Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Two women, one older the other little more than a child, entered the room behind us. The young one bore the marks of my granddaughters’ hands, and I had to hide a disrespectful smile of pride. “Send the woman and child away.” The older one started to argue, but Fontane shushed her and sent them both away.
“Who does that old man think he is? This is our house.” The young one griped as they’re wont to do when they don’t get their way on her way out of the room.
“Ah, I was told you were smidollato, soft; it’s good to see they were wrong.” Fontane squirmed at the edge of his seat.
My sons and their families may carry the shine of respectability and class, but every good Italian worth his salt knows what I am on sight. It’s good that he’s afraid, that he’s shown this old man the respect he deserves when so many others think I’m just an old has been.
“Now, on to the reason I am here. There was an…incident earlier this afternoon, which made the women in my family very upset. One upset Russo woman is a lot to handle; all of them together is a headache no medicine can cure. Do you like headaches, Mr. Fontane? Nasty things.”
I removed the thick envelope from beneath my coat and passed it to him. “What’s this?”
“This is your whole life right here. The firm you worked so hard to build, the stocks you own, properties, etc. There’s also information about your wife’s pending case and which way it can go. I gather my son told you the Russo male motto. We never warn when actions are so much louder. Today, I break my own rule. Use the chance wisely.”
“Sir, what…?”
“What do I want? Your Ivy League education should be good enough to help you figure it out. My kids are grown, Mr. Fontane, my grandchildren, are now teenagers, none of them need an old man to protect them anymore, but they’re my world, Mr. Fontane. A man like me doesn’t like chaos in his world.”
His hands trembled as he fumbled to open the envelope. “I had my people write things out as plainly as possible so there will be no misunderstandings. I’ll leave you to look that over then and be on my way.” He got up when I did, looking pale.
“If I take your business, I will leave a percentage to your young daughter, Gia; she’s innocent in this.” I left him to ponder as I made my way outside to the car to go to my son and daughter-in-law’s home for dinner. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together like that. Wretched ailments and old age in the cruel New England winters have seen to that.
Our reasons for gathering this time may not be a happy one, but any time spent together in life is to be appreciated. My son, bless him, is doing his best to take the family down a different path to mine and his grandfather’s. I may not agree wholeheartedly, but the boy has always been smart; he can do it.
My grandson…ahh, the boy I once wanted to throw away is the most filial, most kind, and blessed with a spirit so beautiful, I don’t want it tainted by the filth of the world. So, what’s this old man to do? My son would slaughter these people in their beds for what was done today alone. My grandson would usually torment them through that new fandangle machine he sits in front of all day. No blood, but just as vicious.
But today, my men saw, and I too when I watched the tapes, he’s got the scent of blood in his nose. His look, the coldness in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine and with good reason. The boy could quote Niccolò Machiavelli by the time he was nine and the art of war by ten or eleven. It would not end well for those people back there.
My wife, a brilliant tactician if there ever was one and my closest confidante, would not rest until I do something… on a Sunday. When everything’s closed, and greasing palms cost ten times as much as on Monday if you want things done right and on time. But it’s just money. The peace of my family is worth more.
Hopefully, this Fontane has more sense than it appears to the others and will read between the lines. His life from this day on can be very fine, or he can endure the worst hell he’s ever known if he or one of his own crosses the line again—the warning I’d done for the girl, the one in my son’s home. The one my grandchildren, asked me to protect. She’s the reason his house is still standing, and the brakes on those fancy cars in their driveway still work.