Gavino
It’s late and Villa Bruno is quiet.
This is the only time I let myself sneak into this house. It’s like I’m a thief returning to the scene of the crime whenever I walk into the back door, and I can only bring myself to do it when the sun’s been down for hours and the deepest parts of the night have taken over. I relate to the darkness, to the long shadows, the deep silences, the chirp of nocturnal bugs and the rustle of animals in the bushes on the edge of the property. I’m like they are: consumed by silence and nothingness.
That’s fucking dramatic. But I’m in a dramatic mood. Casso sits behind his desk and lights a cigar as I pour myself a glass of whiskey. “Here’s to our future DA Andres Killen.” I raise my drink and take a long sip.
Casso puffs away. The smoke is thick and fragrant. “I take it things went well.”
“I sent Killen your regards and handed him the envelope of cash, if that’s what you mean.”
Casso laughs. “You gave him a bribe right there?”
“It was a fundraiser. That’s what he wanted, right?”
Casso shakes his head, grinning. “I knew there was a reason I sent you instead of Nico or Fynn.”
“They’d fuck it up by being too damn serious.”
“And here you are, tossing up a middle finger to the man that can either make our lives easy or a living hell.”
“Ah, come on, Killen liked it. He seemed genuinely amused. Called me old school.”
Casso’s smile fades as he puts down the cigar. “I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“What’d he mean then?”
“You’re old school, as in, you keep doing things the way mafia families used to do them in the past. Times are changing.”
I wave that away, although some of what he’s saying rings true. I’ve never been a traditionalist—I think traditions can go fuck themselves—but there are some parts of our old life I miss.
My father was a ruthless piece of shit. None of us miss him or his near-constant abuse. We all carry scars on our bodies and on our hearts from that man, scars that dull with age but won’t ever disappear. And yet in my father’s day, our family was strong and we ran this city from the streets like a pack of ruthless coyotes. We controlled whoever wouldn’t listen with threats and we bribed everyone else with cash and the glory kept on rolling.
I don’t miss my old man, but I do miss some of the culture he created.
But Casso wants to change things, and I’m not sure if his vision of the future includes a man like me.
Jaded, broken. Obsessed with the underworld. Covered in grime and blood and bad decisions.
“Either way, Killen took the damn money and he seemed happy about it, and that’s what you wanted, right?”
Casso nods, eyeing me, and picks up his cigar again, waving it in the air. “That’s what I wanted, so you’re right, I’m happy. As long as Killen’s willing to look the other way when certain members of our organization do certain unlawful activities, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks of how we do business.”
“There you go.” I throw back my drink and stand. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Stay,” Casso says, frowning. “Have another drink. When was the last time you spent more than ten minutes in the main house?”
“Casso,” I warn, heading toward the door. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what? Like you’re always trying to avoid spending time with the family?”
I grimace and shake my head. “The family’s the most important thing in the world to me.”
“What is it then? You’ve been getting worse this last year. More distant and angrier than ever, and that’s saying a lot.”
“I just can’t handle it anymore.” I look away from him, hating this conversation with a passion. How am I supposed to explain to my oldest brother that their happiness is like a knife in my side? How can I tell him that when it makes me sound like a selfish prick?
I want Casso and Karah and Fynn to be happy. I want their lives to be filled with meaning and joy. I want their kids to grow up blessed, strong, and smart. I want all that for them.