Page 7 of Rotten Men

“You’ve had a trying day, Silvio. I’m going to overlook this little temper tantrum to the fact you buried your wife today. But insult my organization and me again, and the next thing Dom will cut out will be your tongue. Are we clear?” Vincent warns arctically.

Bianchi has the good sense in keeping his trap shut and nodding his understanding instead. The blood seeping onto his shirt is warning enough that his opinions should be kept to himself. Still, I wouldn’t mind seeing Dominic wield his knife again and cut the devil further. Maybe he’ll be foolish enough in the future to tempt Vincent’s wrath.

One can only hope.

The meeting proceeds with Vincent announcing that he will depart for Boston to negotiate with the Irish later in the week, while Ciro will head out to New York and stall our competition with false promises of a joint venture. Ciro’s true mission, however, will be to get intel and seek out weak spots that we can use to our advantage. This is the only part of the plan which raises my hackles. Asconsigliere,I’m to stay in Chicago and keep the business flowing in Vincent’s absence, which I understand, but I don’t trust Ciro to go to New York alone either. But then again, I wouldn’t trust LaSpina to head the syndicate if Vincent were to order me to go in his stead. A catch-twenty-two if I ever saw one.

Once the meeting adjourns, everycapocomes over to the head of the table, paying his respects by kissing Vincent’s ring, as custom calls for it. When Dom ushers Silvio to do the same, I see just how much beaming rage fuels within, brimming out of Satan’s eyes. Having to bend and show fealty in this way must sicken him, and it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Pucker up, Silvio. Get used to it, because after what you tried to pull today, the only way I want to see your lips moving, is when they’re kissing Vincent’s ass,” I taunt, placing my hands behind my back, enjoying his blood-soaked humiliation.

The asshole doesn’t even look my way and heads out the door in haste.

“Ciao, leccaculo,”I yell behind him, laughing all the way.

“I wish you didn’t pester him so much,” Vincent adds, once Dominic closes the door behind him, leaving us alone to talk.

“Why? It’s the few perks I have. You have to admit, that shit was fun,” I confess, delighted with today’s events.

Vincent takes a cigarette out of his silver case, tapping the cancer stick on the table before lighting it up.

“Even if I was to agree, offendingThe Butcherdoesn’t look good on me. You know as well as I do, the elders still respect him and give him too much credit. They might not have liked the way I just handled his defiance. Or the fact I proposed an open war with theCosa Nostra,” he replies seriously.

“Fuck those ancient cunts!”

“Always so straight to the point, huh? Eloquent, as well,” Vincent snickers, taking another drag.

“What can I say? If you want someone to blow smoke up your ass with pretty words, I’m not your guy.” I chuckle.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I did notice, however, you didn’t talk about our friends across the border,” I question, intrigued.

“No, I did not.” He smirks, pleased.

And a little tug to my heart occurs, knowing this is as close as he ever gets to smiling these days. I put that thought to the back of my mind, not wanting to affect my own good mood.

“So, are you going to share with me why not?”

“Now, Gio, for all your cleverness, I’m sure you have an inkling as to why I would withhold such pertinent information,” he replies, making a cloud of smoke-filled rings rise above his head.

A wave of heartache fills me again, seeing how this is the only element Vince still gets joy from, and I wish the knowledge of such a sad state didn’t come to the forefront of my mind every so often.

“You don’t trust them to know,” I counter, trying hard to keep on track.

“See, that wasn’t so hard to figure out,” he answers amused, putting out his cigarette on the crystal ashtray in front of him.

“You think we got a rat in our midst?”

“Maybe not a rat, but I trust half the men at my table this afternoon as far as I can throw them. And I’m more wary of domestic enemies than foreign threats,” he warns solemnly.

“I know one you should never let your guard down with,” I promptly quip back.

“Yes. I don’t doubt it,” he huffs out, frustrated that I’m pointing out my dislike for his underboss for the millionth time.

“I really don’t trust the fucker,” I insist.

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly, I may add.”

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