“What do you want, Vittorio?”
“What do I want?” I mused. “You tell me.”
He looked around the room. “You’ve succeeded in killing most of our heirs. I know now, for sure, that you’ve been making war between the other families and ours. You set the Irish on us, too. You’ve been stealing from us. You’ve gotten your revenge. What else do you want?”
“You,” I said, “in the Hudson. Your feet weighed down with concrete. The Joker right beside you. The Scarpones to be wiped clean from this earth. And I’m sure you’re curious to know why I want you and your joker of a son at the bottom of the Hudson when next to the dumpster will do. There’s trash on this earth, and thenthere’strash that needs to be buried below its surface.”
He stood, towering over me. Looking down on me. Old times. Except in this moment, he was older. His black hair had turned grey around the sides. His face was weathered. His nose was bigger. His shoulders had started to sag with the burden of carrying life around for however many years he’d been on this earth. Time moves on, and it shows on the body, but some people never outgrow their roles.
Finally, I met his eyes again. When I was ready.
“Why did you disobey me, Vittorio? Why did you choose Palermo’s kid over your own father? He tried to kill me! He was going to slit my throat! You had orders!”
“Your orders meant nothing in the face of an innocent child.”
“Innocent child?” he breathed out. “She’s the spawn of Lucifer!”
“No. I’m the spawn of the devil. How old was I when I first took a man’s life at your order? When I made my bones. Fifteen? Sixteen?” I pulled the cards closer to me, tapping my finger on the top. One. Two. Three times. “Have you ever watched a child color? Or listened to the way the word ‘blue’ comes out as ‘boo’? Or watched as she rubbed a rosary raw because she was so afraid? Afraid of every noise. Every shadow.”
He was quiet for a stretch of time. I heard footsteps drawing nearer, and Achille started to say something as he entered the room, but he stopped when he noticed me sitting there. I heard the hammer of his gun click back, but Arturo raised a hand to stop him from using it. Achille always drew first and didn’t worry about the fallout later.
He killed the wrong guy?Oh fucking well. That’s life.
Arturo knew the kind of man Achille was. That was why he called him The Joker. Achille was a simple foot solider who didn’t have the ability to think on his own. He had to be led. Showed. Ordered. Ruthless bones were needed to live in this world, which he had, to his core, but a strategic brain was even more important.
Violence was less than half of the battle. Strategy trumped bloodshed. If your mind was screwed on right, the bloodshed of your men could be kept to a minimum, while your adversaries took the hit.
Arturo knew this, as well, but there were more factors at play. He had me killed because I didn’t kill Palermo’s daughter. But he also had me murdered because he knew I beat him in all the ways that counted inhisgame. I took him move for fucking move, day after day, year after year. Patience and strategy were two of my greatest strengths.
Checkmate.
When the time was right for me, I looked over at the three of them.
Arturo’s mouth morphed slowly into a grin, and then the grin grew into a smile, and then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he howled. The two men next to him looked between us, not sure what the fuck was going on.
After Arturo’s humor died down, he wiped his eyes, sighing. “You felt sorry for Palermo’s kid. Something you never felt before. Before that little bitch cast her spell on you, you had no feelings. And now you’re in love with her.”
He looked at Achille. “Forget sending the dogs out on the bitch we met in Italy. I know who she is. Marietta Palermo. I should’ve known. That fucking nose. Even those witchy eyes. She looks like her whore of a mother.”
Achille smiled, but he still held his gun. “No shit?”
Vito, Achille’s son, looked me over. There was no smile on his face. Nothing showed in his eyes. He was already dead inside. I understood how he felt even before my death. Nothing could touch me. Nothing existed inside.
Marietta’s innocence had set me on a different path, but it took death’s kiss to make me feel alive. If the knife would’ve never touched my throat, I would’ve never been able to truly feel her love.
Love.There was a new fucking concept. It was the sorest spot I’d ever had, but at the same time, even without killing these three, I was an untouchable king.
What a trip.
Still.Back to the point.
I kicked the chair across from me, kicking off this meeting. Arturo sat first, followed by Achille. Vito stood the longest, but after his father told him tosit, he did. He watched me with a void in his eyes.
“I’m not going to sit here and play a fucking game with you, Vittorio.” Achille flung the cards at me. “You’ve been playing us all this time. Playing a fucking game as a ghost, not a man. How is that fair?”
I threw back my head and laughed. “How is that fair?”
In the span of four heartbeats, two chairs screeched, and all guns had been drawn. I was the quickest draw, and my gun was aimed at the old man’s head. Arturo, Achille, and his son had their guns aimed at me.
