Chapter 39
Luciano
My father’s study reeked of power and rage. I stood off to the side, watching him pace behind his desk like a caged wolf. His cigar had burned down to ash between his fingers, untouched. That told me everything I needed to know. He was furious. He wouldn’t waste a good cigar on any other emotion.
“They hit one of the trucks,” he said finally, his voice like gravel dragged through glass. “Six dead. Two of ours, four civilians.”
Saint leaned against the wall near the liquor cabinet, arms crossed, expression blank but alert. Brooker stood near the window, hands in his pockets, quiet and calculating as usual. None of us spoke. We were all waiting for the part that came next.
My father turned to face us fully. His eyes locked on mine first. “I want them gone. All of them.”
“Define all,” I asked, because all to me meant bloodlines.
He stepped closer. “Anyone who had a hand in this. Anyone who knew and didn’t say. The entire fucking organization if we have to. And them motherfuckers who called us weak.”
Saint let out a slow breath. “You’re talking full-scale sweep. That’ll draw eyes.”
“I don’t care,” my father snapped. “They came for me” He brought his hand down on his desk. “ Li voglio morti tutti. Fategli ingoiare il nostro nome insieme al loro sangue. ” ( "I want them all dead. Make them swallow our name along with their blood." )
I glanced toward the file on his desk. Surveillance photos. Maps. A printout of Russo’s latest shipping manifest. We had everything we needed.
Brooker walked forward and tapped the map with a knuckle. “We start on the south side of St. Pete. They have no friends there. That’s where they’re weakest. We cut the head off last.”
Saint looked at me. “You good with that?”
I nodded. “Sweep the street dealers first. No mercy. Make it loud. Pay the officers who need to be paid to look the other way.”
My father lit another cigar and exhaled through his nose like a dragon. “This is your mess now, Luciano. You lead it.”
I didn’t blink. “Then it’s already done.”
He watched me for a beat. But he didn’t argue. He really didn’t have an argument.
He knew what I was capable of. And he knew I’d get the job done.