.”
“You know, I’ve heard some theories on that,” the man says, moving a card in his hand to the table and grabbing another.
“Are you going to grace us with the honor of your theory, or just fuck around?”
“Fuck off,” he says, pushing chips into the middle of the table. “Remember Vin Bianchi? He was working with the Carluccios for years, waiting for his daughter to get old enough, marry into the family. She was supposed to hook up with Tony, bring the families together. Vin would get the muscle of the family; Carmine would get the backing of a congressman.”
“No shit? Isn’t that the daughter who got together with Turner?”
My mother.
“Exactly. Apparently, the Bianchi girl found out about her old man's plan, refused to marry Tony. Went behind his back, fucked his intern, got pregnant.” Eyes go wide, and the senator nods, a smile on his lips like he’s proud to have the good gossip.
“No shit. Well, that wouldn’t look good for his family values platform, would it?” asks the superintendent. Chips move, cards are lifted, and my breathing stays stagnant.
“Yeah, but from what I hear, the girl was fucking Arturo from the start. That's why she didn't wanna get wrapped up with the Carluccios.”
“No fuckin’ way,” a well-known news anchor says, his eyes wide. Clearly, he does not have a poker face. Evident not only with his reaction but the dwindling pile of chips before him. “I don’t know if I believe that shit. You’re telling me all of this was because of some puttana?”
I wonder what he barters in? Cash? Assets? Favors? Kind reporting?
Whatever it is, his number will be up sooner rather than later. Calling my mother a whore gets him on my list of retribution.
“Look, I’m going by what I’ve heard. And from what I hear, she would do anything not to marry Russo’s rival. Tony apparently took it personally, waited a couple years, let it simmer. I guess she was still fuckin’ the Russo kid on the side. Tony asked if she was interested in starting something up, but she turned him down. Again.”
“You’re telling me the hit on Arturo Russo was a bruised fuckin’ ego?”
The congressman lifts his hands, an innocent smile on his lips. I’m sure that smile has been used many times.
Maybe on the anchor’s prime-time show.
“Just going by what I’ve heard. I’ve also heard that Carmine had some bigger plan, planted the seed in his son’s ear. You know how the streets love to whisper. But it makes sense, I guess. And now Johnny going down for kidnapping that Turner girl? Don’t you think it’s all a bit too neat and clean?”
“So what do you think it is? Payback for Tony?”
“No clue. Maybe there’s more to the Turner girl that no one knows.”
And then I feel it.
Eyes, burning on my skin.
I finally let myself look around the room, trying to see who is staring, but it’s not the players.
