This life was cruel and cutting and no one was guaranteed safety from it.
Except for Isabella.
She was off-limits.
No, this new generation of criminals didn’t always respect the sanctity of family the way they had in the past. They kidnapped and raped and extorted to get what they wanted.
That said, I was going to send a very clear fucking message.
My wife—and my children someday—were off fucking limits.
Anyone who threatened them would call death a mercy by the time I was done with them.
I would have them gagging on their own blood, begging for me to put a bullet between their eyes and end their suffering.
But they’d find no goddamn sympathy from me.
When they did eventually die, slowly and in as much pain as the human body could endure, I would make it clear to anyone else who threatened what was mine that they could expect the same exact ending.
I failed to protect my brother.
I would not fail to protect my woman.
I’d gone right to her after. After the cops pried me off of Terzo’s lifeless body to ask me inane questions about my business, about my enemies, as if I ever let the law handle my shit for me.
After all that was done, it was Isabella I turned to.
And it was Isabella who’d held me, who’d cleaned the blood off of me, who’d been there for me even when she hadn’t been given a whole hell of a lot of reasons to give a shit about me and my pain.
It was Isabella who woke up in a panic, looking for me. And Isabella who stomped her foot and crossed her arms at the idea of me sending her away.
It was Isabella who made me breakfast while I told the funeral home which casket I needed for my brother, and what time worked best for the funeral.
It was also Isabella who curled up with me on the couch later, not making any demands on me, just sitting with me, resting her head on my chest, stroking her hand up and down my arm or my chest.
I didn’t give a fuck how long it took or how much blood I had to spill, I would take out the entire syndicate that was coming for me and mine.
I would get and keep her safe.
“Primo,” Vissi said, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts, bringing me back to the moment.
“What?”
“The neighborhood is scared,” he said, shrugging.
The bullets had gone through a few windows. Luckily, the only casualties were a TV and a couch cushion. Both of which would be replaced as soon as the stores opened up again. Plus the owners got some extra cash for their worries.
“Yeah, I bet,” I agreed, sighing.
As a whole my neighborhood was good. Loyal. They knew I took care of them, so they, in turn, turned their heads and minded their business about my dealings. That said, I never had a goddamn shootout in the streets like that before. I understood them being scared. For themselves, for their kids.
My mind was on the same things.
“And if the neighborhood gets antsy enough,” Vissi reasoned, hating being the rational one, but I wasn’t operating at my peak right then, “they are gonna start talking to the law.”
“I know,” I agreed. “The main problem last night was the scouts were home with their families.” I’d been feeling altruistic. I figured that since I was taking Isabella home to see her family, I didn’t need as many guards on the street as usual. That was my fuckup. It wouldn’t happen again.
“And I think a lot of them know that. Since a lot of the scouts are from the neighborhood,” Vissi said, shrugging. “And they did all come running to help when they heard the shots. It’s just a mess. People are particularly upset because it’s Christmas.”
“We can use Christmas as an excuse to hand them all some cash,” I said, shrugging.
I didn’t live in the best area.
I’d chosen it on purpose.
First, because in bad areas, people tended to turn a blind eye to low-level criminal activity, so long as it didn’t impact them.
There were also a lot of young adults hungry to make a living and a name for themselves. Which was why I’d managed to have as many scouts as I did from the jump.
I also kept the predatory crime out of the area. The vicious drug dealers, the abusive pimps, the gangs that might suck up their kids and spit them out into the prison industrial complex in a few short years, serving life sentences because there was no way out once you got in.
On top of that, they appreciated anyone who came in and gave back to the community. The church almost single-handedly stayed open thanks to my donations. The food pantry was full from my men dropping off supplies. I did toy drives every Christmas and baskets every Easter. I even set up a program to help keep the local kids fed during the summers when school was out, and the parents didn’t have enough money to provide the meals the schools used to.