Page 12 of Second Chance for a Made Man

“It’s not a matter of who’s asking the question; it’s a matter of wondering who wants to know the answer. Good night, Crew.”

I nod at Massimo, who’s still staring me down, and walk out of the bar, knowing my tether to him will never be broken no matter how far I go.

I’m drivinginto town when I get a call from Alex. Shit. I answer and put it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” He asks.

“I had some business outside of town, just driving back. What’s up?”

“I need you at the warehouse. Can you be here in twenty?”

I stiffen. Ourwholesome family businesshas a dark side. One that has been deemed necessary to ensure our construction business’ monopoly over the area. And when Alex calls for my help, I answer. That’s what family does, we show up and we get the job done.

So, aside from the stuff I have to do for the Moratti family as La Fiamma, I also have to deal with the other side of the family business: sweet talking politicians, getting information out of reluctant individuals…by any means necessary. It isn’t exactly common knowledge that Alex is the boss of his own small-town mafia of sorts, but the respect he receives from the locals is unparalleled. What he takes from those in his way, he gives back to our town tenfold; it’s the Beaufort way. We protect our own, and in return you don’t ask questions.

“What is it now?” I grumble. I’m too fucking tired. I feel like I've been dragged in three different directions today. There’s only so much one person can do, dammit.

“I found a rat trying to deal on our streets. We can’t just let that slide now can we? Be here as soon as you can.” He hangs up before I can reply; but fuck it, I’ll be there. Not just because it’s Alex asking me to be there, but because I feel strongly about having drugs flow through the pristine streets of Brattleboro.

There isn’t an industry in Brattleboro that the Beauforts haven’t profited from, but the days of managing the movement of narcotics in town while also taking a hefty cut are long over. Grandfather got into dealing as an attempt to control the movement of illegal substances in his town. A few years back Dad and Alex stopped because they found out that I couldn’t resist tasting the product myself, but my brother and I havegotten passionate about keeping Brattleboro clean. Alex has his reasons, and I just don’t want anyone else to have to endure what I went through.

I take the turn toward the lake warehouse, where we take care of unpleasant business. No cop would be so bold as to arrest either my brother or me, but we believe in discretion. It makes things less messy. I’m almost at the warehouse when I remember I’m driving my truck. A truck I only use for La Fiamma business. Dammit. I glance around at the looming trees on either side of the road, looking for a break between the pines as I approach the building.

A few blocks away, I’m lucky to find one, and I back into the mud splattered opening, so it’ll be easier for me to drive out when I’m done. I drive as far away from the road as I can before getting out of the truck.

I curse as my boots sink into the mud. The snow is starting to melt as we slowly transition into spring and what that leaves us is mud, mud, mud. I curse again as I trudge through the filth. One day I’ll escape to a beach, I swear it. When I’m out on the road, I jog the rest of the way to the warehouse.

A few familiar faces are standing casually around the empty space, but I know better. They’re at alert for any danger. I nod at them as I pass through.

“You’re late.” Alex says as I walk in.

“Well, I’m sorry I have a life.” I reply snarkily, irritated at the mud and sweat running down my skin. My heart is still racing from the jog up here. He narrows his eyes at me, but doesn’t say anything.

Instead he nods at the whimpering man tied to a chair further inside the warehouse. “There’s our rat. I believe he knows the source, but he’s determined to keep quiet. Think you can make him talk?”

“I know I can.” I scowl at the man as I approach him. “Listen, I’m irritated as fuck, tired and hungry. It would be in your best interest to say what you know now. You’re going to talk, anyway, why not do it now instead of after your body and mind break.”

His brown eyes go wide at my words, and he lets out a little moan, but his mouth remains firmly shut. Of course, the fucker is not going to make it easy. Figures.

I fish my lighter out of my pants pocket and flick it on as I approach him. I don’t know why folks always believe the devil they know is worse than the one they don’t and choose to remain blindly loyal to that devil, when I’m so, so much worse. They always realize their mistakes eventually and give up the information we need, and usually a whole lot we didn’t even ask for. But by then, it’s always too late; even if their body isn’t too far gone, their mind will never be the same. This night, me, will haunt them for the rest of their pathetic lives.

CHAPTER 8

CHARLIE

“Charles. Charles.” I wince at the loud tenor of my sister’s voice as she knocks on the bathroom door.

“Go away, Daniels.” I groan miserably, releasing my grip on the toilet bowl to sprawl weakly on the tiled floor.

“You open the door right now or I swear on our father’s grave that I’m going to knock this door down,” she threatens, her voice going up an octave. I let out an irritated sigh and pull my heavy body off the floor. I flush the toilet and make my way to the door. After twisting the key to unlock it, I go to the sink where I swish some mouthwash around to rinse away the bitter taste at the back of my throat that comes with puking your guts out for an hour straight.

She stomps into the bathroom glaring at me. Other than our eyes, hers are completely blue, she looks exactly like me. It’s like looking into a mirror, even her mannerisms mimic mine. It can be quite unsettling sometimes. “Charlotte Square. What the hell?”

The mouthwash is not nearly enough to get rid of the awful taste, so I grab my toothbrush, apply paste on it liberally, and then brush at my teeth with as much force as my weak hands allow me.

Daniella sighs and waits quietly for me to finish up. When I'm done, she follows me to my bedroom and watches me with concern as I collapse on my bed. “You’re scaring me, Charlie, what’s going on?”

When Mom was pregnant with us–well, she thought she was pregnant with just me at first–she was sure she was having a boy. She decided early on to name me Charles after Dad, and bought a bunch of boy clothes. Even once she found out she was having twins, she refused to find out our gender. It wasn’t until the day of labor that she got the pleasant surprise: two identical girls!

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