Read Online Sempre (Forever) by JM Darhower - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: JM Darhower
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from high school, molded into vindictive soldiers to do the family’s bidding. The young ones take all the risk, while those at the top with their names on the books lavish in the fruits of their labor. Blood money. Hundreds had died to pay for the mansion they sat in that very moment.
“We cannot tolerate these things. They are savages.”
Giovanni was speaking, his thick accent making Vincent strain to pay attention. Sicilian by birth, he'd immigrated to America a decade ago and moved up in rank to become their highest producing Capo . Some of his crew was present, sitting off to the side. Vincent had a hard time remembering the names of the soldati sometimes, but one he was familiar with was Nunzio.
Nunzio was barely an adult but had been lurking around for years. They called him Squint because of the way his eyes seemed to always be half-closed, his face stuck in a roguish scowl. He kept his head buzzed, a light dusting of brown hair showing, and his eyes were the grayish color of cracked earth. The Don's brother, Luigi, had taken him in as a baby and married his mother, so Salvatore had a soft spot for the boy.
The men continued to argue back-and-forth as Vincent swirled the scotch around in his glass, having no intention of drinking it. He remained quiet until the unmistakable voice of the Don chimed in, speaking directly to him. “What do you think, Vincent?”
I think I want to go home . “I think being hasty will backfire. I don’t like the way the Russians conduct business, either, but they've yet to hurt any of our people.”
“They will,” Giovanni said. “It is only a matter of time.”
“If they do, it'll have to be handled,” Vincent said, “but until that time comes, who are we to police another group? If they keep it up, it’ll divert attention to them instead of us.”
Vincent looked across the room at where the Don sat in his favorite chair. In his late sixties, Sal was shaped like a balloon and sounded like he was perpetually full of helium. He’d been the underboss when Vincent’s father ran things and succeeded rule after he died. Antonio dubbed him ‘Salamander’ back then. “If you scare a salamander, he’ll drop his tail and run,” he’d said. “No skin off his back. Two weeks later, he’s good as new.”
The comparison made them snicker, but it was a nickname no one ever called Sal to his face. Not if they wanted to live.
Sal nodded as he mulled over Vincent's words. “You’re right. Maybe they’ll take themselves out with their stupidity.”
Squint laughed dryly, but tried to cover it with a forced cough when everyone looked his way. The guy beside him seemed annoyed by his friend's outburst, another soldato whose name eluded Vincent. He thought it might be Johnny, along with about a hundred others running around the streets. His looks certainly fit the name—generic, undistinguishable. Another number in the crowd, easily replaced and never missed. A tail, Vincent thought. Sal would drop him and keep going.
When Sal dismissed them with a wave of the hand, Vincent was the first out of his seat. He dumped the scotch and headed for the door, but Giovanni cut him off. “I think we are making a mistake, Doc. It will do us no good ignoring them now.”
“It’s not that we’re ignoring them,” Vincent said. “We’re just not going to instigate a fight. The last thing we need is violence on our streets over things that have nothing to do with us.”
Vincent headed for his rental car when Giovanni’s voice rang out once more. “Just because we do not know of anything yet does not mean they have not violated us. There will be war.”
Chapter 5
Carmine scanned the empty closet, pulling the last clean shirt off of the hanger. He put it on with a sigh and glanced around the messy room. The small piles of laundry had somehow morphed into mountains, nearly every piece of clothing he owned now dirty on the floor. Usually it wouldn’t
“We cannot tolerate these things. They are savages.”
Giovanni was speaking, his thick accent making Vincent strain to pay attention. Sicilian by birth, he'd immigrated to America a decade ago and moved up in rank to become their highest producing Capo . Some of his crew was present, sitting off to the side. Vincent had a hard time remembering the names of the soldati sometimes, but one he was familiar with was Nunzio.
Nunzio was barely an adult but had been lurking around for years. They called him Squint because of the way his eyes seemed to always be half-closed, his face stuck in a roguish scowl. He kept his head buzzed, a light dusting of brown hair showing, and his eyes were the grayish color of cracked earth. The Don's brother, Luigi, had taken him in as a baby and married his mother, so Salvatore had a soft spot for the boy.
The men continued to argue back-and-forth as Vincent swirled the scotch around in his glass, having no intention of drinking it. He remained quiet until the unmistakable voice of the Don chimed in, speaking directly to him. “What do you think, Vincent?”
I think I want to go home . “I think being hasty will backfire. I don’t like the way the Russians conduct business, either, but they've yet to hurt any of our people.”
“They will,” Giovanni said. “It is only a matter of time.”
“If they do, it'll have to be handled,” Vincent said, “but until that time comes, who are we to police another group? If they keep it up, it’ll divert attention to them instead of us.”
Vincent looked across the room at where the Don sat in his favorite chair. In his late sixties, Sal was shaped like a balloon and sounded like he was perpetually full of helium. He’d been the underboss when Vincent’s father ran things and succeeded rule after he died. Antonio dubbed him ‘Salamander’ back then. “If you scare a salamander, he’ll drop his tail and run,” he’d said. “No skin off his back. Two weeks later, he’s good as new.”
The comparison made them snicker, but it was a nickname no one ever called Sal to his face. Not if they wanted to live.
Sal nodded as he mulled over Vincent's words. “You’re right. Maybe they’ll take themselves out with their stupidity.”
Squint laughed dryly, but tried to cover it with a forced cough when everyone looked his way. The guy beside him seemed annoyed by his friend's outburst, another soldato whose name eluded Vincent. He thought it might be Johnny, along with about a hundred others running around the streets. His looks certainly fit the name—generic, undistinguishable. Another number in the crowd, easily replaced and never missed. A tail, Vincent thought. Sal would drop him and keep going.
When Sal dismissed them with a wave of the hand, Vincent was the first out of his seat. He dumped the scotch and headed for the door, but Giovanni cut him off. “I think we are making a mistake, Doc. It will do us no good ignoring them now.”
“It’s not that we’re ignoring them,” Vincent said. “We’re just not going to instigate a fight. The last thing we need is violence on our streets over things that have nothing to do with us.”
Vincent headed for his rental car when Giovanni’s voice rang out once more. “Just because we do not know of anything yet does not mean they have not violated us. There will be war.”
Chapter 5
Carmine scanned the empty closet, pulling the last clean shirt off of the hanger. He put it on with a sigh and glanced around the messy room. The small piles of laundry had somehow morphed into mountains, nearly every piece of clothing he owned now dirty on the floor. Usually it wouldn’t
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