Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Fucking Bianco,” he growls and shoves me back. “Think you know everything. I’ll do it.”
“Matty, hold on.” But it’s too late, he’s already putting the dozer back into gear. When the whole beast roars forward, I sprint away to get clear of the mess as the dozers begin their push again.
This time they’re covered by Vito and the other Capos as more fresh men roll down the block, turning the battle in our direction. I find Davide kneeling on a porch clutching a bloody arm. “I’m fine,” he barks at me. “Just fucking grazed.”
I bite back an angry retort as sirens finally blare in the distance.
We exchange a look before we’re both up and running across the street, weaving behind the bulldozers to avoid getting shot. On the other side, Vito flags me down. “We’re clearing them out!” he shouts, still in his customary jewelry and white tank top, but now with a cigar pinched between his teeth. He fires his gun into the air. “We got the motherfuckers!”
I leave him to it and follow Davide. The main family house is about six buildings down from the midpoint of the block and one of the most opulent in the area. The once-gorgeous front lawn is a crater of smashed bushes and the facade is a mess of bullet holes and blood stains. There are corpses all over the ground, most of them in armor, like a fucking war movie. But Bianco soldiers greet us as we head around back, and the bulldozers keep up their lumbering push, shoving the attackers toward the far end and out toward the street.
Diego, one of Father’s personal bodyguards, tries to get in our way when I unlock the back door with the family security code, but he backs down at a growl from Davide. The inside is surprisingly quiet and comfortable, almost like the battle outside isn’t happening. I shove past more anxious guards and find my family holed up in Dad’s library.
“Simon, I was so worried,” Mom says, giving me a big hug. Elena comes over and joins in while Davide and Stefania share a tear-streaked reunion. Laura reluctantly gives me a nod and a quick hug, which is about the most affection I’ve gotten from her in a very long time.
“It’s almost over,” I say and update them on what’s happening. The cops are coming, the trucks are getting pushed out, and Santoro’s men are in retreat.
I turn to where Dad is sitting behind his desk.
He’s got a bottle of good Japanese whiskey out and a tumbler filled to the brim, no ice. It’s a strange, cloudy color. I step forward and a hush drops over the room.
“So you’re doing it now then,” Dad says, staring at me with hollow eyes. It’s the look of a man who knows he’s finished, but isn’t ready. I hate that look and wish I could do something to make him understand that this wasn’t my choice and if there was any other way, I’d gladly take it.
“Dad—”
“We’re at our lowest,” he says, finding a little fire in himself still. He leans forward, showing teeth. “The worst attack in our family’s history, and you’re doing it now. It was always coming to this, wasn’t it, son? You were always going to pull off a coup and shove me aside, weren’t you?”
I slam my fist down on his desk, seething with rage.
“You’re so fucking blind,” I say through my clenched jaw. Everyone’s staring down. Davide closes the door and stands in front of it, and now it’s only the family present. “All this time, you keep thinking I’m going to overthrow you, like I want to fucking kill you or something. You haven’t stopped to think that maybe I have your best interests at heart. Because, Dad, you’re a goddamn mess. If you hadn’t been shot, if you were still the Don you used to be, I never would want to step into that role. But you’re a wreck, and worse, it’s killing you. This isn’t a fucking coup, Dad. It’s an intervention. It was always going to be a fucking intervention.”
That was my plan. Get together everyone he loves and trusts, and make him understand how far he’s fallen. An intervention. Simple, but hopefully effective. Too late for that now.
My father, the greatest Don of his generation, a warm and loving man, the one human I’ve always looked up to, leans back in his chair and looks around the room.
It’s like he finally sees. Everyone’s looking back, and their faces are all tired and sad, but not angry. Nobody’s angry here, because even if my father’s been in a free fall since he got shot, he’s still our father. He’s still the man who raised me with respect and dignity, the warm and loving man who kept our family together through every trial and every fight. The patriarch, the king. We love him, and his mouth presses into a horrified line as it sinks in.