What a lot of people didn’t know was that Ciro was a master at several different fighting disciplines, so the odds of anyone really winning in a fight against the man were slim. And there was no way Carlos here could go toe-to-toe with Ciro and win. And in the six years that Ciro’s been torturing motherfuckers, he’s never lost a fight.
He probably never will.
“Luca, I just need some counseling, or something,” Carlos continued to beg. “I know I can beat this addiction. I know I can.”
Sal let out a snort from where he was sitting comfortably on the brown leather couch in the office. He knew where this was headed even if Carlos was deluding himself into hoping otherwise. The only other person in the room was Carlos’ Capo, Elias. He was also another man who knew he was in deep shit. He was responsible for Carlos and every member of his crew. Elias either knew Carlos was skimming from the top or he didn’t. Either scenario wasn’t good for him. A Capo should always know what his crew members were about.
I asked the one question I already knew the answer to. “I need to make an example out of someone, Carlos,” I informed him. “If not you, then that leaves only Elias. Should I spare you and take your betrayal out on Elias instead?”
The bastard nodded. “Well…it is his fault, don’t you think? For not…paying better attention and getting me help?”
Loyalty.
It was the foundation of everything we were. Not money. Not drugs. Not power. Not guns. Not muscle. Not even The Holy Trinity.
Loyalty.
The secure knowledge in knowing that you could kill a man and the men surrounding you wouldn’t utter a word about it to anyone else no matter what. The knowledge that those same men would take a bullet for you just as you would them.
That lack of doubt; it was everything.
I closed my eyes for a brief second then glanced over at Sal. He had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He knew I was handing Carlos over to him.
The sick bastard.
“Did you really just throw your Capo under the bus, Carlos?” I asked, not really wanting another babbling explanation. I tipped my head at Sal. “Salvatore.”
“NO!” Carlos screamed, and I blocked out his pleas as Sal dragged him from the room.
As soon as the door closed, I looked over at Elias. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“No,” he answered simply.
He knew.
“Good.” I pulled out my Glock 17 and shot him in the head. He fell to the floor and I looked at my watch. I had only an hour before I needed to be at Phoenix and Francesca’s for dinner.
I walked out of the room and two Benetti men immediately entered to take care of Elias. Looks like Ciro and Phoenix will be helping me consider candidates for a new Capo after dinner.
Another day in the life…
Chapter 2
Remy~
Some days I wondered how I did it.
I sat in the dingy living room inside the musty trailer and did my best to keep my facial expression neutral, but it was hard.
So very, very, very hard.
I calmed my voice and did my best to speak like a professional adult, but deep inside, I wanted to commit bodily harm, and to hell with my job and the possible court date. “Jennifer, we’ve talked about this,” I said. “One mistake is one too many at this point.”
“What did you expect me to do?” she huffed. “Welfare doesn’t pay enough to pay the rent, bills, and buy food.” It was a valid point and an argument I’ve heard a million times. It was also, unfortunately in this case, a cop out. The rent on this trailer was practically nonexistent, and the bills were few as the water and garbage were paid by the trailer park management. Jennifer Tingly was a drug addict and that was the long and short of it. Drugs came before her child and, sadly, she wasn’t the only one.
Living in Nebraska and growing up with wonderful parents hadn’t prepared me for my chosen field in social work. David and Lauren Christian had been the quintessential working-class parents who worked hard as a factory worker and insurance secretary to make sure their only child had enough in life. They had planned for college the second I was born and had done everything they could to provide a happy life for me. And they had. I had grown up idealistic and as adulthood neared, I had been so sure I could make a difference in the world.
Turns out I was wrong.
I learned the hard way that the best social workers were the ones who knew what they were talking about. The people who actually knew what it was like to live in trying times and difficult situations. They were the ones qualified to give out advice on how to stretch a dollar.
After graduating with a degree in sociology, I had chosen Morgan City because I had read that it had some of the worst neighborhoods in the state, and I wanted to rush in and save the day. Social programs were always understaffed, so I knew I’d get hired, but I hadn’t been prepared for the reality of the job. The hours were long and painful, and the pay was enough, but if I got paid by the hour, I’d be making less than minimum wage. Hell, I’d be working for free, pretty much.
The first year working for Morgan City Social Services, I had cried almost every night. I had bags under my eyes, my nose was always red and raw from my sniffling, and I had lost a lot of weight. I went from being a size sixteen to a size eight, but I couldn’t even appreciate the change. It hadn’t been a healthy lifestyle change. It had been stress and lack of meals that had caused the weight
