Page 68 of Rotten Men

“Yeah,” he mumbles, taking both shots back to back again.

“He give you the same speech on letting our family go, like he did to me?” I question as I give him another refill.

“Not in those words, but I got the gist,” he replies, this time brooding over his alcohol instead of plunging it down his throat.

“It ain’t right, Dom. He’s making a mistake,” I venture, finally letting the liquid burn down my own gullet.

“Is he though? I mean, Selene sacrificed herself for us. Made sure we were alive and breathing. Why can’t we give her the life she always dreamed about? You saw the same thing I did when we went back to Nashville to clean up the whole dead-husband mess. Selene and Jude have spent the last decade living asnormals; cute house filled with joyous memories plastered on every wall, with a damned backyard for Sunday lunches and even neighbors that give a shit. A far fucking cry from the way we grew up. They’ll be way happier there than here. They’ll have a much better life.”

“No, they won’t, because we aren’t in it! Dom, listen to me. None of us can be happy without each other. That is a fact, brother. Why should we put ourselves through this anguish when we can all be together at last? Nothing is stopping us. Only Vincent,” I holler aggravated.

“That’s not true. As long as we live by the syndicate rule, our lives will never be our own. Do you really want to bring Selene and Jude into thefamigliafold again? Would you be the one to hand the knife to Jude on his twelfth birthday so he can make his first kill as part of his initiation? Do you want him to have the same blood on his hands as we do? And can you honestly live with yourself, having Selene watch, helpless once more, as the most important person in her life sells a piece of his soul to an establishment that never protected her? How wrong is Vincent in wanting to save the woman he loves from any further pain the syndicate can inflict while shielding his son’s innocence against our way of life? Tell me, Giovanni, just how wrong is Vincent?” Dom rants, his eyes full of the same reprimand his lips were so successful in spilling.

“Shit,” I mumble, resting my forehead on the counter.

“That’s what I thought, asshole,” Dom sighs, patting my back in solidarity. I lift my head just a tad and give my beast of a friend a pleading look.

“There must be something we can do,” I murmur.

“Right now all we can do is to concentrate on business. Ciro’s attempted coup has left a bitter taste in the mouth of everycapoin Chicago. And I didn’t like seeing so many goodmade menon his side, either. Makes it harder to know who to trust and all.”

“We can only trust ourselves.” I slump back in my seat, playing with the tequila shot in my hands.

“Ain’t that the truth?Salute,” he belts, tapping my glass with his own, before drinking his shot and shoving mine down my throat. The burn is not as overpowering as the loose thoughts in my head, begging to take shape. Dom’s words start to trigger a plan in my mind, one that just might be the answer to all our problems.

“You notice how there was a lot of new blood under Ciro’s wing?”

“I did, and I didn’t like it,” he slurs, discontent.

“Yeah. Me neither. Thankfully we got all the treacherous bastards who were in cahoots with him, but I wonder if others didn’t feel a bit envious for not having switched sides in time to give Ciro a better advantage,” I relent, thinking out loud.

“What are you saying? You think someone else might make the same play against Vincent?”

“No, I’m saying what I’ve always said; the Outfit is an outdated institution, and it’s time for a change—one that will benefit us all,” I start to smile, the pieces fitting perfectly together in my mind’s eye.

“You’re kind of freaking me out with that Joker grin you’ve got going, Gio,” Dom interjects, his brows pressed together as he fingers through his beard.

I laugh from my belly, pure elation bubbling through my veins, and slap Dom on his shoulder, slamming my last drink in one big gulp.

“Come on, big guy. We’ve got to have a talk with Vincent, and then we are going to call a huge fucking meeting back at the Romano estate.”

“It’s almost midnight, Gio. Those old fuckers must be mid-snore by now.”

“Well, it’s time they wake the fuck up. And I’m happy to be the one to give them the wakeup call of a lifetime.”

Dominic and I stand on each side of a sitting Vincent, as every high-rankingcapotakes their respective places around the table. With scowls and furrowed brows, they do as they are told but shift nervously in their seats; their beady eyes focused on the three items that are placed in front of them. Legal papers with their names on it, as well as their respective syndicate businesses, are placed face down on the table, with a pen on one side and a gun on the other. Once all of them have settled, I stroll to the back of the room and open the door to our other guests. As instructed, these youngermade mentake a spot behind each elder, demonstrating the same curiosity to tonight’s summoning. Once all the players are in their assigned positions, I walk to my original post, besides thecapo dei capi,ready for him to do what he excels at—striking fear in the hearts of the unworthy while inspiring respect and loyalty from the honorable.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Vincent begins, even though their non-attendance was never a choice, even if it is three am and past some of these assholes’ bedtime. “These past few months this syndicate has gone through some major changes. We have made an alliance with the Calabrian family in Canada and retained the use of their casinos. The new friendships made with the Irish in Boston against theCosa Nostraalso proved to be rewarding. And of course, the demise of two traitors to our cause—Ciro LaSpina, and Silvio Bianchi. We have endured much change, but I’m here to tell you all, that this is only the beginning.”

“What type of changes are we talking about, Vincent?” questions one of the more pathetic, older leeches, who is far past his prime in the Outfit. I smirk at the general to his back, showcasing the same question in his eyes.

“The type that will revolutionize this syndicate forever. You see, when I took over as boss, I envisioned making the Outfit greater than it was. I thought that by obtaining new territory, such as New York, and gaining new alliances would get us all to the place we aspired to be. But I was wrong. How can we ever grow, when we fester and struggle with the current flaws of our syndicate laws? I lost sight of my true desires, but thankfully I was reminded of what they are and always have been,” Vincent announces, throwing me a glance of gratitude.

“Vincent, maybe it’s because of the ungodly hour you summoned us here, but I must say, I’m having a hard time following,” the old fart interjects.

Vincent’s cold glare sent in his direction is enough for the fucker to thin his lips and keep his mouth shut.

“First things first. Can I please ask the men standing to pick up the guns from the table?” With confused expressions, each youngcapodoes as Vincent instructs. “Thank you. Now, gentlemen, what I’m proposing is not the revolution I had initially planned, but rather an evolution within the Outfit—a rectification long in the making. Please turn over and read the pages in front of you. There you will find contracts transferring control of all your business to the man behind you, relieving you of your Outfit duties. You will be awarded a small percentage of the profits so that you may keep your lavish lifestyles. But not a penny more will line your pockets from this day forth. Your crew and title will no longer be yours, as that, too, will pass to thecapostanding behind you. This, gentlemen, is your retirement package. I thank you for the years you served empowering this institution, but your services will no longer be needed.”

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