Page 42 of Forgotten Sacrifice

“Took it out on his kneecaps; told him I’d be back next week, and he’d better have your money if he wants to keep breathing.”

“Good.”

His phone rings, and I’m dismissed with the wave of his hand.

I make my way to the restaurant in search of Aldo. Ready to give my brother a good scolding, I find him asleep in the storage closet. He’s getting too big for me to hold, but I still scoop him up and carry him to the car.

Aldo wakes up. “Hey, put me down! I’m not a baby.”

“Sorry to mess with your street cred,” I joke, but I refuse to put him down until he’s in the car. Sliding behind the wheel, I tell him firmly, “I don’t want you running slips again.”

“But look how much money I made!” He grabs cash from his pocket, proudly holding it up.

“And that’s good, but I mean it. I’m making enough now to where I don’t want you to worry about money. Your job is to be a kid.” I reach over and ruffle his hair.

We ride in silence for a beat before Aldo asks,“Did you get to be a kid?”

“I also don’t want you worrying about me. What’s your job?”

“Be a kid.”

“That’s it.”

I flip on the radio, and it’s not long before he nods off.

Did I get to be a kid? No. And that’s why I’m going to make damn sure things are different for Aldo.

“Why can’t I go with you?” Aldo whines as I walk him down the hall of our new apartment.

“Mrs. Polaski is going to watch you tonight.” I can afford a babysitter now, and so there’s no reason for Aldo to hang out at a sports bar. “I want you to finish your homework?—"

“Awww.”

“And then you can watch a movie.”

He huffs. “Okay.”

She answers the door, escorting us inside. We chat, and I get Aldo set up at the kitchen table with his notebook and pencils.

I kiss the top Aldo’s head, ignoring his disgruntled pout as I make my way to the bar.

Checking in with Uncle Joseph, he says, “Vince, follow me.”

“Sure thing,” I reply, even though I need to meet with my clerk about tonight’s upcoming wagers.

I follow him through the warehouse and out to the back, stopping in my tracks. I’m surrounded by men holding baseball bats.

“What’s going on?”

I’m answered by a bat connecting with my stomach, sending me flying to the pavement. I cradle my head to shield it from the onslaught; my stomach and ribs taking the brunt of the beating.

“You had one job to do,” Uncle Joseph says.

Whack.

“I warned you about lying to me.”

Whack