“Well?” I ask. “Report.”
The Fuscones are trying to muscle in on our insurance and protection ring in Brooklyn. The Clemenzas have disrupted our supply chain from New JerseyandRhode Island, and someone had a try at Snapper Marino on Saturday night, although he was alert enough to defend himself, and only got his hand cut up by the knifeman, who ran away afterwards.
“Not my shooting hand, neither,” Snapper says now, waving his bandaged mitt around with a grin. Others in the group chuckle, and Al Vollero calls him a lucky son of a bitch.
“I’m not sure what you all think is so funny,” I say. “Our business is dying, our reputation is shot, and it’s a free-for-all on anyone connected to our Family.”
The laughs die down.
“We’re tougher than them,” Frank grunts. “Than all of them.” He looks as though he’s had less sleep than I have, and he probably has. The baby is still in the hospital, and Celia has insisted on staying there with her.
“It doesn’t matter if we’re tougher. There arehundredsof them. The only advantage we have right now is our brains. So how about you all start fucking using them? Al, you go speak to the Brooklyn neighborhood and remind them of the perks we offer along with our protection. If you have to squeeze a little, make an example, you goddamn do that. Nick, make sure those shipments get through from out of state, or you’ll be explaining why not to me personally. And as for you, Snapper,” I finish, turning to him, “what the hell are you thinking, wandering around at night with no protection?”
These men are not as stupid as they seem. Iknowthis. I know it’s just the normal human resistance to change. They don’t want to believe things are different, despite it all. They want things to be as they were. Maybe they even miss having Tino as their Boss.
Tino Morelli would never have walked out on an initiation to go to an Irish funeral, after all. I know they’re saying it among themselves, because it’s what Angelo has reported back from his inquiries.
“And another thing,” I say, when they all look sufficiently chastised. “I want those guards who left the hospital taken care of. I want them made anexampleof, so that everyone in this city knows it: you don’t fuck over the Morellis, not for any amount of money or power or drugs or pussy, or whatever the fuck they got offered. You hear me?”
“We’ll take care of it,” Frank says, staring at Snapper Marino. “They came from your crew, right, Snaps?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Snapper grouses back. “If you got something to say to me, just say it.”
“Cut it out, the both of you,” I say, suddenly exhausted again. “We need to stick together, trust each other, if we’re going to get through this. So I’ll say this only once tonight. If anyone wants to walk away, they have until tomorrow night to get the fuck out. You tell your crews that, and you tell any associates you have hiding away in corners you think I don’t know about. Until Tuesday midnight, I’ll be merciful to them, because that is what Tino Morelli would have done. They can walk away, join the fucking Fuscones or the Clemenzas if they want, or leave town, or just goddamn retire. But after that, anyone I find slipping information to outsiders, any traitors in this Family, I’ll beat them to death with my bare hands. Because I amnotTino Morelli, and I’m not gonna let shit slide.”
It’s so quiet I can hear Frank breathing next to me.
“Is that understood?” I bark.
“Yes, Boss,” they all bark back, and finally, maybe, they’re starting to show some respect.
Fear, at least.
“Then get the fuck out of here and sort out your shit.” I wave a hand to dismiss them. Frank goes with them, and I know there’ll be hell to pay later on. He’ll accuse me of humiliating him, because he won’t see that Ihadto.
With my Capos all standing there, watching how I’d react, there was nothing else I could do for Frankbuthumiliate him. As for Hudson, he’s way down my list of priorities, and I’ll deal with him later.
This time, after they’ve all scurried off, I don’t need to turn to Angelo and ask how I’ve done, what Tino would think. Because it doesn’t matter if Tino would approve, doesn’t matter what Tino would have done.
I’ve done whatIneeded to do.
Chapter Fifteen
Finch
You know what? I’m getting real tired of putting on suits to go to funerals.
But I want to show my respects to—now, what shall we call her? The companion of the man who fathered me? But I feel like I should take away some memory of Connie Taylor’s funeral to tell my half-sister when she’s old enough to wonder about her mother. It seems to be a running theme in these genes we hold, dead parents. At least my half-sister and I will have Being Orphans in common, if nothing else.
Anyway, I’ll still have her beat withthreedead parental units, two murdered, one probably.
The whole funeral is mercifully brief. There’s no wake, no viewing of the body, and no attendees other than me, Luca, Frank and Celia, and of course Hudson. His parents don’t even show up to bury their only daughter, and I’m glad I came when I see once again how alone he is.
He tries to keep his shit together, and he does a good job up until the coffin is mechanically drawn through the doors and into the back end of the crematorium, where they will burn up the last remnants of that beautiful young woman and grind her down to dust. When the foot of the coffin disappears and the little red velvet curtains close on it, Hudson breaks down.
I’m standing next to him, so I pull him into a hug and let him snot all over my Brooks Brothers shoulder. I decided on classic Americana for today.
While Hudson weeps, Luca gives him a contemplative look, and I frown at my husband. He hurries to put a gloomier look on his face, and I wonder exactly what he’s thinking. That Connie’s brother obviously has a deep-seated grudge to play out in a revenge fantasy?
