Page 84 of City Of Thieves
Rage simmers in my uncle’s eyes as he rises to his feet, kicking the chair away from the table as Paulie and Anton silently shift down one seat.
As I take my brother’s seat, something inside me shifts. There’s a reverence in the room as Anton hands my father the knife from the center of the table. In response, the rain falls harder, beating its vindication on the roof, as my father slices a vertical line down the pad of my finger.
Te le prometto, Nero…
As three drops of blood trickle onto the St. Michael’s prayer card, my father flicks the lighter and burns the corner. English fades into the sacred Cosa Nostra oath as it’s quickly passed around the table…
You live by the gun and knife; you die by the gun and knife.
Every spoken repetition reveals more of their truth.
For three months I’ve avoided this moment, not because I didn’t want the position, but because accepting it meant admitting Nero was really gone. That I was powerless to stop his murder.
But I’m not.
I’m the fucking underboss of the Marchesi crime family, and I’m about to turn the streets of New Jersey red.
“Congratulazioni!” Paulie’s meaty hands grip the back of my head, and he gives me a celebratory kiss on both cheeks.
It’s over.
My father extinguishes the flame and places the knife on top of what’s left of the charred card, a symbolic gesture that seals the ritual.
As Anton fills six glasses of Chianti to the top, my gaze strays to one in front of my old captain’s seat.
For Nero.
“To Lorenzo,” he says, lifting his glass. “The new underboss of the Marchesi family. May he long reign.”
“Salute!” comes toasts from around the table.
All except for Sal. He’s sitting like a statue, sipping his red wine as if it’s my blood, but I don’t begrudge him his hate. The feeling is mutual. I want nothing more than to put a bullet between his eyes.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
For her.
As Paulie and Anton continue the celebration, I take the opportunity to catch my father’s eye again.Calm on the outside, a raging tempest inside.He’s perceptive, but the stunt I just pulled won’t sit well with him. Undermining his authority by delaying the ceremony, only to storm in late and swing my dick around would’ve earned anyone else a bullet. It was a calculated risk he’ll demand an answer to, so I need to tell him one before Sal does something stupid.
“I got a text from Rosalia to say she had an accident.”
“She fell down the stairs, but she’s fine.”
“Didn’t look so fine to me. She sent me a picture.” Sliding my phone from my pocket, I pull up a side-by-side screenshot of the paintings ‘Mary’ and ‘Atonement’ that Killian forwarded me from Nero’s phone. “She’s lucky you were there,” I say, tilting the screen toward him. “Just like she was luckyUncle Salwas there when she fell off his deck last year.” I pause, watching the vein in his temple start to pulse as he decodes my words. “Family is always there to catch you when you fall. Just likea tilted house of cards,” I murmur, repeating the same words he said to me.
He stares down at the paintings, every muscle in his neck pulled tight.
Hear me, Dad…
It’s Sal.
I have proof.
My father says nothing, a lethal calm enveloping him as he slips his hand off the table and reaches for his gun.
I grip his arm under the table, lowering my voice to barely a whisper. “Show your hand too early, and the whole thing comes crashing down, remember?”
