Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
He didn’t talk about those things.
“Where’s Dad?” Gio asked, leaning in the kitchen entryway.
Dante glanced up from the textbook he was looking through. “Out, I guess.”
“Where?” Gio asked again.
“I think he was getting some stuff settled.”
“Where?”
Why was his brother being so fucking difficult?
Dante was a couple years older than him, but that didn’t mean shit. Gio would still take is brother outside and lay an ass kicking down on him. Or try, anyway. Dante had fast fists.
“Uh,” Dante said, clearing his throat, “Skip’s old club.”
Skip hadn’t even been buried yet. As far as Gio knew, nobody was allowed back inside the club because police had stuck their noses in.
Gio’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of stuff?”
“Someone’s taking over the work there. You know, Skip’s work. Dad said the tape is coming off, soon.”
Did Dante think Gio was stupid? Gio knew what Skip did there. Gio knew why Giovanni had been called Skip. He knew he was a Capo. He knew.
“I want to go,” Gio said.
Dante shrugged. “Dad would have taken you along if he wanted you to go.”
Lucian sauntered in the kitchen from the opposite of Gio. “Hey, little brother.”
Gio punched Lucian in the shoulder. “Take me downtown.”
“Nope.”
“Lucian, I want to go see what they’re doing to Skip’s office.”
“Not his office anymore,” Lucian said, turning to face Gio. “And if you hit me again, I’ll make you bleed.”
Fine.
That was the first night Gio stole one of his father’s cars.
Fuck his brothers for teaching him how to drive when they got their licenses.
Idiots.
*
“Where in the fuck is it?” Gio heard Antony roar.
“Mr. Marcello—”
“Shut up, you useless excuse for breath. I asked you fools for one thing—one! I let you come and go in this place long after you needed to be here for the investigation. I let you have your say and do your investigation even though I could have paid you to get the fuck out. And you didn’t even do what I asked!”
Gio hid in shadowed part of the hallway as his father raged on. Rarely did Antony Marcello yell, but when he did, something was seriously wrong. Or someone had done something seriously wrong. Gio was thinking this was the latter of the two.
“One of the Rookies took a few bags out to the back and put them by the dumpster for a pick up. It’s probably in there, Antony. Fact is, everything on that wall was ruined or stained with blood.”
“It was in a goddamn shadow box,” Antony growled.
Gio stilled, knowing then what his father was looking for.
The note.
The one he’d given to Giovanni for saving his son and wife’s life all those years ago.
“Useless,” Gio heard his father spit again.
Gio just managed to slip out of the hallway and into the men’s room before his father stormed out of the office. Once he was sure Antony wouldn’t see him, Gio sneaked out of the bathroom and across the club. He went out the front and found an alley that led to the back. There, he found his father tearing open garbage bags and tipping them over. Antony continued his search through five black bags.
“Shouldn’t they have taken that stuff for evidence or something?” Gio asked quietly.
Antony’s back stiffened. Without even looking back at his son, he asked, “How’d you get here, Gio?”
“Took a car.”
Sort of.
“Which car?”
“One of ours.”
Sort of.
“Who drove you?”
“A guy,” Gio said.
Sort of.
This lying thing was easy.
“No, they didn’t need this for evidence,” Antony finally said, sighing. “It was things on the walls and inside his desk. Garbage, they said.”
Gio flinched at the heat in his father’s tone. “Oh.”
“Go take a walk, Gio. I’ll find you. Don’t go far.”
All right.
Gio left his father alone.
Walking through the streets, Gio found a few kids he recognized in front of an pizzeria two blocks down. The heavy smell of smoke in the air was thick and pungent. The tallest kid took a hard drag from the joint and blew a large cloud at Gio as he stepped up to the group.
He’d hung out with them before.
Skip always kept an eye on Gio, though.
“Hey, Marcello,” Ronnie said.
“Hey,” Gio muttered.
“Heard your friend got clipped.”
Gio shrugged his shoulders, but it hurt all the same. “Yeah.”
The kid held out the joint.
“Wanna smoke? It’ll take your mind off shit.”
Did he?
Skip wouldn’t be poking his head out of the pizzeria to tell him to stop.
Gio took the joint.
Antony found his son an hour later.
Gio was high.
Antony had the note in his hand.
The Church
“Merda,” Dante said low under his breath, “you’re looking rough today, little brother.”
Gio was grateful for the dark aviator sunglasses that allowed him to roll his eyes and glare at his older brother without Dante knowing he was doing it. All that likely would have earned Gio was a punch from Dante—not that he blamed him. He would probably hit him for the same kind of shit, too.