“Fuck yeah,” he whoops. I can tell his blood is up and he’s already forgotten about our conversation.
As we get into his truck and head over to our positions, that conversation is all I can think about. To my father, Grace is just some mob bitch to be used and abused until you’re finished with her. She’s just a wet hole to fuck and fill. But to me, she’s become much, much more than that.
I’m protective of her. I’m possessive of her. I find myself wanting to be more tender, gentler, more loving than I’ve ever been in my entire life. When I’m in that room with Grace and she’s giving herself to me, the darkness is completely silent.
Nothing silences the darkness. Or at least nothing had before, except maybe at the moment of the kill. When I’m with Grace, though, the darkness is totally quiet. There is only me and her and what we’re doing, our bodies intertwined or just lying side by side afterward. She makes me feel something I’d never felt before.
She makes me feel at peace.
I glance at my father as we drive to the South Side of Chicago. He’s probably never felt a moment of peace in his life. He has the darkness inside of him, too, just like I do. He probably thinks that the darkness will go away if the Romanos let him into the familia, but I know better.
Nothing so shallow could ever silence it. I don’t know what could help him. I doubt anything at this point. He’s a lost cause, but I’m not. Grace showed me that. My princess.
We finally reach the spot where the hit will go down. We park down the block, and my father points out the building.
“There, on the left, is the deli,” he says, pointing. “And that on the right is your building.” He points at a taller brownstone building that looks like it was once a shopfront with apartments on top.
“Roof access?” I ask him.
“There’s a fire escape on the back. You can get up that way.”
I nod. Fire escapes are convenient and cleaner. “Timing?” I ask.
“I’ll give you,” he checks his watch, “ten minutes to get into position. Then the fire starts.” He grins at me.
“Fine. Plenty of time.” My blood pumps with adrenaline. My body tenses, knowing the time has come.
“Remember, one shot. Then we’re out of here. I’ll be nearby waiting in case something goes wrong.”
“I understand.” I open the door and climb out.
“Son,” he says. I look back at him. “Don’t miss.”
I grin. “You know I don’t.”
He nods as I turn and walk quickly down the street.
The block is quiet. It’s a pretty normal-looking residential street on the South Side. The buildings are large brownstones some with flowerpots on the steps, but they’re all in pretty bad condition. This is the neighborhood the city forgot about, and so crime is rampant.
It doesn't surprise me that the Don comes here to play poker. The Rossis have safe houses all over this neighborhood. It’s their main turf. Besides that, he grew up in this place. He probably still has friends in the old neighborhood, and I’m betting he’s playing with them right now.
I check my watch as I walk toward the building. Eight minutes to go. I find an alley between the buildings and head down toward the back.
I scout around the corner, and it’s completely quiet. It takes me a second before I spot the fire escape. I walk over and climb up onto a dumpster before jumping up and grabbing the lowest rung. It slides down with a metallic grind. I dangle there for a second, watching, but nobody comes outside.
I pull myself up and climb. It takes me a few minutes, but finally I crest the roof and find myself standing above the block. I check my watch one more time. Three minutes to spare.
I get into position at the edge of the roof and crouch down to set up my rifle. I have a silencer at one end, a high powered scope, and a tripod on the front. I rest the tripod on the ledge and adjust the scope until it’s perfect. The distraction should separate them enough. And with the fire escape, I’ll be gone before they can get to me. Just one kill. The others can do whatever the fuck they want.
My heart is beating fast. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, holding onto my rifle. I scope out the front of the deli and it’s deserted, though that doesn’t mean anything. There are clearly three mafia trucks parked outside. They’re the only nice cars on the block.
I hold my rifle, waiting. I’ve done this hundreds of times before. I’m a damn good shot, and I never miss. I’ve never killed a Don before, but he’s a man like any other. One bullet to his skull, and he’ll go down.
Seconds tick past, and then minutes. I check my watch with a frown.
He’s late. Eleven minutes pass, and then twelve. There’s no fire down there, hell, there’s no sign of my father.
When fifteen minutes come and go, I’m beginning to worry. My blood races with anxiety. Something happened down there. He’s never late like this, not on an important hit. Maybe he’s a piece of shit in our daily lives but when we’re out on a mission together, he’s as dependable as anything else in this world. He’s a fucking rock.
