“I wasn’t expecting this either, but here we are.” He doesn’t move to let me in. “I need to talk to your father.”
“It’s not a good time.”
“Yeah, well, it’s never a good fucking time.”
Raf still won’t budge. “I mean it, he’s not up for a visit right now. Maybe tomorrow?—”
“If you don’t let me see him right now, your Uncle Corrado’s going to be a bloody stain on the sidewalkby tomorrow.”
His lips press together. I’ll hand it to the guy; he doesn’t seem intimidated. Finally, he moves aside with a subtle shake of his head. “You won’t like this,” he murmurs and leads me deeper into the house.
Instead of going to the office, we take the stairs. I’m starting to rethink storming in here when Raf knocks lightly on a bedroom door and a raspy weak voice calls out. “Dad, I have Luca Marino with me. He needs to talk to you.”
I hesitate. The smell of antiseptic and piss wafts into the hallway. I glimpse a hospital bed, monitoring equipment, and a scattering of pills and other medications on top of a cluttered dresser.
“Marino?” the old man rasps, sounding confused. “Luca? What?”
“You know, Dad. Fiorella’s husband.”
Don Serrano coughs, an ugly and wet noise. I suck it up and move into the room, lingering on the threshold, staring in at the wreckage of the dying gangster.
He’s sitting up in bed wearing pajamas. His face is sallow and thin, his hair lank and greasy. He looks like absolute shit, like someone squeezed the moisture from him and left him dying on the side of the road. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I recognize the clever man trapped inside his sickness.
“Luca,” he says and weakly gestures for me to enter. Raf looks over his shoulder, clearly not happy about this. “I admit you caught me on a bad day.” He coughs again, and it sounds painful.
“I’m sorry, Don Serrano, but this is important.” I close the door behind me and go sit on an extra chair at the Don’s bedside. A stack of worn paperback Westerns teeters beside an old electric alarm clock. “There was an attack on my men, and I believe your brother was involved.”
For a moment, Don Serrano looks confused. “Brother? Corrado, what does he mean?” But then he looks at his son and clears his throat and shakes his head. “I mean, Luca, how can you know?”
He’s only partially coherent. Raf gets up and fills a glass of water for him.
“His son Tommy was there. They ambushed one of my trucks, set it on fire, and waited for us to show up. Tommy would’ve killed us, but we got the drop on him instead.”
“Tommy’s dead?” Raf asks with alarm. “How do I not know about this?”
I stare at the old Don. “You know why.”
He sighs, sipping some of the water with a shaking head, and leans back against his pillow. “Corrado is my brother.”
“He’s getting more aggressive. I’m here to ask permission to take him down. With him out of the picture, the alliance will be safe.”Fiorella will be safe too, I want to add, but keep my mouth shut.
Don Serrano licks his lips. He chews on something, shaking his head and murmuring. “Tommy was always headstrong. That boy did what he wanted, even when he was a little child. How do we know Corrado was involved?”
I look at Raf for help. This is fucking absurd. “Do you seriously think his own son would straight out attack me without his father’s permission?”
“Perhaps,” Don Serrano mutters. “Perhaps, perhaps. Boys will be boys. Lighting ants on fire.” He coughs, sputtering the water, and Raf has to take it away before he spills it all over. “Where the fuck is my lunch?” he snaps, suddenly angry out of nowhere.
“You ate an hour ago, Dad,” Raf says, gently pushing him back before he can try to pull himself out of bed.
“I can’t get any decent fucking help here,” the dying man growls, trying to shove his son away, but he’s too weak. Eventually, he gives up and slumps backward, breathing hard.
I stare at him, a pit of horror opening in my stomach. Raf is grim and avoiding my gaze. This is worse than I guessed. We knew Don Serrano was dying, but not that he was this mentally unwell. How long have they been keeping this from everyone? How many bad decisions has the Don made in the last few months? I push my chair back and stand.
“We’ll discuss this another time when you’re feeling better,” I say, moving toward the door.
“Leave my brother alone,” Don Serrano snaps at me. “You fucking murdering prick. Leave him alone! He’s got enough problems, you hear me? Leave him the fuck alone!”
I retreat into the hallway, hands clenched into fists. Raf follows me out a moment later, giving me a look. “Like I said?—”
