Then I fucked up one step more. A woman saw me kill Michael Corsia—the piece of shit who killed my boy. I had taken too long, drawn it out, beating him with my own hands until I was sure I had broken every bone I could. It wasn’t until the pain in my hands got to me that I stopped, ending him with a bullet to his gut, a painful and guaranteed death. I stood over him and watched him until he took his last breath.
My Don told me to take the plea bargain, not to go to trial. Except the DA wanted to send me away for everything they had never been able to catch me on. They offered me second degree and twenty years. On the advice of my lawyer, I took it to trial. In doing so, I not only went against my Don—I made waves you aren’t supposed to in the Outfit. It worked, though, I got manslaughter and only five years.
The fact I was a Sabatini and both my Don and underboss owed me is the only reason I wasn’t left to rot, cut off from the Outfit while I did my time. Both Johnny Conti, underboss at the time, and my Don, owed me. With me making waves, once I got out of prison, I buried myself deep out of sight of the public. There were no parties and hand shaking, greasing palms among the players in the city. Without the ability to move among them with the excuse of being a businessman doing his civic duty, I would never rise above a capo, no matter my name.
In the almost twenty years since it all went down, I long ago made peace with it. I’m content with my territory and running it as I see fit. It’s amusing to be a bit of a ghost in the city of Chicago for those familiar with the Outfit. People knew my name, knew I was operating, but it’s rare I meet or do business with anyone directly. The only issue I’ve grown to resent is with my low profile and the fact few people have met me, is that I’ve become the go-to hitter in the family.
The hitman is a movie and book myth. A hit was usually carried out by whoever could get close to the target, barring that, it was the next person’s turn. Over the decade since Johnny became Don, he called on me more and more. In the last few years it was almost every hit he had. It’s not for me to question my Don, but it’s getting fucking old. It’s only May, and I’ve already killed nine people. In years past, if I hit that many people in an entire year, it was a bad.
Joseph grunts as he checks his phone. “Carlo is running late too. Johnny isn’t happy he’s sitting there on his own. Dominic isn’t there. Richie is sending a woman over to his table with a bottle of Macallan. She’s willing to go down on him if he’s open to it.”
That doesn’t sound right. I shake my head. “If Carlo isn’t there then that’s a fucking problem. The man doesn’t waste an opportunity.”
A nod as Joseph looks up from his phone. “Rumor is, he’s stressing and having conflict with his second in command, who wants his son inducted this year. Carlo thinks the kid is too young at eighteen.”
I shake my head. “Kids man, it’s bullshit they get pushed into this life younger and younger. Teenagers should not be in this thing of ours.”
Joseph snorts. “Dom is the epitome of that being a bad argument, Boss. He not only held down your business, he expanded and doubled your profit.”
It doesn’t matter it’s been almost twenty years, every time I’m reminded my son had to step up and into this life at only fifteen, it never fails to piss me off. The anger was always at myself. If I hadn’t gone to prison, he could have stayed a kid for a little while longer. “I mean, dumbass, they shouldn’t have to. They deserve to be young and dumb and stupid for as long as they can be. Instead, they grow up too fast—learning the hard way.”
“We’re here, Boss, twenty minutes late. Sorry.” Vito mutters from the driver’s seat.
“Not on you, Vito.” As we get out, I nod at them both. “Grab something to eat, no gambling, nothing to drink. I need you two to stay up top and sharp.”
They nod, neither one of them surprised I don’t want them in the basement gambling. Tonight will likely end with me needing to kill someone. That’s usually how a meeting went with Johnny; it was about money or death. With Carlo at the meeting I thought it was money, but since Carlo is running late, it’s probably about killing someone.
I enter the private club I had once run, before passing it onto Dominic as a part of the Sabatini legacy. With the illegal gambling in the basement and the need to be visible here with customers, it wasn’t business I felt I could do well. So when I got out of prison the club stayed under his control, and I took back the bookie and loan shark business.
Johnny sees me coming, he holds up a hand to keep me in place when I’m about five feet away. I don’t move. Then I hear it and flick my eyes down, the girl is enthusiastic. I turn my back to give him his privacy.
The corner table in the bar area we’ve been given is my usual one. No one is ever seated nearby in case of business needing to be done. Carlo comes in, it’s clear he’s agitated. Probably upset he’s running late, which he knows Johnny doesn’t like. He frowns as he looks from me to Johnny.
“He’s getting his dick sucked. Something to make up for running late. I had a guy who didn’t want to pay. It might have felt a little too good to work out the stress of the week on him.”
Carlo shakes his head. Yeah, that’s right. Carlo is above getting dirty, hasn’t killed anyone in almost three years and likely hasn’t beat down anyone in twice as long. Any time he wanted someone dead or in pain he gave the order for his soldiers to handle.
The girl crawls out from under the table with a smile. She kisses Johnny on the cheek and whispers something to him. He chuckles and pats her ass as he waves us over.
I sit down across from him, Carlo on his right.
Johnny sighs as he tosses a picture at me. “I wanted to meet with you and to let Carlo in on it.”
I take the picture. It’s a pretty young girl in a white lace dress. “Let Carlo in on what?”
“Regina and Dom, them getting married. She just graduated from school. She’s giving me problems about coming back to Chicago. Says her life is in Italy. The damn nuns are even helping her, they’re paying for her to go to university. Got into the University of Turin, it’s a good damn school. If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d be proud of her. Once she finishes, she plans to go back to the school and teach.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Regina and Dominic? How old is she?” Ever since Johnny shipped Regina off to a Catholic boarding school in the north of Italy after her mother died, he doesn’t mention the daughter he had with his mistress much—other than to bitch about her not coming back to Chicago the way he wanted her to. Shit, the memory comes back. The week Regina was born and almost died. No fucking way, he was drunk. It was just talk that happens when you get drunk. “You were serious?”
“Yeah, I was serious. She’s seventeen.” I wince. “We give them a year on their engagement for them, you know, to get to know each other and shit. Give Dom time to come around on it.”
I’m shaking my head, she’s too fucking young. Dominic would lose his shit. She’s a girl. Then as I stare at the picture, I see it; her eyes are flashing with fire. It’s obvious she’s scared, but she’s also not going to back down. I like the fire in her eyes. She would need it to go up against Dominic. As soon as I consider it, I discount it. No way would Dominic go for a girl.
Carlo takes the picture from me. “You want Dom to marry Regina? Dom, the guy who gave up almost sixty grand a year in profit so he doesn’t have to get married? She’s cute, but Johnny, he won’t do it. Especially not with a chick this young. Dom isn’t going to come around in a year. He doesn’t even look at chicks unless he’s sure they don’t need to be carded. She could be a grade-A stunner and it wouldn’t happen. And no offense, but she’s no stunner.”
Johnny frowns as he takes the picture from Carlo and looks to me. “You don’t think he’ll come around in a year?”