He scoffed. “That man would take away every pleasure in life if he could. I’m not going to make myself miserable.”
“Having one pastry instead of several probably wouldn’t contribute much to your misery.”
I smiled. My mother had been raised in a crime family and taught the old-fashioned rules of respect. She’d never openly challenged my father. Marjorie didn’t believe in any such rules, and I loved her for it.
“Don’t worry about me so much.”
“Oh, Bébé, I can’t help it.”
They gave each other sappy smiles, and I cleared my throat.
“You’re always so impatient, son. You should try to relax more.”
I forced myself not to scowl at him. He was the one who’d passed on most of the family responsibilities to me so he could relax. How was I supposed to do that?
“There’s a lot going on right now, Pop.”
“Sure. But you can handle it.”
His confidence in me helped me relax far more than him telling me to. He was still tough as hell, and I knew if an enemy walked in right now, he’d put a bullet through the man’s head without asking questions, but he’d never held back affection from me and my brothers, not even before he and Marjorie had gotten back together and he’d found true love himself.
I knew he truly cared for me, and I also knew he didn’t give compliments lightly. He was pleased with how I’d handled things, but that was why I felt so much pressure to get the damn gunrunner situation cleared up. I couldn’t fuck things up and make him or anyone else in the crime world think less of me. Any show of weakness would bring the sharks circling.
My family had held power for decades. We had solid alliances and firm control over much of what happened in the city, but I’d been taught to never take our position for granted. There were always those looking to move in, thinking they could undermine our power. We needed to appear as strong as ever.
My father stood, and I followed him to his office after promising Marjorie to look in on her before I left. I assured her the meeting shouldn’t take too long. At least I hoped it wouldn’t.
My father’s office looked like it could be a set for a stereotypical mobster movie. It was decorated with dark colors, a massive desk, and heavy leather furniture. When he’d worked in here regularly, he’d always had a glass of whiskey beside him, no matter the time of day. I was sure in my grandfather’s day the room had been filled with smoke. I’d rarely seen the man without a cigar.
My father had given up smoking ages ago, soon after I was born. It was just one more way he’d shown he cared about us, no matter how dangerous a man he might be. I was glad he’d taught us we could be both family men and businessmen, but that didn’t mean I believed him when he told me I needed to find someone who meant as much to me as Marjorie did to him.
I explained what happened the night before, minimizing the situation with the car, then showed him the pictures I’d taken.
He studied the images for a few moments before nodding. “That’s Charles Landry. I’m sure of it. So what’s your next move?”
I gave him a rundown of the intel we’d gathered.
“That’s a lot of information, but it’s not a plan. You’re nervous about this one, and you don’t want to commit to anything.”
I hated how easily he could read me. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”
I couldn’t believe I’d just admitted that to him. I wanted him to think I always knew what I was doing.
“The surest way to fuck something up is to do nothing.”
I studied him for a moment. Was he serious? Charging in when our intel was wrong or taking out the wrong people seemed far worse than biding our time. “You think we should move now?”
“The longer these men are getting what they want and selling their wares in our territory, the worse we look. It’s time to step in and put an end to this now that we know the players.”
I sighed. “He was right, but if I gave the order to move in and we were wrong, then we were going to get screwed, and that would look far worse.”
“I’m meeting with X tonight, and I’ll find out what kind of help he’s willing to contribute. If weapons are truly coming in in ten days, we’ll be in position to intercept.
He thought that over for a moment. “That sounds good. It’s just enough time to move rationally, but you have an end date. You’ve got to pin yourself down and make moves with confidence. If you don’t, others will think you’re hesitating.”
“Is it hesitating if you’re waiting for the best information?”
My father studied me for a moment. “You know I’m not an impulsive man.”
He hadn’t been when I was a kid, but the million-dollar necklace he’d bought my stepmother on a whim would indicate that might have changed.
“You have to know the difference between careful planning and questioning yourself.”
“And you don’t question yourself?”
“There’s a point where you make a decision and go with it. At that point, you don’t turn back.”
Again, I knew he was right. I knew that for men like us, going into something halfway was likely to be fatal. You went all in, or you might as well not try at all, but I liked research and data. I liked having a clear plan.
As if my father could read my mind, he said, “There’s nothing wrong with planning, but it’s got to be leading to something. I know you’re a strategy guy, but you’ve got to be an action guy too.”
“I’ve been in the middle of the action plenty.”
My father held up his hands. “You have, and I’m proud of that. You’ve been instrumental in every altercation we’ve had for the last five years. That’s why you’re in charge now.”
“You
