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The older man’s deep voice rumbled through the phone.
“Cardez Montague, it’s been a minute. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Luther was head of the Duvall Crime Family. They kept to themselves out in Staten Island, handling drugs and guns, and mostly did business with the Albanians. He was a founding member of the High Table and one of my father’s biggest allies.
“Orlando’s been shot.”
Luther cursed under his breath. “Is he alive?”
“For now. He’s still in surgery.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“I need you to call an emergency meeting,” I said, ignoring his question.
“On what grounds?”
“Don’t do this politicking bullshit with me, Luther,” I said through gritted teeth. “One of the founding members has been shot, might die for all you know. Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout ‘on what grounds?”
“There’s protocol—”
“Fuck your protocol!” I barked. “Call the fucking meeting. Tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t care. It needs to be soon.”
I hung up the phone and walked back to Marco. Before I could say anything, the double doors opened and a doctor came out pulling down her mask.
“Family of Orlando Montague?”
“I’m his son.”
She looked between the two of us and then back to me. “Your father is out of surgery. The abdominal wound was very serious. The bullet nicked his liver, which caused significant internal bleeding. Thankfully, we were able to repair the damage and stop the bleeding.”
“Can I see him?”
She nodded. “They’re taking him to recovery now. He’s going to be in and out for a while, but you can sit with him.”
Marco clapped me on the back. “Go. I’ll wait for you out here.”
I followed the surgeon through the double doors to a room at the end of the hall. The beeping of the machines made my eyes burn. The memories of my mother when she was sick came rushing back. I blinked back the tears and cleared my throat before taking a seat beside the bed. My father’s big frame looked wrong under the hospital blankets.
“You can’t die on me yet, old man,” I said under my breath.
“Dez.” His eyes were barely open.
I grabbed his hand. “You scared the shit out of me, Pops.”
“Gonna take more than a bullet,” he said hoarsely.
“Don’t do that tough shit with me right now.”
He tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. We sat there for a minute with the soft whir of the machines filling the silence.
“I called an emergency meeting with the Table,” I said finally. “It’s time.”
“Cardez—”
“This isn’t a debate, Pops. Solomon’s escalating faster than any of us anticipated and I can’t protect this family on some quasi-leadership shit. It’s all or nothing.”
His eyes drifted shut then opened again. Whatever he was going to say took more energy than he had right now. His head moved, barely a nod but I caught it.
