I’m not even sure it’s possible to be the man she wants. At this moment, I’ve got twenty guys waiting for orders to move against the Matrangas and no proof of whether they’re responsible. I’m a pansy if I don’t act swiftly, but if I make the wrong choice, I put us all in danger of another massacre.
And my idea of stepping back–well, that died the second the bomb went off at Swank.
There will be violence, and I’ll be the one behind it, whether directly or calling the shots. Unfortunately, the detective was right—if Al dies, it will fall to me to run the Family, which is the last thing Sophie wants for me.
It’s the last thing I want for me, too.
With Sophie, I glimpsed something else. Something special. I am a different man with her. More of myself. The real me.
But now—I fear stepping back may be impossible.
Beyond my worry for Al or my anguish over Vito and Mario, I don’t want to live a life that makes things hard on Sophie or our child.
“Go home, Ma,” I say. “I’ll let you know what the brain scan turns up.”
My mom agrees, rising stiffly from her chair. I walk her out to her Cadillac and help her in, assuring her I’ll call as soon as I hear anything.
I meet Sammy in the lot, driving in. Like me, Sammy wasn’t in the poker room at the time of the explosion because he had some managerial issues to handle in the club. I’d seen him after the explosion, working to get our employees and customers out of the burning building.
Sammy waves me over to his car.
“What’s the damage like?” I ask.
“The rear office was destroyed, but the sprinklers went off in the whole building, so there’s probably water damage throughout. Cops won’t let me on the premises yet. They’re still combing through for evidence.”
“And the staff?”
“All safe.”
“Any customers injured?”
He shakes his head and reaches for the box beside him on the seat. He hands me a cardboard box. “I got a new batch of burner phones. Don’t know if you still have yours, but I figure we all better change them up again, anyway.”
“Yeah, mine was in the club. Thanks.”
We use cell phones modified to make them “tap proof” and GPS removed for safety. We buy them in large batches—fifty at a time—requiring the entire crew to change phones and numbers on a frequent basis. I take one and immediately text my new number to Joe Perez, an FBI agent who isn’t above selling us information when he has it. If he has anything on the bomb, he’d send it in exchange for a wire transfer payment to his offshore account.
“How’s Al?”
“Alive. Are the new phone numbers loaded on here?”
“Yep.”
“We’ll meet at my place in an hour. I’ll send out a text. I want every shred of evidence we can get that links this to the Matranga's. And I want the word out that retribution will be swift and merciless.”
“It better be, or everyone will think you’re not fit to lead,” Sammy warns.
I raise my eyebrows. “What are you saying?” I demand.
Sammy shrugs. “Nothing. Just that you’d better show you’re in charge. Make the Matrangas sorry, you know? What?”
My temper snaps. “You got a question about who’s in charge, here?” I fist Sammy’s collar.
For one electrifying moment, I think he’s going to fight back, breaking chain of command. A million thoughts run through my head—thoughts about who I’d have to get rid of to restore dominance. Who could be cowed through intimidation. Who I can depend on as an ally.
Sammy holds his hands up, leaning his head away from my bared teeth. “No, I got no question. Of course, you’re in charge. Sorry. You know what you’re doing.”
I stare into Sammy’s eyes. Interesting that tonight he was fully sober. The one night it would be important to stay on his toes.