1

Steven

The streetlights cast long shadows over Washington Street as Luca pulled up against the curb. I looked at my Lieutenant, at the scruffy beard he refused to shave, at his hair slicked back and his dark suit tight across his chest, and took a sharp breath.

The Philly street was quiet. On the left was an empty park, the swing set vacant, the colorful play structure dripping rain from the storm that just passed over. Puddles pressed up against the curb and the single tree planted in a box by the sidewalk waved side to side in the wind.

“You ready?” I asked.

“Ready,” Luca said. He held up his Glock and pulled back the slide, chambering a round.

I nodded to him and slid my own Glock into my hand. It was heavy, the grip worn, but it was clean and reliable. I’d gone over it myself twenty times in the last few days, ever since we started to prepare for this hit.

“The other guys in place?” I asked.

“Should be,” Luca said.

I gave him a look. “No fucking ‘should’, find out.”

He nodded, took out his phone, sent a text. A minute later, he got a response.

“Alex and Davide are in place,” he said.

“Good.” I stared out the windshield. The block opposite the park was filled with rowhomes, most of them quiet and dark at just after midnight on a Saturday. I could just make out a group of men standing on the street corner, huddled together under a bodega overhang.

Those men were on that corner every night without fail. Their customers expected it, needed it really. Cops probably knew about them but let it slide. No use busting some low-level dealers, and anyway, they probably weren’t holding it themselves. They’d take a customer’s cash and send them around the corner to get their actual drugs. That was one way they could avoid getting hit with a heavy charge.

“Come on,” I said, and opened my door. I stepped out into the street, splashed through a puddle, and walked to the cars parked along the opposite curb. The men didn’t look up and didn’t notice me as I stalked toward them wearing a black suit, my dark hair combed back.

Luca joined me without a word. He walked behind me, and I spotted two more guys coming from the opposite direction at the far end of the block. I knew that would be Davide and Aldo. They had orders to wait until we moved before they approached.

My heart beat a steady, calm slam in my chest. I knew the drill, I’d been through this shit before. But this was my first hit as a Capo in my own right. For a long time, I was the top Lieutenant to one of the most dangerous and violent Leone Crime Family Capos, and was only given my own crew two years ago. Ever since then, I’d been consolidating my control over the Gray’s Ferry neighborhood, but I was finally ready to expand.

I could smell dust and old rain as I slipped between two black cars, one truck and one SUV. I hesitated as I got onto the sidewalk and saw glass glittering on the ground in front of me. I skirted around it, making no noise, and walked close to the red brick fronted rowhomes as I got closer to my targets.

Three guys were huddled under the tin overhang. Water dripped on the ground in front of them. One guy, wearing a dark green hoodie and baggy jeans leaned back against the shop’s window, while another was turned away, a phone to his ear. He wore a white polo, khaki pants, and a black hat pulled down low. The third guy was squatted down, his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at the ground with a bored, vacant expression, and he was the first one to look up.

I saw his dark blue eyes as he stood. He wore a long black t-shirt and jeans with brown boots. He frowned at me and stepped forward, head cocked to one side. His hair was a light brown, almost red in the bodega’s lights. There were signs for Coke products and lottery tickets in the windows, and the neon Open sign was still glowing.

I brought up my Glock and aimed it at the guy’s head.

“What the fu—”

I pulled the trigger and his skull snapped back. Blood splattered from the wound and covered the glass in gore.

“Fuck!” the guy in the hoodie screamed, diving to the side. He pulled his own gun but Luca lit him up, squeezing off four rounds right into his chest.

The last guy spun, his phone dropping to the ground, and reached for something. But Aldo and Davide began firing, lighting up the front of the store, bullets tearing into the guy’s white polo shirt, blood blooming all across his chest as he was thrown backwards. The bodega’s windows shattered as stray bullets flew into the building. I heard a scream followed by a shout, and the guy in the white polo slumped down to the ground.

Tags: B.B. Hamel Romance
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