Angelo and Atta entered the house.
Same protocol.
I noticed the way Sistine and Atta moved closer to each other right before we left. Their hands locked, and it was as if they were finding strength in each other. Magpie chirped away in their ears as my grandfather led the men out of the house and toward the lines of SUVs.
“Your father, your uncle, and Angelo will ride with me,” he said to me, his face set in stone. “You will drive.” He enjoyed my driving. He compared it to his racing days back in the day.
He was briefed in greater detail on the way to the snake barn.
My old man stared ahead, his eyes hard on the shape in the distance. I was standing on one side of him, Marciano on the other. Matteo wasn’t set to arrive until the day before the wedding. He was taking care of family business in Italy.
My brothers and I ran an investment companytogether. We did damn well for ourselves. Not only did we make good investments for clients outside of the Fausti family, we also invested for our family. We brought the Fausti family, as far as money and dues, up to speed with the times.
“The fuck?” Rio appeared beside me, narrowing his eyes against the snake barn.
The fuckwas spot on. There was something fucking sinister?—
“There’s something fucking sinister—”my old man shivered as he spoke my words aloud “—about this place.”
“Mamma’s feelings are rubbing off on you, Papà,” Marciano said almost absentmindedly.
All our eyes were in the distance, on the barn, watching it like it might come alive and wield snakes at us.
Papà made aharumphnoise at Marciano. Mamma was vocal about what she felt, but we often felt Papà was touched too, even if through the connection he shared with mamma. If he was, she would be the only one he would tell, confirming it.
It didn’t take a “feeling” person to feel the chill around the snake barn. It almost felt like the area around it was degrees colder than anywhere else on the land. Inside, it might be a degree above hell—hell itself. Or it would be once we walked into it and sent those motherfuckers back to where they came from.
Nonno stepped out of the car, a pride of men behind him, and we walked toward the barn together.
“The snakes that were found have been contained,” Donato said. “However, there could be some left that Elio, and his wrangler team, could not find. We must be vigilant in this place.”
“The men have been warned,” my grandfather said, and there was no question mark at the end of the sentence. Donato had to always be ten steps ahead.
Donato answered him respectfully, confirming that every man had been warned.
We were, all things considered, walking into a landmine that could potentially end up being fatal for one of us if we didn’t hear or see what could be underfoot. My grandfather was known for walking through a hail of bullets. Snakes underfoot didn’t slow him down either. None of us slowed down.
I was expecting the snake barn to have hay spread out over the floor, that was how Sistine had described it, but Elio and his team had cleared it out. Probably as a measure to wrangle as many snakes as possible.
Even for a man who worked with serpents, studying them and extracting venom to make antivenom, Elio had told Donato that he was shocked by the number of snakes the dead man had collected over the years.
After the debacles at the other barn, we’d burned it down. Not before Elio showed up and collected as many snakes as he could. That was why Rattler and his brothers were covered in soot and ash. They stole our gas. We burned down their fun house.
That was only a warning.
None of those boys would see the outside of the snake barn again. None of them were getting out of this alive.
My grandfather rolled his sleeves up after he handed Donato his jacket. Donato opened the door for him, and he entered like he fucking owned the place. We followed behind him. Remo had easily found the brothers after our meeting outside of the diner.All he had to do was follow the blood trail, which led to the emergency room. The stupid motherfuckers went to get stitched up.
Waste of fucking time.
We were only going to tear them apart again.
Voices echoed inside of my head like haunting ghosts:
Dead bitch.
I don’t trust you to truthfully translate what he’s saying.
