Marco stood in front of the estate’s iron gates. He never liked these kinds of hits. Okay, if a rival was muscling in on the Family’s business or some street grunts were lining their pockets, fine, he was happy to liquidate them—literally. It was in the Family’s interest to send a message to transgressors—in big, bold, bloody letters. But, rubbing out one of their own…well, that never sat right in his gut.
Other enforcers would disagree. They liked taking care of squealers. It was an easy kill. Nobody got in your way. You knew the rat personally. You knew where the rat lived. Someone even slipped you the keys to the door. It was one job where coming home alive was guaranteed.
But none of that was important to Marco. When he killed a snitch, it never felt like cleaning house. It felt like the Family was feeding on itself. But regardless of his convictions, he lived by the Family’s code and when he was told to do something, he did it. He checked his watch. Midnight. It was time.
Marco followed the driveway he knew so well. Alfredo was a man he respected and loved. Christ, Alfredo had given him his start. But that meant nothing now. Alfredo had broken the code. He’d talked to the feds. Scratch that, he had squealed to the feds.
The Dons knew this hit would be hard for Marco and that was why he had been given it. Marco had his own mistakes to account for. A year ago, he had allowed himself to be duped by an undercover cop. He had fallen for her smooth talk and even smoother legs. He had said things he shouldn’t have. Luckily, he hadn’t said enough to get him clipped. Just enough to have his reputation brought down a peg or two. Obviously, he had redeemed himself. He had blown the bitch’s face off—no open casket for her family.
Nevertheless, he still had a long way to go to make up for his indiscretion—hence, Alfredo. There were still doubts though. Just in case his trigger finger got stiff, a babysitter had been provided for the hits on Alfredo’s two brothers and sister last week. The code could be cruel. The price for Alfredo’s betrayal was vast. His bloodline had to be eradicated without exception. His siblings, children and grandchildren had to pay for his disgrace. It was wholesale slaughter. Everyone had to go. But Marco didn’t have a babysitter tonight. He had convinced the Dons that Alfredo’s hit was personal and he wanted to take care of it in a personal manner.
On the porch, Marco readied his Beretta. He didn’t expect any trouble from Alfredo. An old-fashioned guy, Alfredo never invested in bodyguards. He believed in doing things himself. With the deaths of his brothers and sister, the old man knew his life was finished. There was no point in running. It was all a matter of time. Marco put the key in the door and unlocked it.
He eased the door back. For once, life was good. It didn’t creak. The house was in darkness. But the combination of moonlight filtering through the windows and his knowledge of Alfredo’s house meant he didn’t need a flashlight. He closed the door.
He was screwing the silencer onto the pistol when he heard movement. It came from the kitchen. He was totally exposed in the hallway and there was no time to hide. Marco cursed under his breath.
Maybe Alfredo wasn’t going to go quietly, with dignity. Maybe, he wanted to go to hell with a shitstorm raining down. Well if he wanted it that way, he could have it. Marco cocked the hammer back.
The kitchen door edged open. Marco was cool. He didn’t flinch.
His adversary oozed into the hallway. Marco exhaled and relaxed from his shooter’s stance. Alfredo’s retriever, Roma, slid through the doorway and padded over, tail wagging.
“Hey, Roma,” Marco whispered. “Good to see you, boy.”
He waited for the dog to get close enough before he shot him in the head. Felled in his tracks, the poor bastard didn’t know what had hit him. Roma twitched once before relaxing. Blood spilled from the head wound and traveled swiftly across the tiled floor. In the moonlight, the blood was one shade from black. Marco bent and patted the dog on its rump.
“Sorry, Roma. The hit included you, too.”
Marco climbed the stairs. He couldn’t help feeling the Family had failed Alfredo. They hadn’t looked after their own. The man was old. His methods had worked in his day but not anymore. Business had to be conducted in a subtle manner. The feds knew this and like any wild animal, they always preyed on the weak. And whether Alfredo or anyone else cared to admit it, Alfredo was weak. The Family either should have protected him or eliminated him long before it got to this stage. At the top of the stairs, Marco pulled out his switchblade.
He balanced the blade on his gloved palm. Betrayers had to be dealt with in a particular way. First, their dicks were cut off and shoved down their lying throats because they were rats and rats fed on themselves. Second, they were shot in the head because they had no brain if they thought they could sell out the Family. And third, they were shot in the heart because they had no love for the Family. He entered Alfredo’s bedroom.
Keeping the Beretta trained on Alfredo, Marco took a seat opposite the old man’s bed. Alfredo didn’t stir. He slept the sleep of the innocent.
Marco released the switchblade. It snicked into place, sounding like an arm being broken. Alfredo leapt into action. He was expecting trouble. He dived under his pillow and jerked out a .32. The old man still had the moves.
Marco blinded the old man. He switched on the lights, using his blade. The automatic remained pointed at Alfredo’s head.
Alfredo relaxed. “So, it’s to be you.”
“Toss the .32.”
Alfredo flung the gun over the end of the bed. “One of my own. I can see why they did it.”
“You know why I’m here?”
“Of course, I’m not fucking senile.” Alfredo stretched for his glasses and slipped them on. “When your brothers and sister are executed without mercy, it won’t be long before the same cruel wind will be blowing down your neck.” He positioned a cushion behind his back.
“It’s not personal.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway.”
“Yes. You betrayed the Family. I have no choice.”
“We all have choices. You don’t have to do this.”
“Choices! You had a choice when the Feds lifted you.”
Alfredo flared, but in the same instant, bit back his reply. “Maybe we don’t have choices. You’re a good boy. Loyal. The Family appreciates that. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“So do I.”
Both men lapsed into silence, awkward, clunky and louder than a stoolpigeon’s scream, but what was there to be said?
“If it hadn’t been me who came through that door,” Marco said, jumpstarting proceedings, “Would you have fired?”
“Probably.”
“You weren’t very prepared. They could have shot and killed you.”
“Better that than choking on my own dick.”
It was a hard point to argue.
Silence intervened again. Marco was finding it hard to say something that made their situation civilized. Maybe he shouldn’t try. This wasn’t a debutante’s ball—it was an execution. He should treat it as such.
But Alfredo deserved respect, even though the man in the bed lacked the sparkle of the Alfredo he knew as a child. Whether he knew it or not, he had death in his eyes, the same nothingness a dying pet shows before being put to sleep. It was time to put Alfredo to sleep.
The old man must have picked up on Marco’s vibe.
“You really don’t have to do this,” Alfredo said, then excitedly. “I can get us a flight out tonight and we can be in the old country before you know it. You’ve never been. It’ll do you good.”
Marco already had a hand raised. “You know I can’t let you do that.”
Alfredo sagged. “No. No, you can’t. Silly of me to think you would. You’re a good boy. You have honor.”
“We live by a code.”
“That’s right. A code I broke. And I must pay the price.”
“I wish it could be different.”
Alfredo nodded, not looking at Marco. “Time for one more drink?”
Marco shook his head. “No time.”
“No time,” agreed Alfredo.
Marco leveled the pistol at Alfredo’s heart. “I’m going to do it, but not in the right order. Because it’s you, I’ll save you the embarrassment.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Alfredo spat. “I don’t need your charity. Do it right. I can take it.”
“Don’t make this any harder than it already is, papa.”
Alfredo sighed. “Thank God, your mother isn’t alive to see you.”
“Sorry, papa.”
Marco shot his father in the heart. Alfredo stiffened and his powder blue pajama shirt darkened. As he toppled backwards, Marco got his headshot. Alfredo’s head snapped back and crimson blossomed across the headboard. Marco put away the Beretta and picked up the switchblade.
***
Marco closed his apartment door with the weight of his body. He was relieved to have the hit out of the way. The Dons knew and all he had to do now was live with the consequences of his father’s murder. But he had restored his reputation with the Family. Who could question his devotion now?
A metallic click sounded and a gun barrel pressed against the base of his skull. “You did it, Marco. Well done.”
“It had to be done.”
“Some had their doubts. Christ, I had my doubts. Not sure I could whack my pop.” The assassin whistled. “You’re the man.”
“It was a job, like any other.”
“Not like any other. You knew that. You had to know it would come to this.”
He did. Alfredo was dead and as eldest son, he was next. He would die—but with honor.
“Sorry, Marco.”
The assassin pulled the trigger.