Page 136 of Vicious Kingdom

Menotti’s head snapped back as far as the don’s hold allowed.

“You piece of shit,” I spat in Italian. “You worthless scum.”

“Treating your mother and your family this way,” the don scolded, voice the temperature of ice. “It’s time to pay for your sins.”

The man looked between us, but when his eyes landed on Dante lounging by the door and twirling a knife, he peed.

I jumped back, bumping into a table where a white powder fluttered to the floor like snow.

“I have money,” Menotti whimpered.

“Wrong,” the don growled. “Your father had money—honest money that he worked for. Your mother has it now. It’s not yours.”

“You haven’t earned it.” I gave his leg a kick as he struggled to stand.

“Please,” Menotti begged. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dante stepped forward. “Start by cleaning this shit up.”

The man scrambled away. He began to throw his belongings around. Shaking my head, I walked into the kitchen where the signora was praying, leaning against the fridge.

“I was a good mother,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn’t.” I squeezed her clasped hands. “Some children—some people—don’t know a good thing when they have it.”

Her exhale was full of pain and sorrow.

“Where can I find a broom, dustpan, and black trash bag?” I asked.

She scrambled to collect the items, and when I took them, I paused.

“He’s going to come out of this. We won’t let him have any other choice.”

“Bless you, signore.” She peered at me, seeing beyond the mask. “Bless you.”

If she knew who I was, which was a possibility, she would take my secret to the grave.

I returned and we spent a tedious hour with the frazzled, nearly braindead man as he cleaned his room. The vacuuming and scrubbing of the carpet was the hardest to watch. I wanted to rip the tools from his hand and do it myself.

“We’re coming back tomorrow,” the don intoned. “Your room had best be neat and orderly, and we expect to hear that you’ve gone back to work.”

Dante danced his slim blade through his fingers.

“And buy your mama flowers,” I added as an afterthought.

Alessandro shot me a look and nodded. “Here’s a twenty. A big bouquet.”

It was a test. If he spent the money on drugs, if he didn’t go to work, he would pay in blood.

“You’re cleaning up your life, Menotti. Don’t fuck up this second chance. Another funeral will kill your mother,” Alessandro said as a parting shot.

After checking on the signora, and urging her to go to bed, we left.

“You think he can do it?” I pressed.

Sandro sighed.

But it was Dante who answered. “Maybe he can, maybe he can’t. But if he doesn’t have this rock bottom moment, I’ll pick up the pieces and force him to do better.”