AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTERTWO
ETHAN
An Hour Earlier
Ihad no fear of the cops. I didn't fear anyone after years of seeing blood, death, and life's many pleasures that drown sorrow and regret because there were rules that governed my little world: money, respect, and, most importantly, devotion tofamily. I'd been told several times that my devotion to the people I cared about was sometimes bloody, but I was proud of it nonetheless.
It was finally time to start putting things back in order. My older brother Paul's unfortunatedeath served as a catalyst for my ascension, which meant access to and control over the family's vast fortune. But none of that wealthwas important to me. All I sought was vengeance.
My plan had been opposed by the few people who had learned of it. They haven't supported me since I began my crusade of revenge, a quest thatstarted with Paul's funeral and progressed from there.
My uncle Luke described it as both a sad and happy day because so many people had come to pay their respects to my brother. Despite the fact that,asthe new head of the family, Iwas required to attend the funeral, I was too angry to arrive early that day. I simply failed to be strongenough to be there when my presence was needed.
Being who I am, I haveseen a lot of dead people in my time. Hell, I've even shota lot of them myself,but seeing Paul's lifeless body was a sight I could not bear, especially not after having seen our father's dead body a few months before. All this death close to me…it got the better of me.
But despite my momentary weakness, the reason for my lateness was attributed to the fact I had tracked down the hitman who had murdered my father. I'd planned to pay a visit to the man's house, and so I did. Nobody knew, not even my capo, Tristan. My being alone with the man who had stolen the life out of my father was almost poetic, just me and my pistol. Exacting revenge on my own was the only way I wanted to avenge my family, to be standing there watching the bastard take his final breaths on his way to meet his maker in the pits of hell.
I remember standing in front of Saint John's Cathedral,staring across the street at the house of my father's murderer. Alberto was a feared assassin among the Mafia families and a hired gun. He had no family and was known for never disclosing the identities of his clients, even when threatened with death.
It was an admirable trait—not ratting your clients out—but, at that moment, the last thing I cared about was thequalities of his personality. The quality I was truly interested in was the fact he murdered my own, and that needed to be dealt with.
When I knocked on Alberto's door on Sunday morning, he was sound asleep. "Is anyone there?" he inquired warily, his voice infuriatingly calm for someone whose livelihood depended on how much death he scattered on his wake.
"From the cathedral across the street, sir," I lied, completelyunconcerned about my safety. All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head, and I was quite motivated.
"Go away," he hollered with annoyance.
"Justa minute of your time, sir," I begged. "I guarantee you won't have to deal with me again after this."
Before the door clicked open, there was silence.
"Preacher," Alberto called as he emerged from behind the open door, a pistol in his hand. He took the first shot but missed. I fired twice, once in the chest and once between his eyes.
It was on that day thatI vowed vengeance on anyone and everything who had ever wronged my family. In just a few weeks, we'dbecome a hot topic among the other Mafia families. The Mullens and Robinsons, in particular, did not take kindly to my ever-growing bloodthirst, but I never knocked on a door that had not previously been at mine.
My uncle's expression of relief when I told him I was leaving Chicago was palpable. He wasn't opposed to my quest for vengeance, but he felt it had to be done quietly—something he and Paul agreed on. I used to be like them, I used to be patient and imperturbable, but this part of me died when I lost the people who meant the most to me and grew into this vindictive shell of a person.Only violence could save me now, and I was in a position to use as much of itas I needed to protect my family from old and new enemies.
"If a message must be sent, everyone should get it, so that there are always some reasonable folk who will explain it to those who may be too dim to get it," I told my uncle Luke just before leaving Chicago with two vehicles.
"He's a corrupt cop, easy to deal with, but we'll have to spoil him a little," Tristan, my capo, said when we arrived in town. He was the only person in whom I had faith.
Our meeting was with Carlos Maine, a fifty-year-old police officer. He worked in homicide, and I was told he was in charge of investigating murders in Buffalo, New York.
When the police in Chicago recognized a death as the result of a Mafia feud, they knew what to do. We have guys; we are deeply connected. In other cities, on the other hand,I had to make my presence and intentions known. It irked me,but due to the lack of enoughconnections and understandings,I understood the importance of acting moreresponsibly and staying as close to the law as possible. We were able to divert attention away from the family in this manner.
"So, what's thebest place to eat in this city?" I askedTristan.
"There's thisrestaurant, The Rose.AndI promise you, it's better than the ones we've gotin Chicago."
* * *
A few minutes later, I was inside a small room with a round table, four chairs, and a large sofa. Given its size and lack of exits, I thought it was overly opulent. There was only one door and no windows.
Given my newfound position as thehead of the family, everyone was a potential threat because I nowwore a crown on my head. As a result, I treated everyone as a such for Ihad no trust to spare. I sat on the sofa with a sense of uneasiness situated behind the table whereTristansatacross from Carlos, the corrupt cop.
"I was surprised when I received word that we might be getting visitors from Chicago. Few of your kind make it here. There isn't much going on in Buffalo," the officer began.
Thiswas a dance I saw my late father and brother perform with the police. The cop would pretend he wasn't corrupt, and I was supposed to seduce andpersuade him into acceptingmy bribe.
