His sleeves are rolled up, his suit jacket under Frank’s head. He leans over, pinches Frank’s nose, and blows into his mouth before continuing with the compressions. The kitchen door swings back open and I hear the footsteps of several panicked people coming in.
“Frank!” a woman cries, dropping to her knees beside us. She’s clearly drunk and she crowds the man, pulling on his shirt and sobbing uncontrollably like her own life depends on it.
Jesus Christ, someone needs to get her under control.
“Father?” a girl’s voice calls, but I don’t look up. All my attention is on Frank and Joey and the hysterical woman. I take over the compressions as Joey pinches Frank’s nose again and blows into his mouth.
There are too many people in the kitchen and they’re all getting closer and closer, all wanting to take a look at the great Frank Costello unconscious on the floor. The great king of New York knocking on deaths door. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit, but I get an image of my own father on the ground, men gathered around him as he was beaten to death. Their leers staring down at him, unsympathetic, uncaring. Ambivalent towards his pain.
These violent delights have violent ends.
“Get back and give us some goddamn space!” I roar, needing the space for me more than just Frank. “Is the ambulance on its way?”
“Any minute now,” a man says, and when I look up I see one of Frank’s security guys. He looks worried, and he should be. Frank holds the keys to the kingdom, and with no son to pass his empire down to, the vultures will be coming to tear the Costello’s apart if Frank dies.
Minutes that feel like hours pass until finally paramedics arrive, but another man is holding them back and not allowing them to come in. Sisco is arguing with whoever it is; I can hear his angry voice from my place on the ground and I know it’s only minutes before he really loses his shit.
“What the fuck is going on?” I yell at him.
Sisco barges in, violence written all over his face like vibrant graffiti. He doesn’t give a shit about Frank, but he loves a good fight and he’s hoping this will end that way.
“Some asshole is keeping the medics back. He thinks it’s a hit,” Sisco sneers. “I told him it will be a fucking hit on him if he doesn’t let them in.”
How has this descended into such chaos?
“You, take over,” I order Frank’s security man.
The big guy drops to his knees and takes over from me.
I storm to the doorway to sort this shit out, more than a little pissed off now. A man I know to be Alfonso Rosso, or Alfonso, is holding the paramedics back. I tap him on the shoulder, and when he turns around, I glare. “Let them in, now,” I order, giving no room for him to argue with me, and yet he does.
He sneers at me, clearly not used to being told what to do. He’s older than me, but he looks after himself. His large shoulders fill out the expensive suit he wears. “And you are?”
“Your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t get out of their way. He’s had a heart attack and needs to get to a hospital, so unless you want to be the man that kills off Frank Costello, I suggest you get the fuck out of their way.”
He takes a step forward, his gaze looking me up and down like he owns me, like he’s better than me. I should pull out my gun and kill him for the disrespect, but the whole point of coming here tonight was to make new business contacts, not kill them off.
Satisfied he’s won the cock show, he takes a step back and allows the paramedics in, his gaze never leaving mine. I can feel Sisco at my side, tension pouring from him like wine from a broken bottle. He’s like a vicious rottweiler ready to be unleashed, eager and hungry for blood. But unlike my father, God rest his soul, I refuse to use Sisco’s anger as a weapon.
I hold out my hand to Alfonso. “Dominic Novello.”
Alfonso looks at my hand, a smile creeping up his face. The man is older than me by a good ten years, his silver-flecked hair the only sign since he’s had so much Botox.
“Stay out of my way,” Alfonso orders, and pushes past me and into the kitchen.
“I’m going to kill him for that,” Sisco growls, his hand reaching for the gun at his waist as Joey comes out of the kitchen.
His features darken when he sees Sisco’s expression, and I know he’s already on board for murder if I agree.
I place a hand on Sisco’s arm. “Not tonight, brother.”
Sisco seems even more infuriated by my response. Or lack of one. “You’re going to let him disrespect you like that?”
I start to walk and my brothers follow. When we’re out of earshot, I turn to them. “There’s more than one way to kill a snake, and I’m in it for the long game.”
Joey nods. He’s the sensible one. He can take orders. But Sisco, he’s wild, uncontrollable. Like a 50-year storm he destroys everything in his path. He’s going to take a little more convincing.
“Brother, if we went around killing everyone we disliked, we’d have no one to do business with. We need to be smart about this. Our name looks weak right now. Our own father was murdered and dropped on our doorstep, for Christ’s sakes. We need to show everyone that we’re more than just brawn, that we can use our fucking heads and take over what he left behind.”
