Chapter 15 Cesare
Pietro stomped on a cigarette butt. He twisted his loafers back and forth, the smell of the nearby water dank and fishy in the air. The warehouse district was disgusting, but that was part of life. It was what it was.
“Heard your mother’s in town,” he muttered. “Aunt Concetta has always been imposing. She’s a good woman.”
I grunted, and immediately, my mouth tasted like ash. “Yeah,” I said instead. “She’s just herself. Same Concetta as always.”
Pietro searched my face. “What’s up with the two of you? I’ve never seen two people so standoffish,” he said. “You fighting?”
I turned toward him. “I have an idea, why don’t you go and do something about Benito being a fucking idiot!” I snapped. “When you fix that, then you can ask questions about my mother. Until then? Vaffanculo. Yeah?” I nodded with my chin toward his car. “Get to work.”
When he walked away, I turned back to the warehouse. My cousin could bitch all he wanted, but I needed him focused, not worrying about my mother. She was a problem, but only a mild one. One that I could handle.
I moved inside and over to the chair in the middle of the room.
One of Benito’s cohorts sat there, his head bowed, his face already bloody and bruised.
He’d been the one to arrange everything for Concetta’s flight.
It was why I never even knew that she was coming.
My son was getting more clever by the day.
He didn’t realize that everything he’d ever thought of, I had already done.
And I was about to send a message in blood and guts.
“Eddie, right?” I asked. “You work for my son.”
Nothing.
“Silence. That’s good. Makes you loyal. I’d have less respect for a rat.” I cracked my knuckles, the sound loud and echoing in the drafty warehouse.
Nothing.
I smiled. “What is my son up to? Hmm?” I walked closer to him. “You seem to know some things. So, tell me, what does Benito have up his sleeves?”
Nothing.
My grin grew. “Thank you. I was really hoping you weren’t gonna spill your guts, because then I would miss out on the chance to encourage conversation. That’s boring.” I rolled my neck. “And I need to work out some stress.”
The drive of my fist into his chest made his lips fly open and a wheezing noise fell free.
Pain shot up my hand, that old, familiar sensation that I was used to, but also made my knuckles ache more than it used to.
I pulled my hand back and flexed my fingers before I pulled back and slammed my fist into his face.
The resounding crack of something breaking filled the air.
“Heavy hands,” I muttered. “You know, I really forget my own strength.” I grinned. “Eddie, you know if you don’t talk, I’m just going to let this last all night, right?” I asked. I reached out and yanked his head back by his hair. “Come on, give it up already. What’s Benito up to?”
Staring up at me through half-lidded eyes, he breathed heavily. I saw him trying to steel himself, to keep it together. I clicked my tongue a bit.
“Wrong answer.”
The heavy, meaty sound of blows filled the air. He grunted, his mouth going slack as saliva dripped from his mouth. I yanked his head up again, holding him steady by his hair before I punched him again.
I had to give it to him, he was doing his best to hold out. Unlike my sons, I wasn’t fancy. There wasn’t much I couldn’t solve without my hands and a pair of pliers. I didn’t need the theatrics, I just needed my body and the force of my irritation. But damn, was this not giving.
"You're wasting my time,” I said as I lit a cigar and let the smoke curl into the air. His head lolled to the side, blood and drool dripping from his mouth as he groaned. “Do you really want to do this for a few more hours? Not even boxers wanna get hit in the face this fucking much, you know?”
I inhaled thick smoke and blew it out. When he just let out a low, wheezing sound, I leaned forward and tilted his head up by his chin.
I didn’t hit him, not yet. Instead, I gripped his jaw and worked his mouth open by digging my fingers into the sides of his mouth until his jaw unclenched and he opened.
“There you go,” I said. I moved the cigar from my mouth to his tongue. “Should I burn here?” I asked, letting the heat surge right above the wet appendage. I moved it up. “Or here?” He stared at the glowing red tip aimed right at his eye.
He panted, his eyes focusing on me before they went back to the cigar. I moved the glowing tip closer, and he let out a strangled shout.
“Okay!” he cried out. “Okay, I’ll talk!”
I grinned. “Of course you will.”
“Benito’s gonna kill me,” he panted. “I—shit, he’ll kill me, Mr. Vitale.”
“Shhh,” I said, taking a drag of my cigar. “No, he won’t. You can believe me on that much.” I nodded. “Now tell me.”
He licked his blood-slick lips and grimaced. “I-I don’t know everything. Benito keeps everything to him and his inner circle.”
“My sons.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding as much as my grip in his hair would allow.
“Then tell me what you do know and stop telling me about what you don’t know. Even you have ears. Eyes. So I suggest you pick a sense, any sense, and give me something before I lose my last sliver of patience.”
The man was breathing shallowly. “The… the business. Your smuggling business. He’s targeting it. Next shipments already been… sabotaged. Everything in it is fake. No guns. No extras. Benito has everything from it. Made a deal with one of your suppliers in Spain.”
There was only one supplier in Spain. I’d cut the other two loose a month ago, but Benito wouldn’t know that, would he? I smirked as I stared down at the man. Good information, valuable. My son was playing with fire.
“M-might have dropped a hint to authorities that your shipments aren’t legal.”
I bristled, and the smirk was wiped from my face. “What?”
“One of those guys he knows. York, I think his name is? Black guy, FBI. Said he dropped a tip. Benito wasn’t for it, but he didn’t stop it.”
So that was my son’s play. He didn’t just want to kick me off my throne, he was going to get me locked up in years of litigation and trials. And in the end? If I didn’t beat the charges? Years behind a prison cell. It was damn close to ratting. My body went rigid.
“Play time is over.” I stepped back, smoked my cigar, and pulled my gun from its waistband. “Anything else?”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “You said you wouldn’t kill me,” he grunted, his chest rising and falling sharply.
My brows knitted. “Is that what I said? No, no, no, Eddie. That’s what’s wrong with your generation. None of you listen. I said I could guarantee that Benito wouldn’t kill you.” I waved a hand over myself. “I am not Benito, now am I?”
His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “I gave you what you wanted. I-I gave you everything.”
“Yes.” I nodded solemnly. “And you ratted on my sons. On mia famiglia. They might be spoiled, stubborn brats that need their asses spanked, but that’s for me to do. Not for you. Who could trust you after you spilled your guts?”
“Y-you’re sick,” he spat. “They all hate you, you know. All of them. They all fucking hate you! Benito, Giancarlo, Paulo, Enzo. They talk about killing you once and for all. Getting you out of the fucking picture! They—”
The gunshot rang out sharp and clear. The smell of gunpowder rose in the air as I stared at the bullet hole in his head. His head lolled on his shoulders before it dropped forward, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth.
My chest expanded as I took in a long, sharp breath. I turned and walked out before I nodded back at the warehouse to one of my soldiers.
“Clean it up. Make it look like Eddie did himself a favor and ran. We need some time and distance, and I don't want certain parties knowing their little informant is out of the picture.”
“Yes, Mr. Vitale.”
I walked to my car and ground the cigar out in the cup holder. For a moment, I stared at the building, my eyes trained on it as Eddie’s words cut through my brain. They hate you. They talk about killing you. My chest tightened, and I started the car before I pulled out. My sons were vindictive?
Good. It would make them that much more entertaining to destroy until every last one of their betrayals was paid in full.
I pointed the car toward home as sheets of rain broke from the cloud-covered sky. The smell of blood, dust, and trash filled my nose before I rolled up my window.
Rafael would be waiting for me, all curled up, doing nothing. Looking like money and opulence on my living room couch. I reached down and picked up my phone to text him. When I looked up again, I inhaled sharply.
“Shit!”
The car careened, the sheets of rain that had started were blocking my vision.
I crashed hard, my breath stolen as my chest smashed into the steering wheel.
It wasn’t hard enough to make the airbag deploy, but it was still the kind of hit I knew I would be suffering from for a few days, a dark bruise on my chest like a trophy to my stupidity.
How many times had I yelled at Benito to put the fucking phone down when he was driving? Countless. Look at me now.
I stumbled out and panted. The car in front of me had a smashed fender, and a woman was shouting obscenities at me in spanish.
I reached into my wallet, took out a stack of cash, opened her hand, and shoved the money into her palm.
There was still blood on my knuckles and on the bills she held in her hands.
I saw the shock, the fear. She stared at it, up to me, and back again before she nodded, got into her car, and drove off.
Money fixes everything and power fixes what it can’t.
My father’s words were a ghost of a whisper in my ear.
I slipped back into my car, a bit disoriented, and tried to drive.
The car stalled. Over and over it stalled as horns blared and people shouted.
It was too much for me tonight. I got out and pushed it to the side with the help of a guy that jogged up to help.
I stared at him, waiting for him to ask for something.
“There you go,” he said. “You should be careful. See a doctor. You might have hit your head.”
Did I hit my head? I couldn’t remember. Reaching up, I touched my forehead and found blood, fresh and wet, staining my fingers. The rain immediately started carrying it away.
I just had to get home. Looking around, I knew I wasn't far. Getting a taxi was a waste of time, and I didn’t feel like waiting. Instead, I started walking. I turned down a familiar alleyway and got moving, going deeper into the filth before I was spat out on the other side.
Running my hands over my face, I wiped the rain away, salt stinging my eyes probably from the sweat on my hands. From the beating. I took another step and paused. One more and paused again. Frowning, I stumbled.
Meow. Meow. Meow!
The cries were high pitched. Tiny. At first, I thought I was imagining them, but as I moved toward a dumpster I heard it again.
That high pitched scream. I nearly fell as I went to my knees.
There, between the dumpster and the wall was a black ball of fluff nearly hidden in the shadows.
It looked at me with huge, green eyes, and my throat tightened.
“The fuck are you doin’ back there?” I muttered. “Where’s your mama?”
As I asked, I realized she was right there. Thin… too thin. But the baby, it had some weight on it. As if she’d been feeding it and not herself.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Even your mom is a better one than Gabriela.”
Seeing Benito that one time, all skinny and wide eyed while Gabriela had been off gallivanting, came back in sharp tones.
I shook my head and reached behind the dumpster.
My hand was still sticky with blood, even with the rain.
I captured the creature as it bit into my hand, nails digging into my calloused flesh.
I ignored it and pulled it out anyway. It screamed in my face, those high-pitched meows that filled the air. But it was shaking, cold. Scared.
“Listen here,” I growled. “I’m not going to coddle you. Now you stop that and behave.” I tucked him underneath my coat. For a moment, he fought until he realized there was no rain there. Instead, there was warmth. It whined softly after that. “See? You’re fine. Toughen up. Come on.”
My voice held none of the edge it usually did. I was tired, dizzy, and I just wanted to get home. I turned and trudged back down the alley, heading toward my building with a kitten clutched to my chest that I refused to let go of even if it was hurting me.