Page 42 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“Who the fuck are the Fitzpatricks?”

XAVIARO

I dart a glance towards Elio. Is this what he was trying to tell me last night? He didn’t know about my vested interest in the Sleepless Reapers at the moment, but the Fitzpatricks getting into bed with the biggest thorn in the Morettis’ side? Yeah, that’s some serious fucking news.

“Bunch of Irish cunts,” Alessio answers Sparrow’s question.

“Fine. What the fuck do I care about them then?”

“Can men be cunts?” Elio asks, tilting his head curiously like a little puppy.

“Sure they can. That’s sexist, man,” Salvatore argues.

“How is it sexist?” Elio frowns.

“Women can be dicks, men can be cunts. You’ve gotta break your gendered thinking,” Alessio says, tapping his temple for emphasis.

“A bunch of Irish assholes, how’s that for gender neutral?” Sparrow cuts in. “Why should I care?” He repeats his question with audible frustration.

“The Fitzpatricks are Irish Mafia,” I answer. “They’ve been expanding just outside our territory for five years now. They’re careful to never actually step a toe over the line, but they get damn close. They’re looking for trouble, but they’re hoping we’ll be the ones to start it.”

Sparrow looks at the pictures again, his jaw ticking as he absorbs the information.

“And they’re in bed with the Reapers now. Or at least getting friendly with them,” he summarizes, chewing on his bottom lip for half a second before shrugging and fixing Enzo with a bored look. “I don’t give a shit. Your dick measuring contest with a bunch of fire crotch idiots has fuck all to do with me. Is that everything?” He pushes his chair back from the table and makes a move to get up.

“A week ago, you went parading around the city playing Mafia enforcer with the weight of the Moretti name behind you,” Lorenzo says in a dangerously calm tone that even Sparrow seems to know better than to cross. He plops himself fully back into his seat and leans his elbows on the table, silently listening to the rest of what the boss has to say. “As far as the Fitzpatricks, or anyone else, are concerned, you’re with The Family now. If the club is under the protection of the Irish, letting you pick them off one by one could be seen as an act of war.”

“It’s not one by one. It’s two more fucking lowlifes and then I’m done,” Sparrow argues. Lorenzo levels him with a bland look and my little bird curses. “God fucking dammit all to hell. This is complete bullshit.”

He actually does stand up from the table this time, but he doesn’t go far. He just paces a few steps away, running his hands roughly through his hair before stomping back.

“Sparrow,” I say his name calmly, nudging his chair out, but he ignores it.

“So, that’s it? A few pictures of some red-headed assholes in suits talking to a couple of meth-head bikers and you’re telling me I have to stand down? What happens if I don’t? I don’t work for you,” he rages.

“He kills you, kid,” Salvatore answers for Lorenzo.

My blood would run cold if it weren’t already pure ice. I hold myself perfectly still, refusing to let so much as a cheek twitch.

Sparrow eyes Salvatore and then Lorenzo, seeming to gauge the seriousness of the threat. I see the exact moment the fight drains out of him, his shoulders sagging as he lowers himself into his seat again.

“Enzo, these men didn’t just kill my brother, they brutalized him.” He looks over at Elio and then back at Lorenzo, hitting the boss with some big, round puppy dog eyes. The words find their target, making Enzo shift in his seat and clear his throat, which is practically an emotional outburst from him.

“I understand your position, I do. And I think you’re misunderstanding what this means for us.” Lorenzo’s attention zeroes in on me. “The Sleepless Reapers operate within the city limits, which is solidly Moretti territory. If the Fitzpatricks are working with them, then they’re no longer flirting with our boundary lines, they’re stepping right over them and waving the middle finger at us.”

A menacing growl rumbles low in my throat and I nod. “Maybe they’re outright asking for a war,” I conclude.

“Exactly. Best case scenario, they’re simply playing nice with the Reapers to gain leverage. Either way, this is officially a Moretti problem.” He turns his head to address Sparrow again. “What I’m asking is for you to stand down until I can make some decisions about how to proceed from here.”

Sparrow works his jaw silently for several seconds before nodding.

“Fine, I’ll wait… for now. But it sounds like you’re going to need to crush the Reapers one way or another, and I want to be there when you do. I want the fuckers who took my brother from me.”

Lorenzo inclines his head. “Done.”

“A war! How exciting,” Alessio says gleefully, but from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like Lorenzo has a hell of a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. I don’t blame him. War means a lot of dead bodies, and they’re never limited to just the enemy’s.

“You can go,” Enzo says. “Except for Xaviaro and his unhinged associate.”

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