Frank is quiet for a while after that. “All I’m saying,” he says at last, “is that your husband is putting ideas in my wife’s head. But I’m the one who has to pony up the cash.”
I’m not any happier than Frank about this blooming friendship between Finch and Celia, if only because of her ready stash of prescription drugs. But better that he’s with her than with his old friends, I guess, and I haven’t seen him popping pills since he got out of the hospital. He’s been too excited about the move.
“We’ve got too many problems right now for Cee’s shopping to be a concern. Get your wife under control, Frank. You’re the man of the house, aren’t you?”
Frank gives a dark chuckle. “You got no idea, little bro, how hard your life’s gonna get now you have someone waiting for you at home. Just you wait a month, and then we’ll have another chat about it.”
“Whatever. Who’s meeting us for the collections?”
“I told you, how should I know? You’re Capo, aren’t you? If you haven’t organized a crew yet, then I guess it’s just those damn D’Amato brothers out on their own today.”
I’m about to lose my temper, when I realize that Frank is right.
I’m Capo.
I’m the one who tells people where to go. I’m the one who organizes everything. And if I haven’t pulled a crew together by now, I have no one to blame but myself. I have goals in mind, things to raise with Tino, but so much has been happening that I haven’t even had time to celebrate my promotion yet.
Or the fact that I never have to take another order from Sam Fuscone as long as I live.
I resolve to write out that list of names and talk it over with Tino as soon as possible. In the meantime…
“You know what? I had a shitty night. You had a shitty morning. Why don’t we take out our frustrations the old-fashioned way?”
“Yeah?” Frank glances over at me with a grin. “Just like old times, eh? I’ll hold ‘em, you work ‘em.”
Maybe a Capo doesn’t need to get involved in the dirty work, but today I find I want to.
When I get home that night it’s late again, and there’s no Olive Garden waiting for me in the fridge this time.
Quiet, I tell my complaining stomach, as I survey the poorly-stocked fridge. When I move up higher in the chain, maybe we could hire a chef like Tino. I assume party-boy Finch is no home cook. I wonder what he ate for dinner. Then it occurs to me: I can check.
I shake out my right hand as I contemplate the slim pickings in the kitchen. It’s been a while since my hand hurt like this, but it’s a familiar and welcome ache. Frank and I are a good team, and while my knuckles are going to be bruised tomorrow, I found peace and satisfaction in the work we did today. It reminds me how important it is for me to pull a crew together, as soon as possible. But first I slap together some bread and cheese, sit at the kitchen counter to eat, and check on the Finch Report.
Under Marco’s watchful eye, Finch went to the gym in the morning, the only one I approved him for, because it’s owned and operated by one of the Morelli Family’s allied clans. Had lunch out at a café. Dropped by Celia’s place in the afternoon, but she was on her way out to see her mother, and Finch declined the invitation to go along. He came back here, made Marco play cards with him, then made dinner for himself—eggs. Hm. Ten o’clock, Finch went to bed. Marco handed off to the night guards at midnight.
Nothing to report since then.
I close the email and try to put Finch out of my mind. I have important shit to do before I sleep, like finalizing that list of names for my crew.
The soldiers are easy enough. I know the men I want, the ones who are loyal to me already, the ones who appreciate my work and treat me with respect, even from outside Fuscone’s crew. Then there are the men who hate Fuscone as much as I do, or maybe more. Then there are the ambitious ones, the ones I know who are smart and shrewd, the ones who don’t care if their Capo is queer as long as working in my crew aligns with their interests.
Then the most important one, the man I’m going to need as my own second-in-command, just like I was for Sam Fuscone. Someone to give the orders when I’m not there, my 2IC to keep the troops in line.
I know Frank wants to be that for me, and of course I’ll find a role for my brother. He’s loyal, he’s unquestioning, he’s tough. He’s great muscle, built wide and thick, with a natural scowl.
But he’s not a leader, my brother.
I love him and I’ll do anything for him, but I want my commander to be someone who can persuade and charm, not just threaten and punish. I want a counterpoint to my own personality. Frank is likeable enough, but he’s only got one tool in his toolbox, and that’s violence. I need a clever man, not just a violent one. I want someone to keep me on my toes, someone who’ll tell me like it is, not what I want to hear. Someone with their own ambitions so I can reposition him in my place when the time comes, and I move up the hierarchy.
An ally in the wars to come. Because I can see what’s coming, and I need to find a way to take advantage of it.
I
