The First Sin (Sins of the Past 1)

“Care to elaborate?”

“It’s not pretty. You’ll see when we get there.”

“I had a test today. This couldn’t wait until after school?”

Marco shoved a hand through his black wavy hair then placed it back on the steering wheel and shook his head. “Nope. Pop said to bring you along.”

Marco and I looked so much alike we could have been twins, except his hair was a few inches longer than mine, and he had our dad’s deep brown eyes. I had our mother’s denim color. Our eyes were the one defining characteristic which separated us. Otherwise, we looked almost identical. Even the three years that separated us was unnoticeable, where Pete looked at least five, if not ten, years older than us.

“This is bullshit,” I yelled at no one in particular and punched the glove box. My anger was with my father, not my brother.

“Yo! Do that shit outside of this car, ya hear?”

“Yeah, I fucking hear,” I spat back. “I don’t see what’s so important that you or Pete couldn’t handle it

alone.”

“It’s not a matter of us being able to handle the situation. We don’t need you to take care of this problem for us. You’re coming along to learn. One day, you’ll have to make the same hard choices.”

“I would’ve rather learned something in class, not another one of Pop’s fucked-up lessons on the street. I’m almost convinced the old man wants me dead with all the crazy shit he’s been putting me through.”

“How do you think you learn how to deal with the shit that will be thrown in front of you, baby bro? There’s no manual or textbook to teach you how to stop a war between gangs. You have book smarts, something Pete and I never had.” I watched his hands grip tighter on the wheel. “One day you’ll be the right-hand man to the boss, whether that’s Dad, Pete, or me. But you won’t understand how to do what’s necessary if you don’t see for yourself. What you’ll see and do today will stick with you for the rest of your life. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.”

We got out of the Mercedes and strolled across the parking lot to a side entrance of an abandoned warehouse. I never asked questions about jobs. There was no point. Morellis followed orders and did what the fuck they were told.

Marco led me through the dank building and into the basement. The smell of burned flesh and turpentine immediately penetrated my nostrils, awakening my senses. I heard a scream that sounded as though it was ripped from a man’s body. I knew before Marco pushed back the plastic tarps for us to enter the open space that someone was being tortured. But I wasn’t prepared for the sight before me.

Gia’s father stood next to my dad, dressed in a navy suit and brown wingtips. He didn’t look like a man who owned Carlini Construction, one of the many companies my dad used to funnel money. Nope, he looked like the man who was running for a spot on the Philadelphia City Council.

Somehow, Lorenzo Carlini had managed to hide his affairs with my father long enough to look legitimate. He wasn’t a Made man, only an associate. Part of the reason my father used Lorenzo’s connections so much was because of his squeaky-clean image. So, why was he here?

My dad acknowledged Marco and me with a nod. That was about as close as I ever got to a hello from the man who gave me his name. Pete had a plastic poncho over his suit, the material now filled with blood splatter. My brother never looked more in his element than when he was hurting someone. He was the most sadistic and fucked-up of us all. While death and punishment were merely a means to an end for my father, my oldest brother reveled in every second of it.

When he was younger, everyone called him Sneaky Pete. Now, he went by the nickname The Carver, a name he’d earned in every way. I watched as Pete sliced into the chest of the man on the metal table, a smile tugging at his mouth with each rip of flesh. He switched between carving his skin like he was slicing a turkey to burning him with a hot iron.

No matter which form of torture he chose, Pete followed each act by dumping a bottle of fluid on the man’s chest. He screamed bloody murder until Pete shoved a rolled up cloth in his mouth. Pete was pouring turpentine into the man’s chest, using it as an antiseptic to make it burn more. I didn’t budge, never flinched. I was desensitized to death and gore.

After twenty minutes, my father raised his hand and said, “Enough.”

One word was all it ever took to snap my brother out of his bloodlust. My old man stepped forward, buttoning his jacket, as he moved to the edge of the paint tarps lining the floor around the table. “Are you ready to do your job? Or do I have to repeat the same warning with your daughter and wife?”

“No, please,” the man choked out between sobs. His face was bright red with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Don’t hurt them. I will do anything.”

My father loosened his black pin-striped tie and tugged on his collar. “I already gave you the chance to do the right thing, and you failed me. You owe this family a favor… a favor I’d expected to be repaid when you asked one of me. Are you not in a position of power because of me? Did I not make you the man you are today?”

The man on the table closed his eyes, his face writhing in pain. “Yes.”

“And did I not tell you I’d come to collect whenever I needed the favor returned?”

“Yes,” the man hissed. “I’m sorry, Angelo. I promise it won’t happen again. The permit will go through. I’ll make sure of it.”

He held out his hand to silence him, his body ridged and face as expressionless as stone. “Save it. You have one week, or my men will collect your wife and daughter and make you watch. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. Please leave them out of this.”

My father smirked. Then, he looked to Marco and me. “Get rid of him.”

I had no idea what that meant, though I was sure the man couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain if he wasn’t alive. It wouldn’t have been the first time my father had asked me to dump someone in a ditch or into the Delaware River.