Page 20 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“Let me stop you right there; save us both the bullshit,” I interject, finding a practice exam. Grabbing a pencil, I set a timer on my phone and get to work.
Chapter
Ten
Vince
“Gentlemen.” I join my crew in the private dining room of Fabio’s restaurant.
“Vince,” the guys greet me.
“Aww, poor Vince having to attend roll call like a lowly soldier,” Sal pops off. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“Sal,” I say in a bored tone, refusing to be goaded by his dumb ass.
When Sal realizes he’s not going to get the rise out of me he was hoping for, he turns his attention to his buddy Mike. “The Bug Man’s kid is taking over this joint,” Sal announces loudly so everyone in the room can hear his disapproval.
“Funny how everyone in Romeo’s old crew gets promoted,” Mike grumbles his assent.
“Is that so?” Fabio appears in the doorway, and I suppress a smile. “Good to know my crew has beef with the way theboss is handling business. Let’s get Romeo on the phone so everyone can air his grievances.”
He pulls out his phone, and Mike and Sal shout “No” the loudest.
After we get Fabio’s introductory spiel, it’s my turn to introduce myself. “I run several small bookkeeping operations, but my biggest moneymaker is my chess racket with my associate and ward, Luna,” I say.
“Come clean, Vince. Did you tap that jailbait pussy yet?” Sal turns to me. “No? Well, I just might the next time I see the sweet little thing.”
His lips curl into a smile, and something inside me fuckingsnaps.
I jump over the table and tackle Sal to the ground, pinning him underneath me with my knees as I pummel his face. He lands a blow to my ribs, but I’m so amped up, I don’t feel a thing as I land a solid jab to his nose—blood spraying like a geyser.
Fabio yanks me up with a horse collar. “Sit the fuck down!”
I stare Sal down before storming back to my seat. Grabbing a napkin from the table, I wipe the blood off my knuckles.
There’s an exchange between the two, and our new capo sucker punches Sal in the kidneys; he doubles over with a groan. “Shit stirrers in my crew will be flushed down the drain. You wanna float with the excrement, keep running your mouth,” Fabio warns.
Please, Sal, keep running your mouth.
Sadly, Sal holds up his hands in surrender, tucking tail as he returns to his seat.
“Now, where were we?” Fabio asks.
After the introductions, the boss says, “Gentlemen, our gambling halls will continue business as usual. I’d like to get the restaurant opened back up ASAP; if you know anyone who’d be a good fit, have them apply. Does anyone have any questions?” Fabio asks.
“I do,” Sal pipes up. “Can somebody tell Vince to fix his fucking eyeball?”
“Man, your eye has gone sideways,” Mike tells me.
Mentally cursing, I reach in my pocket and pull out an eyepatch, placing it over my glass eye. “There. Better for your delicate sensibilities, Mike and Sal?”
Sal snorts, still holding a napkin to his bleeding nose. “The only thing delicate is your hands. Soft as a baby’s butt.”
“Is that why your nose is gushing like a stuck pig? My delicate hands?” I taunt.
Fabio slams his fist down on the table, and Sal and I pipe down. “Gentlemen, that will be all. Vince, give me a tour before you leave.”
“Right this way, skipper,” I say, leading our new capo down the hall and to the private operations.
