“I know nothing of the sort. I don’t know who killed Tino Morelli, for if I did, that man would be dead already.”
He’s lying. Hedoesknow Fuscone’s the one. What does it benefit him to protect Sam Fuscone over his oldest friend?
“Come, then,” Vicario sighs, after a moment’s pause. “Let me present you to the Commission.”
For a moment I think it’s all going to be that simple. That Don Vicario will have me kneel in front of the group, touch my shoulders with a sword or some shit, and I’ll rise as Don Luciano D’Amato Morelli, Boss of the Morelli Family. But the Commission is not a dictatorship. As soon as Vicario confirms that he has seen the video and that Tino named me his successor, loud protests break out in the room. Vicario, ignoring them, sits back in his seat like a king waiting for his round table to come to order, but seems disinclined to bring them to it. I stand there behind his right shoulder, as silent as he is, even in the face of insults and slurs thrown at me.
If we were anywhere else, I would make these men eat bullets. But as Don Vicario reminded me very carefully just moments ago, I may be a Boss, but I’m nottheBoss, not among these men. I don’t havecarte blancheto do what I want.
If anything, I’m more restricted now than I ever have been.
“Carmine, Carmine,” Alessi wheezes at last, when Sam Fuscone has shouted himself hoarse and Clemenza has used up all his breath on insulting me. “You know this won’t stand. We can’t have a queer—no disrespect intended—” he adds, flicking his fingers at me. He doesn’t even glance my way. “But we can’t have this kind of man involved in our business. It’s not our way. It is nottradizione.”
From nearer the end of the table, a laugh sounds. “You got plenty ofhis typerunning around in your crews, Alessi.”
The table falls silent. The man who spoke grins and stands up, palms out. “No disrespect intended, of course,” he says to Alessi. “But it’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”
I’ve never met him, but I know this guy. I’d be able to guess his identity even without Angelo’s briefs, from his flashy dark red jacket and mustard-colored pants. Santino “Sonny” Vegas, who named himself after the city he runs and apparently loves a pun, isn’t much older than I am. Mid-thirties, maybe. I like him at first sight despite myself, and not just because he’s standing up for me. No, I also like hisfuck youattitude.
Alessi stands up too, and half the men at the table shrink back like they don’t want to get caught in the crossfire. “No disrespect?” he coughs out. “No disrespect? Youdodisrespect me, and you disrespect everyone here!”
“Sit down, Joe,” says a weary Salvatore Rossi. “If Sonny Tight-pants wants to talk, let him talk. What does it matter what to us what he thinks? Things are different in Vegas. He doesn’t understand New York.”
“You’re right, things are different in Vegas,” Sonny says. “But times have changed everywhere, especially in New York City. It’s disingenuous to pretend we don’t need all the men we can get.” He has the attention of the whole room now. “That’s a two-dollar word, am I right? Dis-in-gen-uous. But that’s exactly what it is. You old men, you talk about tradition. You act like you got family values and all that shit, but you all got kids out of wedlock and run around with ladies. This guy—” he gestures at me. “At least he’s faithful to his marriage vows, eh? You’re all so keen on tradition, but you won’t respect Tino Morelli’s dying wish. It makes me just about ashamed to sit at this table. Just about ashamed.”
To my surprise, I can see several of the other men at the table nodding their heads in agreement. One even claps the speech when Vegas is done with it.
They’re all the younger Bosses. The West Coasters.
There’s a generational and geographical divide here that I might be able to play to my advantage.
“Youdare to talk tomeabout fidelity?” Alessi roars, his voice cracking on the last word.
Vegas just shrugs and resumes his seat. “Hey,Iain’t married. And I ain’t got a problem with men loving men. I’m politically correct, and all that shit.” He gives a shark-like grin.
“Enough,” Vicario says, and everyone shuts up. This, obviously, is a man I need to study. “I have told you Tino’s wishes. I saw him, heard him speak with my own ears—”
“Video can be faked,” Clemenza grumbles.
Vicario ignores him. “It is my belief that what Luciano D’Amato claims is the truth. HeisDon Morelli. His Family has accepted him, so then. It’s done, and we have other things to discuss. Tomorrow we will have a dinner in his honor, and initiate him into the Commission. But before then, the rest of us have other business. Fuscone. D’Amato. Leave us.”
I foresee an uncomfortable ride in the elevators down to the lobby. But Fuscone dawdles to speak low, vicious words with Clemenza, while I beckon my men away at once.
Because something has occurred to me that should have occurred to me long before I ever came here.No onebelieves Fuscone is innocent. We all know he was the driving force behind Tino’s assassination.
But there’s no way, not even with the support of Clemenza, that Sam Fuscone would dare to take out a Boss without the blessing of the Commission. Certainly not the New York contingent, at the very least.
Carmine Vicario is not my friend. None of the New York Families will be my ally. It was pointless coming here, and Vicario has only done what I once thought Tino Morelli was trying to do: painted a target on my back.
“They’re probably in there arguing about which one gets to kill me tomorrow night,” I mutter to Angelo on the way down. I’ve sent Nick and Bobby in a separate elevator, and Frank down the stairs, who complained loudly about his knees. But there’s no point making ourselves fish in a barrel if there’s a crew waiting downstairs for the elevator to land.
“Probably,” Angelo agrees softly. We both assume the elevator is bugged, but it’s not as though our conversation will come as a surprise to those listening in.
Outside, while we wait for Frank to make it down the stairs, I continue the conversation. “I thought Vicario was Tino’s friend.”
Angelo gives an expressive shrug. “Loyalty is one thing. Money is another.”
He’s right. The Commission’s form of government has become clear to me now. It’s an oligarchy. Rich men seeking to become richer, sometimes at the expense of each other.
