Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Alfonso looks over my shoulder and down the street. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Come on, old man. Let’s have a chat.”
“My wife’s in bed.”
“We don’t need to wake her.” I lean closer and lower my voice. “Come on, Alfonso. You think three hundred dollars was enough? Let’s talk.”
He must hear the rage I’ve kept buried for all these years. His shoulders stiffen and there’s still a glimmer of action in him like he’s ready to draw a gun on me and defend himself. But the moment passes and he sighs, stepping aside, mumbling something about having a drink in the kitchen and keeping quiet.
The place isn’t bad. Pictures hang on the walls. Family shit, vacations, images of Alfonso and a pretty skinny lady and two dark-haired boys down the beach. A whole life I never knew about. I wonder what Shawn would say if he saw this now. Alfonso takes me to the kitchen and sits me at a table before pouring two glasses of cheap wine. He slides one over and sits across with a heavy sigh.
“Been a long time,” he says, stretching one leg and rubbing the knee. Some old injury bugging him, maybe. Exacerbated by stress.
Is this what’s waiting for me too? An old man in a shitty house? Everyone wears out eventually, I know it, but Alfonso used to burn so bright.
He’s faded now. Softer in the middle. That old muscle gone to fat. I wonder when the last time he stalked around the streets was. Probably been decades.
“You look old.”
He snorts and smiles. “You do too. I’ve heard rumors about you over the years. Prime Spadaro, big shit in the Corsetti Famiglia. You did okay for yourself in the end.”
“Wasn’t easy.”
“Nah, I didn’t think it would be.” He takes a long drink, hand shaking. “I saw it back then, you know. The potential, what you might be if someone managed to straighten you out.”
“I remember. You gave me a chance.”
“Shame, what happened.”
“You mean it’s a shame they tried to kill me and got my friend instead?”
His expression glazes over as his shoulders hunch forward. “That’s the life. You don’t hold old grudges, do you?”
“All I am these days is grudges.” I turn the glass slowly. Thinking how hurting this old man wouldn’t fix a damn thing. “You’re still with him, I guess.”
“Couldn’t get out of it. You know how that goes. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.” His smile is tentative. “Not much for it these days though.” His eyes stray to the kitchen. It’s small, the wallpaper peeling, not exactly dirty and falling apart but not updated in a while.
“I’ve been asking around recently. Hasn’t been easy, finding people willing to talk, but when they do it’s always the same. When gambling got legalized, the last bit of profitable business for your outfit stopped earning. Is that the right story?”
Alfonso grunts, polishes off his glass, and refills it. “You know why I liked you back in the day, Prime? There were dozens of kids like you willing to do brutal and dangerous shit for a dime. But you were the only one who actually made it happen. You were clever and competent. Not many capable fucking urchins lying around the streets of Philly. I’m glad you haven’t changed.”
“How bad is Fontana right now, Alfonso?”
“Why the fuck would I tell you that? I should shoot you in the face for coming to my house, asking me these questions—“
I put my gun on the table. “Don’t make threats.”
He looks at the weapon for a long time. “You always were trouble.”
“How bad? Be honest with me.”
“I hear you’re working for him now. Is that true?”
“Can’t always believe the rumors.”
He grunts and drinks. “Might as well shoot me. I’m worth more dead anyway.”
“What’s that mean?”
Alfonso considers me. He runs a hand through his thinning hair and for a brief moment he’s that young man again. He wasn’t always a top earner, wasn’t on a fast-track to leadership, but he was solid. That’s how he got the house, the wife, the kids. He took care of business. I learned that from him, back in the day.
But it’s gone to seed. I can smell it on him. The old ways hanging around like weights around his ankles.
“You never leave it. That’s how the outfits are. You know the way it has to be, but that doesn’t mean you love it. Sometimes, they treat you like you’ll always be there, no matter how hard shit gets.”
“Fontana’s that bad?”
“Worse. The bastard.” He drinks again, long and deep. “Half the outfit hasn’t been paid in months. The other half is scrounging by. Guess which end I’m on?”
“You know other people getting fucked?”
“Plenty. Some already left. A few skipped town. I’m too fucking old to do that shit. My wife’s got a decent job. I got some work lined up that gets me by. But the young bloods? The future of this family? They’re unhappy.” He laughs to himself. “God, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”