No one betrays my family and lives to see another day.
Men stream onto the grass from all sides, and we’ve got the upper numbers. Grabbing two handguns from my hips, I enter the battle, popping off shots as we decimate the enemy, but something doesn’t feel right. It’s too easy, and this mysterious Italian hasn’t shown his face.
“Incoming!” Caleb yells. “Fuck, they’re coming from the sewers.”
I shoot a guy in the face before I whip around, spotting men literally pouring out of holes in the road behind us.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Fiero yells. “Look oceanside. More men are coming.”
“It’s a fucking submarine!” Massimo shouts. “They have a fucking submarine.”
Hordes of men charge at us from the ocean and the road, and we’re going to be submerged if we don’t call in our reserve forces now. Don Greco is on the verge of giving that order when a voice booms out over a loudspeaker and blaring lights bear down on all of us, blinding everyone. The gunfire stops as everyone struggles to see over the blinding light thrust at us from the ocean.
“Tell your men to put their weapons down, Massimo. I know you’re out there calling the shots. Give the order, or they’ll all be slaughtered.”
“What the actual fuck?” Leo says, and I follow his line of sight to where a man is being carried toward us on a high-backed chair by four tall, strong men, like he’s a fucking king.
Someone stumbles into me from behind, and I whip around with my gun raised. Our men are being pushed back by the swarms of men who have emerged from the sewers. Noxious smells waft in the air as I spot a familiar face walking toward me. We didn’t have proof of his betrayal, but I’m not surprised to see him. I wondered when he’d surface.
“Accardi.” Cruz DiPietro smirks as he points a gun at my face while I point mine at his chest.
We’re surrounded on two sides, and even though there’s a current ceasefire, everyone is tense and on alert. Weapons are poised in every direction.
“Don’t,” I say in warning to Caleb. If he shoots Cruz, his men will retaliate, and we’re currently outnumbered.
“Don’t what? Shoot you?” Cruz laughs.
“What the fuck are you doing, Cruz?” Cristian calls out.
He glowers at his younger brother. “Taking back what’s mine.”
“Tell your men now, Massimo,” a man with a loudspeaker says as he approaches us. “They must lower their weapons, or we’ll slaughter them all.”
The lights shining from the submarine are lowered enough to see without being blinded.
“No fucking way.” Shock is splayed across Leo’s face as he clearly recognizes the man with the loudspeaker.
The man being carried on the chair is set down in front of us, and he’s old as dirt. The few strands of hair left on his head are flimsy and gray. Dark beady eyes radiate with smug supremacy as he stares at Ben and Leo, his deeply lined face moving as his narrow lips pull into a smile.
“This can’t be happening,” Fiero says in my ear.
“You died,” Ben says, looking every bit as shocked as Leo. “Both of you died at the warehouse bombing years ago.”
“Come now, Bennett,” the old dude says, his voice stronger than his frail appearance. “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?” A wheezy chuckle rips from his lips.
“Who are you?” I ask because I’m struggling to place these men.
“Show respect for Don Maximo Greco,” the man with the loudspeaker says.
“What?” Cristian looks as confused as me.
That creep died years ago, didn’t he?
“Are you deaf, boy?” loudspeaker guy says. He’s older too though not as old as the prick on the chair who looks like he could kick the bucket at any moment. I wouldn’t shed any tears if he did. This guy looks like he’s late forties or maybe early fifties, and he looks familiar.
Suddenly it clicks.
I wrack my brain to remember his name. We were fourteen when the warehouse bombing happened, killing most of the dons in the US along with some of their men and a few heirs.
“You’re Primo Greco,” I say as his name comes to me. “You’re Massimo’s older brother.”
He nods. “I’m the rightful heir and your new president. All men will swear an oath to me or die.”
