Page 104 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
I glance at Hopper as something like disappointment crosses his face. I think he was looking forward to squaring up against a worthy foe.
This’ll be like taking out someone’s nonna.
“There is no deal, Father.”
He lets out a breath, shaking his head. Grabbing a napkin, he’s unbearably slow as he wipes off his hands and mouth, then pushes himself back from the table. He sways as he rises, and I stifle the urge to reach out and steady him on his feet.
Seeming to find solid ground, my father crosses his arms. I hold my breath, half-expecting Hopper to take him out, but he’s just as gravely fascinated as I am. I’m almost relieved when cold steel is jammed against the base of my skull.
My father’s narrow eyes finally meet mine, fixing me with bitter judgment as his body shifts, revealing the familiar power. Every bit the viper he always was.
“I told you not to call me that,” he grits through his teeth. “You’re no son of mine.”
“Oh, thank God,” Hopper whispers under his breath.
I turn, and Sally’s got a gun to Hopper’s head, but he’s nearly bouncing with excitement. He turns to me, eyes sparking with joy. “I thought he’d had a stroke or something.”
Sally’s dumb grin stirs the anger in my belly. “Fuck off with you. A stroke? Ha.” Nodding at me, he continues, “My father’s always had this one by the balls—”
A wisp of air brushes my cheek as Sally falls to the floor, a stiletto knife embedded in his temple. I turn at the dull shaking thump behind me and see my uncle with a hole in his cheek, the back of his head splattered across my nonna’s china cabinet, a gun in his lifeless hand. I kick it away out of habit, but he’s well past gone.
Hopper holsters his gun and pulls the knife from my half-brother’s skull, wiping the blood on Sally’s shirt before turning to my father.
Pointing at him with the knife, he effuses, “Sir, you are brilliant. That thing with the cookie? Really fucking convincing. Ten out of ten would recommend you in the next Scorsese film.” Gesturing to the dead men on the floor, he tsks. “But you’re only as good as your underbosses, you know? And these guys? Ugh. They got the drop on us fair and square—mostly due to your brilliant performance—but then they didn’t disarm us. That’ll get you killed.”
“Why would you send for Zio?” I ask, my voice finally coming back to me.
Tapping the blade to his teeth, Hopper doesn’t wait for my father’s response. “Oh. Did you send your best men to kidnap Mr. Wolfe? Is that why you’ve got family running back up? That’s…why would you do that?”
My father’s voice is steady, even as his eyes are locked on Sally’s body. “I know Joseph. He thinks he’s so different from us. Like he’s this All-American hero. But I knew he’d defend Mr. Wolfe. Violently, even if he finds violence so disdainful.”
“But why Zio?” I ask, unable to keep the plaintive cry from my voice.
My father’s face reddens, anger pulsing just under the calm voice. “Because you needed to see. Our family puts loyalty above all else.”
My lip snarls at the jab. “Where was my loyalty?”
His voice loses some of its refined edge. “You went to the city. I give you my name and you still leave us? No. That’s not loyalty.”
This motherfucker right here. I jab my finger at him, letting him have it. “You left me first. I got dumped at Nonna’s, and then you forgot about me until I could be your errand boy on the docks. And I never once said anything to anyone.”
“You coulda worked your way up!” he shouts, his face hardening into a sneer. “The docks were your in, and you acted like you were better than the rest of us. Going to college—for what?”
“Nonna made me promise! I was keeping my promise to her.”
Hopper grins at my father as he gestures to me. “See! You were right about him wanting to be a hero. Not only did he graduate Magna Cum Laude, he killed all your men at the museum tonight. Even the one who was acting like a bodyguard.” He turns to me, his eyes sincere. “I know you made your nonna proud. She boasted about you all the time in her bridge group. Also, I saw pictures of the one you gutted from stem to stern tonight. That was some beautiful work right there. No hesitation marks, just plunge and rip.”
“Thanks, I think.”
The vein on my father’s head bulges and his arms shake as he tightens his hands into fists. Hopper returns his attention to the vibrating bit of rage that is Salvatore Portelli and lets out a happy sigh. “You know, I really thought I would have to kill some doddering old man. But the reveal? The possessed eyes? The guns at the back of the head? Chef’s kiss, boss. A complete masterstroke.”
My father finally loses it, launching himself across the table at Hopper, bellowing in rage and pain. “You motherfucker! You killed my only son!”
And as fast as he’s moving, my brain slows everything down. My father’s rage, his hurtful words, my hand still holding the gun. For a split-second, I’m hit with the irony of my uncle, now dead at my feet, teaching me how to handle a weapon.
“You’ve got to get comfortable with a gun, Joey. It’s gotta be automatic, so’s if you find yourself in a bad spot, you’re not hesitating. Hesitation is what gets you killed, mark my words.”
He was right, of course. I haven’t picked up a gun since I started college, but muscle memory is a powerful thing. I didn’t hesitate earlier this evening, and I don’t hesitate now. I only know that I pulled the trigger because the cannon sound of the large caliber weapon shakes my soul, as does the way my father’s body lands on the table. Broken and unmoving.
