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It was Fred Westbrook's idea, finessed and approved by me and the Irish heads who were invested in Ethan Levine's demise.
He raised his cup of tea to his mouth and sipped it before setting it down. I knew he had the answer in his eyes the next time he looked at me.
"There are never enough guards," he added, rounding out my statement. "The Irish would make their move then."
"But what about the business?" he continued.
"Come on, we're not giving the Irish all of the business as payment. Who do you think I am?" I laughed.
"We pick up the pieces," he muttered to himself. He sat back down, as reassured as I was by our victory and rise in the family.
“We'll happen tobe late for the anniversary. Traffic," I joked.
We both enjoyed the breeze and the soft bites of cold it brought with it that night. I looked at my son, who was almost a mirror image of myself, and knew I was making the right decision. He'd be far superior to Paul and Ethan. He took his time and listened.
"Son," I said to him. He looked at me.
"In just a couple of days, you will become the head of the family," I told him.
Dylan took it with pride. His face contorted in a slight smile, a quick change and maturity from his previous expression.
"I will not disappoint you, father," he promised, and I believed him.
My nephews had made me similar promises, but I knew Dylan was up to the task. He had repeatedly proved himselfto me.
After a few moments, hesaid, "Father, what if Ethan survives?"
I smirked and sipped from my cup of tea. "He can't."
