Page 133 of Jordan

“It’s an unexpected visit,” I say, stepping into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can get you? Your father is already in bed. I’m preparing breakfast for the morning.”

I glance at the counter, noting the chopped up vegetables and fruit. It’s all for nothing.

“No, thank you, but my brothers and I have made some sudden changes. That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay. What kind of changes?”

Gladys is an older woman. She’s been with my father for close to a year, since he first got his official diagnosis. It came on fast and strong. We’d only noticed the oddities for about a month before he went in for testing. It’s rare, but it does happen. Usually it’s slow progressing in the beginning, but for us, it’s a little backward. It’s the end that seems to be taking too long, and time isn’t on our side.

“My brothers and I will take over my father’s care full time, effective immediately. I’m here to relieve you of your duties.” Her eyes widen. “You will be paid your wages for the next month, along with a hefty release bonus for the trouble.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Bramante. It’s too much.”

“I insist, Gladys. But I do need you to pack your things up.”

She turns toward the counter again. “Sure, let me—”

“Immediately.”

Her eyes widen again, and she nods, reaching around to untie the apron. She leaves it on the counter, moving past me and into the parlor. I step into the doorway to watch her go.

“Gladys?” I call out. She stops and turns to look at me. “It’s best you tell everyone you are on a vacation for the next week or so. Do you understand?” She nods violently.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Bramante. I understand. That’s absolutely fine.” She forces a smile.

“One last thing?”

She looks up, her eyes wide and full of fear. I didn’t want to scare the woman, but it’s important.

“Anything.” Her word comes out a whisper.

“Your discretion is crucial.”

She swallows hard. “Of course, sir. Nothing to worry about here.” She grabs her coat from the rack, slips her shoes on, and hurries out the front door.

The easy part is over. I walk back to the front door to lock it and set the alarm. I won’t be here long, but it’s best I’m alerted if someone were to unexpectedly show up. Like I did.

I navigate down the hall from the kitchen into the first bedroom.

When I was a child, this was a boring sitting room which was never used. Most of the rooms in this giant house weren’t used. All the bedrooms were on the second floor, but Papa has been unable to use stairs for the last seven months. It’s not that he is physically incapable, he just forgot how to use them.

His large frame takes up most of the queen sized bed. He’s lying in the middle, on his back, sleeping soundly. I’m lucky I caught him having a good night. Most nights he’s awake. Though, it is still early, so perhaps he’d have woken at some point, thinking it was time for breakfast and to bring his sons to school. That’s his new thing lately. What an interesting disease. What is it that causes the brain to focus on a certain period of time when no other parts of it work properly? Is it the happiest? The most stressful? Is it something else? Why is it my father has reverted to the time when me and my brothers were barely teenagers? Is that a place his brain thinks he is safe?

Curious. So very curious.

I pull my gun from my holster, take the silencer from my pocket, and attach it. There isn’t anyone around to hear the shot, but I have a feeling I’ll appreciate it more when my nightmares aren’t filled with the echoes of the gunshot that I killed my father with. I move to his bedside and sit in the armchair beside it. I watch him sleep. When was the last time I saw him? It’s been months. At least six. Maybe more. He’d call every now and again, but most times he wasn’t of clear mind. He’d speak nothing but nonsense, which is why we had to tell the nurses to take his phone away. The man always found it, though. It’s a miracle he didn’t call the wrong person and cause trouble. The worst he did was call the butcher down the road and order a hundred pounds of steak for a party he thought he was having but didn’t. I made the nurses donate it to a homeless shelter in the city, since the butcher wouldn’t take it back.

“Papa,” I breathe out, staring at his sleeping form. He seems so peaceful right now, but knowing all this man has done? The blood on his hands, the lives he’s taken, the empire he built.

My brothers will hate me for this, but I’m certain my father would approve. Family always came first to him, and it comes first to me too, and that’s why I’m doing this.

The treaty states with the death of the head of the family, it’ll go to the person they’ve designated. Me and my brothers have been designated. The only way we get anything without a fight is by my father dying. If we had the resources to take on the Gaetanos, Kerneys, and Canvanis, I wouldn’t do this. But I’m not so stupid to think we stand a chance against the three other families alone. I know we don’t.

“You’ll be with Mama now,” I say, getting to my feet and taking aim. The barrel is inches from his head, and I note the way it shakes. Normally, I have such a steady hand. Normally, when I’m shooting, I’m calm. But right now I can’t breathe. My chest is tight, my head is foggy, and my fucking hand won’t stop trembling.

But I have to do this.