“Yes, sir.”
While I’d required a meeting with the Consigliere for the next day, it would appear the timing needed to change. There were no significant decisions my father had made, especially in his later years without consulting Jacques. At minimum, the aging attorney would know what the hell the meeting was about.
And I wasn’t in the mood for stonewalling.
If my command was being followed to the letter, my most trusted men were on the streets watching for any potential attacks from Russo and talking to informants.
Upon Sinclair’s encouragement, I’d also done a little politicking, heading to a couple of our warehouses to show my face andbark out a few orders. As Armand would say, business needed to continue and that was one aspect he was right about.
With what few fires had needed to be put out behind me, I could concentrate on attempting to decipher the mystery.
As we headed up the stairs to the eighth floor, I was reminded of how much I loathed hospitals, avoiding them whenever possible. As a child, I’d spent way too much time in one. While it had been a children’s hospital complete with colorful walls and a playroom full of toys, I’d had no energy to be a kid. There’d been no reason.
After the agonizing months of suffering, I’d become someone else.
At first, merely a quiet kid who kept to himself.
As a teenager, I’d entered a rebellious phase, the anger never satisfied. I’d been eager then to serve in my father’s army, barely tempered by the powerful man, although enough so that I’d left my home and my position altogether in search of something I’d yet to find.
They said that all things in life came full circle. In a way I agreed. I’d returned home two years later, no longer a boy but a man who’d grown three inches and put on eighty pounds of raw, hard muscle.
Much colder.
More focused.
Lethal to anyone daring to stand in my way. My sweet angel could attest to that.
The demons had never left, fed through acts of violence and irresponsible sadistic acts. It was a shock I’d survived my youth.
Once on the floor, we remained silent. My men knew what to do. This wasn’t about creating a bloodbath, merely silencing the opposition.
I moved ahead first and as soon as I rounded a corner, I shocked the first enemy soldier. Before he had a chance to reach inside his jacket, I shot him between the eyes.
With no time to waste, I rushed forward, grabbing another around the throat. He’d been prepared to send out an alarm. Within seconds, I crushed his windpipe, tossing him aside just as Jarvis staved off another before he had a chance to take a shot.
With silencers on our weapons, the noise was minimal.
The last guard remained by his door with his nose buried in a magazine, completely unaffected by the slaughter. He finally felt a presence and with his eyes open wide the barrel of the gun inches from his skull, I sensed he was praying for forgiveness from his maker.
There wouldn’t be any.
Pop! Pop!
The silence was pleasant, the dim lighting in the corridor keeping me calm.
“Wait here. Do not allow me to be interrupted,” I told Jarvis.
He’d already contacted our cleanup crew, who wouldn’t leave anything for the janitorial staff to handle in the morning.
I chuckled as I pushed open the door, shoving the gun into my suit jacket.
Once inside the room, I stood a few feet away from the bed, staring at the monitors. Annoyance fueled my anger. The fucker would live while my father was rotting in an expensive pine box.
Years before I’d learned what I could about Russo’s family. His ancestors had come from Italy, still considered one of five powerful mafia families there. He had two other sons, one of which had wanted nothing to do with his father’s regime. He was a surgeon somewhere, which left one other male. Whether or not the man was strong enough to step into his father’s shoes was unknown.
As I approached the bed, Vitelli seemed to sense my presence, shifting under the covers. Fortunately, he wasn’t on a breathing tube, which meant he would talk to me. However, he was on oxygen.
I glanced at the monitors again, waiting a few seconds.
