“Man will always try to make choices, Mario. Choices he attempts to justify, for himself, for his family, for others. And for a while it might work, until it doesn’t, until he makes a choice that renders everything pointless, one he can’t justify, can’t forgive and it takes everything. His family, his friends, his soul, leaving him with nothing, an emptiness he can’t fill again, a deep dark void that grows bigger by the second. You did that, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” a solemn whisper.
My great grandfather and his father before him built their empire on the blood of their enemies, ruling with a cruelty so brutal it was considered almost mythical, yet the code always remained the same, bestowed upon every soldier and family member alike when sworn in.
“What’s our family code?”
“Never betray your brothers,” the bastard’s voice cracked on a sob.
“And?”
“The family comes before everything else,” he rasped, shoulders haunching lower as though he could hide from me.
“And?”
“Never…” he hesitated and my brow went up. “Never cooperate with law enforcement.”
My laugh was dark, a menacing threat. “That’s why in my world, I don’t give choices because chances are, they’ll come back to fuck me in the ass.”
“Sir,” a plea.
“Put the gun in your mouth, Mario.” Crossing an ankle over the other knee, I leaned back in the seat, glaring at the fucker who’d worked for us for almost seven years until the DEA got to him, promising who the fuck knew what, for his testimony.
A day before he was to appear in court, our men ambushed the car bringing him back to the city. The three armored vehicles escorting him were no match for our firepower. When you’re related to Lorenzo Rossi, don of New York, head of the five families in Italy, executive member of the mafia roundtable and my brother, nothing or no one would stand in our way to protect the other.
The man glanced at his son, his tears in earnest before his gaze came back to me. “Please,” he choked, desperation thick in his voice. “I was wrong.”
“You think turning State’s witness is wrong?” I raised a brow. “If it’s against a deadly criminal like me, your words, not mine then it’s not.”
After grabbing him, we let the dust settle over the last month, giving people glimpses of Mario so the prosecutor couldn’t justify his accusation that we had something to do with the ambush. Our attorney countered with a, ‘perhaps the State’s witness has changed his mind about testifying.’ Without their key witness, the prosecutor had no choice but to accept the judge’s dismissal.
“Only, you got caught, Mario, you broke the code and…” I trailed off, shifting my gaze to his son.
Now, my brother allowed me to seek revenge on the fucker on one condition. I made it look like a suicide. That irked the fuck out of me. I didn’t stage deaths, I took lives. But I relented only because Lorenzo didn’t want it traced back to me.
“Come here, boy,” I called to his son.
Barely six years old, it would be years before he learned the difference between good and evil, there was still time to taint his education. I never claimed to be a gentleman by society or any other standards, yet I could turn up the charm when the need arose.
He gazed at his father for half a second then neared me. “Do you know what this is?” I held out my gun to him, ignoring his father’s sobs. The boy nodded. “Would you like to learn how to shoot?” Eyes brimming with excitement, lifted from the weapon to my face, his father forgotten. Another nod.
“Please, sir, he has no one to take care of him,” Mario cried.
I picked up his son and placed him on my lap. Aiming my gun at his father, I moved the boy’s hands around until he was holding the weapon with his finger on the trigger and mine behind it to prevent him shooting.
“Die by your hands or his?” I asked, my gaze trained on the father with his son ready to shoot him on my command.
Eyes widened, hands shaking, he brought the gun up to his lips. They matched the tremble of his fingers before he opened his mouth, placing the muzzle on his tongue.
“Shoot,” I instructed the boy, removing my finger. He looked at me over his shoulder. “Go on,” I encouraged him.
A sudden explosion echoed in the room. His head swung around sharply. Together, we stared at his father’s body slowly toppling to the side, his blood and brains rolling down the wall behind him.
“Papa,” he whispered, the first sound he’d made since my arrival.
There were no tears or jerks of fear, just an unwavering stare. Maybe one day he’d learn his father’s death cemented the rule to never to challenge a Rossi and maybe he’d come looking for me to avenge his father’s death. Maybe he’d be a pussy and live a life of solitude. That was a fuck load of maybes I didn’t really care for now or ever.
Removing my gun from his hand, I lifted him off my lap, set his feet down on the floor and stood, holstering my weapon. “It’s been a while since I had a good steak.” I straightened my jacket, glancing at Gian.
