“Did you guys see that broad I was with last night? I’m telling you Vin, the things she did with her mouth…” My brother turns to us, his face infused with excitement behind his aviator sunglasses. “I mean, she swallowed it all, even my—”
“Will you shut the fuck up?!” I take my father’s word and give him a good old slap across the back of his head.
“Jesus, Antonio! Take it easy, would you? We’re just trying to have a laugh here.”
“We’re not here to have a laugh, Huxley. You see that prick right there?” I point to the bookshop as an older man walks out and starts to pack away the table of books displayed outside. I already know from the photographs we had taken when he was first spotted that it’s the asshole accountant we’ve been looking for. “That’s the motherfucker who stole from our family. And as soon as he closes up shop, I want you to follow him. I want to know where he lives and who he lives with. And when we see an opportunity, I want to take back what belongs to us. You got it? If you want to talk pussy, you can do it on your own time.”
My kid brother straightens himself and closes his mouth tight. Whether he likes it or not, even brothers in this family have an order of command to follow. And he knows, just like I do, that I outrank him.
We don’t have to wait too long before the old guy closes up shop. Slowly, we follow him as he walks through the town. Seems he’s made a name for himself, as most of the people he walks by give him a wave or a smile. We wait while he buys some groceries, then heads to this little white house we take to be his residence. It looks like some 1950’s picket fence bullshit—you know, the kind every worn-out-housewife dreams about.
“Holy shit, is that the daughter?” Huxley asks with a grin on his face. We watch as the old accountant greets a beautiful young woman emerging from the front door of the house.
I’m momentarily surprised that the old man’s daughter is this attractive. In a long, flowing dress, the curves of her body are clear. She’s full-figured, but not overly plump, with her heavy tits held up by the grace of God–and the thin straps of her dress, of course. The type of woman you can just see is Italian-born. She has olive skin and long, curly as shit black hair that slides across her open back. As I watch, she stoops down and helps him carry in the bag of groceries he had picked up.
“Yeah,” I say, “looks that way.”
“When the guys who found him said he had a daughter, they didn’t say what a bootylicious hottie she was. Hey, if the old guy doesn’t pay up, we could take her. Hell, we’ll have our money back in no time if we put her on the street.”
I ignore my brother’s excitement—would have given him another slap if I could take my eyes away from the girl. All I can say is that her mother must have been a real looker because she definitely doesn’t take after her old geezer of a father.
“What do we do now, boss?” Vinnie asks me. “What’s our move?”
I watch the father and daughter go into the house and close the door behind them. It wouldn’t matter if the guy’s cousins, nephews, or even his grandmother was in the house with him. We’re here to do a job, and if anything, we can use his daughter to get what we want. “We wait until they settle in for the night, then we go in.”
Vinnie nods, clenching his fists in their leather gloves. My brother checks the clip of his Colt 1911. I just focus straight ahead.