Page 13 of Perfect Vengeance

“This place still stinks like rotten cow.” Tino lifted the lapel of his suit and held it to his nose, grimacing. “Do I have any more blood on me? I don’t want Ma asking questions.”

Rocco stepped closer and looked him over, sniffing the air. “Nah, you’re good. You do stink a little like dead meat, though.” He used the same cloth he’d wiped down the knife with to grab the bookie’s ear off the floor. “For your collection?” A long strand of gooey blood dangled from the ear as Rocco held it at arm’s length.

“Wrap it up and hang on to it for me.” He rechecked his suit for spatters, running his hands along the smooth silk jacket. “I can’t go to dinner carrying a bloody ear in my pocket.”

“That’s one sick habit you got.” Rocco folded the cloth around the bookie’s ear and stuffed it into his pocket.

“What can I say? I like mementos. John Gotti’s hit man collected jewelry and watches from all the guys he whacked.”

“A bloody ear ain’t exactly a gold watch.” Rocco found another cloth to wipe his hands on. “And remind me again why we didn’t just whack this guy. I mean, rules are rules, right? If you skim money, you get taken out. Franco has a zero-tolerance policy where bookies are concerned. It ain’t even this guy’s first indiscretion.”

“Franco’s orders.” He couldn’t contain the disgust in his voice. “No more bodies before the big meeting. Besides, the more body parts I hacked off, the more of this dickhead’s blood would have ended up on my suit.”

“Since when do you care about orders?” Rocco dragged the metal chair across the floor to the center of the warehouse, allowing the blood on the armrest to drip through the metal grating. “You didn’t wait for Franco’s blessing before clipping that fed.”

Out of habit, Tino scanned the warehouse again. “The fed had to go. Franco didn’t have the balls to order the hit.” He headed for the switch on the wall to shut off the fans. “Franco’s gone soft.”

“You don’t get to be head of a Family by being soft.” Rocco plodded to where Tino stood. “Maybe he’s just smart. Maybe there was a better way to deal with the fed than drilling him fulla lead and dumping the body in that cornfield.”

He glared at the other man. “How many times do I gotta explain myself?” The top of the older man’s head didn’t even come to his chin. “I wanted to send a message to the FBI.”

“Yeah, you sent a message all right.” Rocco nodded. “It’s been six months and that agent—Gates—is still all over us.”

“No kidding.” Tino spat on the floor. “The guy’s a fucking pit bull.”

“You should be careful around Franco.” Rocco planted a beefy hand on Tino’s shoulder. “He still blames you for bringing heat down on the Family. With all the feds tailing us after the hit, revenue tanked, and it’s still not where it used to be.”

“Don’t push it.” Tino’s fingers twitched as he seriously considered slamming his fist into Rocco’s jaw. “I don’t need you to remind me of all the shit my old man blames me for.” Like the fed. Like his own wife, Maria. And especially the thieves who’d been ripping them off.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is you gotta be more careful what you say about your old man and who you say it to. People, and I’m not saying who, are starting to think you don’t respect him.”

“Maybe I don’t.” He gestured for Rocco to follow. “The old man’s time is over. We’re trailing the other families because Franco’s still living in the past. The ‘old ways,’ he calls it. We need to move into the twenty-first century before we fall behind.”

He picked up his pace, being careful not to step in the trail of blood the bookie had left behind. He didn’t give a damn that Rocco practically had to run to keep up. If Tino didn’t get his ass in gear, he’d be late for dinner. One more thing for Franco to bust his balls over.

“Bookies, numbers games, shylocking, extortion, heroin,” Tino continued. “Pennies compared to what we could be making. New drugs like vaping products are where it’s at. We should be getting more into cyber-crimes and sending our people to computer school, not onto the streets. That way of life for us is gone. Dead and buried. Franco doesn’t understand new drugs or the online potential for making money and deals.”

To his credit, Rocco played it smart and kept his trap shut. Rocco was only a soldier in this Family, while he, Tino Falzone, was the Boss’s son and a capo.

He turned as Rocco lumbered up behind him. “As soon as the Commission meets and Franco gets a seat, it might be time for a change.”

“I didn’t hear nothin’.” Rocco threw his hands in the air.

“Good.” Tino switched off the lights and shoved open the rusty, squeaky door. “Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed his Christian Dior shades from his pocket and shoved them on. “How do I look?”

Rocco scratched his double chin. “Like a movie star.”

“Maria says I look like George Clooney.” Too bad his wife was such a pain in the ass lately.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rocco brushed past him, heading for the black Escalade parked behind the warehouse. “Whatever.”

“Hey!” Tino started after Rocco. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. I’m heading down to Atlantic City tonight with some of the guys.” He paused before hauling himself into the driver’s seat of the SUV. “We were supposed to go a couple nights ago.”

“You’ve got a night of gambling, drinking, and whores ahead of you. So why are you acting like you’re on the rag?” Tino got in and pulled the door shut.

“Cuz maybe I am.” Rocco shot him a pissed-off look before starting the engine.