Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Crying was not something I had ever seen from the men in my life. Not even when they grieved. My father's eyes had been hollow and devastated, but not water-filled. Not even when the casket was lowered into the ground. So I bit the insides of my cheeks, and blinked hard to make sure I didn't cry either.
But this man standing across from my father, flanked by two of his men, had been sobbing openly, letting out words that tripped over one another, that ended up making no sense.
I didn't know what was happening.
But then my father's arm rose.
A gun caught the moonlight.
And a loud bang stole my breath as my body jolted downward automatically.
And then the man slumped forward, blood around a hole in the center of his forehead.
I swallowed back the bile that rose up in my throat, trying to take slow, deep breaths, not scream, cry, demand to understand what was going on.
I guess it didn't matter.
All I knew was this was what my father did.
So this was what I would grow up to do.
That meant that I needed to harden myself to it.
I turned, walking on stiff yet shaky legs back to the car, climbed into the backseat, stared out my window.
I didn't even bother to yell at Matteo for ripping the pages out of my comic book.
Suddenly, comic books, and the men with guns inside of them, paled in comparison to real life.
I was going to be someone in those stories.
And it seemed like I was more than likely going to be the villain.
Like my father.
Who climbed back into the car like nothing had happened, telling us he would get us some ice cream when we got home because we were good and stayed in the car like he told us to.
I spent the ride back coming to terms with my future.
As a bad guy.
Just like my father.
I wasn't sure why those thoughts were on my mind while I drove to the docks when I hadn't given that night much thought in a couple decades.
Maybe because the night was much like that one—hot, sticky, making me thankful for the air-conditioned seats in my car as I turned into the parking lot. The sky was like that night as well. Clear, a crescent moon bright overhead.
It was later than it had been when I was a kid, though, well after two in the morning.
I'd gotten the call as I had been doing the cash out at the restaurant, dashing my plans of going home, having a drink, and climbing into bed before four in the morning for a change.
But that was the price you paid when you were taking over. Not fully. It was a process. My father wasn't quite ready to be done yet. And there was the issue with the Five Families in New York who would need to approve of my succession.
But my father was certainly no longer the one who ran out in the middle of the night when there was an issue. That was my place.
Leandro and his son Dario were standing there under one of the lights, likely melting in their suits, but refusing to take off their jackets. I left mine on as well as I cut the engine, climbed out of the car, grabbing the gun from under my seat as I went, a motion that was so innate at this point that I didn't even give it a thought.
"Alright. What's going on?" I asked, approaching them.
Times were tricky. And it meant you didn't discuss anything over the phone, over text. You never wanted shit leading back to you. So all I knew was I needed at the docks. All they knew was I would show up when I could.
"We have someone sniffing around," Dario said, looking much like his father had in his youth, but with fifty fewer pounds. They had the same somewhat rounded faces, the dark, sunken eyes, the same wide shoulders.
"Anyone we recognize?"
There were always people sniffing around, looking to see if they could get into a container, steal something. We had security, but with an area as massive as this, there were ways around them if you were determined enough. And people often were.
"No, she doesn't seem to be from around here."
"She?" I asked, stopping on my way to the office to check out the cameras.
"Yeah," Dario agreed, nodding. "Pretty thing too."
"She's not here to meet a guy?" I asked, knowing we had issues with prostitution in the area thanks to a local street gang who didn't realize they needed to keep their asses on their own turf.
"No. She's on a mission of some fucking sort," Leandro said, shaking his head. "Running around, looking at containers, definitely looking for something. Not someone."
"You have Angelo keeping tabs on her?" I asked, approaching the squat, square brick building that acted as our main office. It wasn't much of a space, just a front room with a bathroom and sitting area, a reception desk that was empty at this time of night, then a hall that led to two offices. The one for my father, me, and my brother who rarely ever set foot in it. Then the other one, where security was set up.