Cracking my neck, I try not to groan in frustration. Why does he have to pull this shit? I swear it’s because he knows if he’s taken out, I’m up next for the throne.
I intimidate him.
“Everyone up on their payments?” I change the subject.
He sets his cigar down in a glass ashtray and looks to Tony. “You get the impression that this kid thinks he’s big shit?”
Tony squints in my direction as if he’s studying me. Fact of the matter is whatever my father says, where Tony is concerned it is law. “Yeah, I do,” he rasps even though I knew he would confirm my father’s suspicions, it still makes me want to slit his throat for lack of honesty. Integrity is everything in my world. He lacks it, but that is why he will never be a true boss.
“I don’t. I just want to get to work,” I explain, resting my arm on the ash-covered table as I stare back. If he wants to fight, I’ll fight him. But he will not win.
“You think you can take me? My own son?” Dad points to his chin, his voice calm.
I sit there, looking at him. My uncles glaring at me. Is he seriously this bored or delusional to think this is smart? This is nothing more than a waste of my time.
“Enough,” I mutter, trying to diffuse the embarrassment he’s casting upon us. I sometimes think this is why my mother is a drunk these days. Because of us, she can’t stand to see us like this.
His tough-guy features fall, and he begins to chuckle. Tony, Leo, and Gio laughing along. “Yeah, he knows who his daddy is,” Dad murmurs, looking at the cards in his hand.
A tight-lipped look on my face, I stare back at him with flaring nostrils. My fingers curling in on themselves as a burning rage flares up my neck making the vessels pump harder. Everything is a damn joke to him.
I don’t do humor. I don’t have time for his crazy shit. Sometimes I just want to place a gun to the back of his head and take over the family business. Be done with his shenanigans and the mockery he places upon me and the family. What my grandfathers built before us is something powerful and he takes advantage of it.
He picks up his cigar and places it into the corner of his mouth. His tobacco-stained teeth chomping down on it. “I sent some soldiers over to Tina’s—”
“The salon?” I interrupt.
“Yeah, she hasn’t paid and kneed one of the kids before getting away.”
I remember being that kid, having to collect payments, and I got kicked in the nuts weekly from some ass-hat before they took off. Fucking balls swell two sizes and are tender for days. It sucks, but we all have to start somewhere.
“Tell the kid to use frozen peas.” I smile, remembering the days that weren’t that long ago.
“Anyway, time to remind her what she’s paying us for,” Dad says, slapping down a full house.
Tony, Gio, and Leo all groan, putting down their shitty cards.
I stand, sliding my hands through my hair. Tina’s place is a complicated area, it’s borderline with Harlem, which is the Bravado’s territory. Not that they’ve been active for years, but it’s the principle. We stay on our side, they stay on theirs.
“You got it,” I accept the order.
The salon has been a client of ours for years now, trophy wives coming and spending the highest dollar to look great for their dumb fuck husbands, the place is packed with expensive shit. Being so close to Harlem it attracts some unlawful clients. We’ve made sure to protect Tina, even sending men to sit at the door if needed.
It’s not personal, it’s business.
Heading up the steps, I move into the galley and stop in front of the fridge. I pull open the freezer and tug it one last time until it’s off the tracks and a bunker of weapons shine. I grin seeing them.
“There you are,” I whisper, grabbing an AP-9. The forward magazine in my hand makes me feel unstoppable. I love this fucking gun. I got it from a gun swap down in North Carolina several months back. Putting the freezer back together, I begin whistling as I walk through the yacht, gun still in my hand, a couple of half-naked girls sitting on the couch go silent as I walk by. Their swimsuits bright in color and little in material. I don’t know if dad sleeps with them, or if they’re here for my uncles and I don’t want to know. I hate lying to my mother, so I just wink at them and head back to the docks. The fucking smell of fish taking over the smell of my dad’s cigar and my uncle’s cologne. Lights in the parking lot grab my attention. A Lincoln Navigator parks next to my car and I raise an eyebrow. My shoes pad along the dock, my shadow slipping across the water as I make my way back to the parking lot. I spot an old metal bat all beat up and dented laying on the end of a boat. I stop, grab it and swirl it around before continuing my way to my car. Finally back on land, I see my brother leaning against the Navigator. His hair in his eyes, face clean-shaven.