Bitter Pledge (Falsone Crime Family)

“Do you know where Rolando’s at?” I asked.

“Patrol outside.” He frowned and rubbed his eyes. “It’s late. Are you allowed out?”

“Dad sent me to talk to Rolando.” The lie came easily, and Ricardo didn’t argue. I slipped out the front door and stepped into the moonlit night.

It was past midnight. I wrapped my arms around myself and lingered on the porch. Down below, a cherry glowed bright in the black like a beacon. I smelled smoke, thick and tarry.

“I hear you up there,” he said and let out a plume. “What are you doing out here?”

I walked down the stairs and joined Rolando on the driveway.

“I was looking for you.” I nodded at the cigarette in his hand. “Can I have one of those?”

He squinted at me and frowned. But he shrugged and handed over the pack. I took one out and lit it with his lighter.

I’d never smoked in my entire life. It tasted like a stale piece of cardboard sandwiched between two bitter flip-flops. I tried not to inhale.

If he noticed my awkward technique, he didn’t comment on it.

“What do you want, Capri?”

“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation.”

He didn’t meet my eye. Was that guilt? Shame? Could a man like him feel complex emotions at all?

“Go back inside.”

“I wanted to ask you about Falsone. You worked for him.”

He grunted and took a drag. I pretended to do the same.

“You know him better than I did. Spent a lot of time with his son, yeah? I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“What was it like working for him? The Falsone family owned all of San Antonio for decades. Now my father’s in charge. What should we know?”

He snorted. “You trying to help your old man now?”

“Maybe I figure I might as well try, since I’ll get beaten and bruised either way.”

He grimaced and looked away. He took another drag.

“Falsone was a decent boss,” he said, staring out across the yard. “Paid well and on time. Treated his people like people, not like employees. He called it a family and it felt like he meant it.”

“Sounds like you miss him.”

He shrugged and spit. Took another drag. I let my cigarette burn. It was too disgusting to keep going.

“Wouldn’t say I miss him. But he had a way about him. The whole family did. Carmine too.”

“You knew Carmine?”

He nodded. “Worked with him a few times. I respected the kid, like I respected his friend Mal. But Carmine’s dead and Mal’s wanted by your dad, and Falsone’s just a memory. None of it matters.”

“You’re right. None of it matters.” I forced myself to take a drag and coughed. He didn’t comment. “But then again, if my father could learn how to inspire that same kind of loyalty, he might flourish. Like for example, there’s this guy named Anthony Cargill. I doubt he feels like he’s part of any family.”

Rolando gave me a look, withering look. “What’s Tony got to do with any of this shit?”

I waved a hand, dismissing that. “I know Tony from before my dad took over. Lost track of him though. I guess I was wondering where he disappeared to. I was thinking maybe my dad could start reaching out to his lower level guys. Find a way to make them more loyal.”

It was a bluff. A total, stupid, ugly, obvious bluff. My heart was racing and I felt a little light-headed from the nicotine. I tried not to inhale, but I guess I failed. My throat burned and I felt dizzy and nauseous. Rolando stared at me like he couldn’t decide if I was a two-headed monster or a harmless rabbit. His suspicion was deep and intense, and if he saw through what I was doing, this would be all over. If he told my father that I asked about Anthony right before the guy died, I’d end up in that basement again. There were a million ways this could go wrong.

I didn’t give a damn. I had to do something, anything to prove that I wasn’t just a traitor and a piece of trash.

I told Mal I had to atone, and I meant it.

“Tony’s working an old stash house we took over from Falsone. It’s in the Five Points. Your boy Carmine used to work it, actually. It’s a good job. You don’t need to worry about Tony’s loyalty.”

“Okay, great,” I said, trying not to let him see the elation. “Then not Tony. Someone else.”

“I can come up with a few names. But let me give you a piece of advice.” He flicked his cigarette forward. It hit the ground and bounced, showering a few sparks—

And when I wasn’t looking, he grabbed my arm. His fingers bit into my flesh and I stifled a pained cry. He got close and his mouth reeked like cigarettes and alcohol.