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Chapter Four

“ Aw , shit.” Tino jumped back. The bookie’s severed ear smacked onto the concrete floor, spattering blood on his brand new Ferragamos . “ Shit , shit, shit.”

The bookie howled in pain. Not even the industrial fans the size of small Chevys rumbling overhead were enough to keep the man’s annoying screams from echoing off the bloodstained walls.

Tino clenched the roughened wood handle of the butcher knife tighter and raised his arm to take another swipe.

“ Fuck it.” He flung the knife to the floor.

The ten-inch blade clattered before skidding to a stop near a metal grating.

“ Will you look at this mess?” He pointed to his shoes.

“ I should hack the rest of the guy’s head off for that alone. ”

“ Serves you right for wearing designer shoes.” Rocco crossed his arms, stretching the black sweater covering his beach ball–sized belly. “ It’s Monday , so what’s with the Sunday best?”

Rather than flipping the older man the bird, Tino flicked the tips of his fingers beneath his chin, a silent FU . “ I gotta take Ma out for dinner tonight. She likes it when I show up dressed nice, like I’m going to church.”

“ You go to church?” Rocco planted his hands on his belly and roared with laughter. “ Hate to break it to you,” he said between laughs and the bookie’s moans, “you’re going straight to hell no matter what you’re wearin’.”

“ As long as I look good when I go”—he indicated with both hands to his Armani suit— “ I don’t give a damn where I end up.”

“ You and your freakin’ wardrobe.” Rocco snorted. “ You spend more money on clothes than my four sisters put together.”

“ You should talk.” He sneered as he made a show of checking the other man out. “ You look like you buy your clothes at Dollar Tree .”

A loud moan came from the man tied to the chair.

The bookie’s sobbing was beginning to grate on Tino’s nerves almost as bad as Rocco’s constant nagging.

He glared at the bookie and held his arms wide.

“ Would you shut the fuck up? We’re trying to have a conversation here.

” He began checking the sleeves of his suit for blood.

“ What did you expect?” Rocco laughed. “ You just chopped the guy’s ear off.”

As Rocco picked up the knife Tino had thrown away, Tino looked around the abandoned meat-packing warehouse, double-checking to make sure they didn’t have any unexpected guests.

Aside from the rusty metal chair the bookie was tied to, the only other things in the fifty-square-yard room were a few stainless steel carts on wheels and dried blood-encrusted hooks attached to conveyer belts hanging from the ceiling.

He glanced at the ear lying in the puddle of blood at his feet, then at the skinny man writhing and twisting in the chair.

Tears poured down the man’s face. Blood dripped from the ragged flesh still attached to his head where his ear used to be.

The man’s black T -shirt darkened steadily as it absorbed more blood.

“ Cut him loose,” Tino said, then yanked a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and leaned down to wipe his shoes.

Rocco set the butcher knife on one of the carts and dug into the front pocket of his slacks to pull out a small folding knife. As soon as the bookie’s hands were free, the man held both of them to his head. Blood oozed between his fingers as he whimpered, rocking back and forth on the chair.

“ You ruined my shoes, asshole.” Tino finished wiping his Ferragamos , then threw the bloody handkerchief in the man’s face. “ Now beat it.”

The bookie stared at him, his eyes going wide. “ I - I can leave?”

“ What’s the matter?” Tino got in his face. “ Didn’t you hear me?”

Rocco chuckled.

“ I’ll get the money to you next week.” More candy-assed tears. “ I swear it.”

“ I know you will.” He pointed to the door. “ Now get outta here before I change my mind and cut your dick off.”

With one hand jammed against the gaping wound on the side of his head, the bookie bolted from the chair and stumbled across the warehouse floor, his footfalls echoing with every step. The door slammed shut behind him.

“ This place still stinks like rotten cow.” Tino lifted the lapel of his suit and held it to his nose, grimacing. “ Do I have any more blood on me? I don’t want Ma asking questions.”

Rocco stepped closer and looked him over, sniffing the air.

“ Nah , you’re good. You do stink a little like dead meat, though.

” He used the same cloth he’d wiped down the knife with to grab the bookie’s ear off the floor.

“ For your collection?” A long strand of gooey blood dangled from the ear as Rocco held it at arm’s length.

“ Wrap it up and hang on to it for me.” He rechecked his suit for spatters, running his hands along the smooth silk jacket. “ I can’t go to dinner carrying a bloody ear in my pocket.”

“ That’s one sick habit you got.” Rocco folded the cloth around the bookie’s ear and stuffed it into his pocket.

“ What can I say? I like mementos. John Gotti’s hit man collected jewelry and watches from all the guys he whacked.”

“ A bloody ear ain’t exactly a gold watch.

” Rocco found another cloth to wipe his hands on.

“ And remind me again why we didn’t just whack this guy.

I mean, rules are rules, right? If you skim money, you get taken out.

Franco has a zero-tolerance policy where bookies are concerned.

It ain’t even this guy’s first indiscretion. ”

“ Franco’s orders.” He couldn’t contain the disgust in his voice. “ No more bodies before the big meeting. Besides , the more body parts I hacked off, the more of this dickhead’s blood would have ended up on my suit.”

“ Since when do you care about orders?” Rocco dragged the metal chair across the floor to the center of the warehouse, allowing the blood on the armrest to drip through the metal grating. “ You didn’t wait for Franco’s blessing before clipping that fed.”

Out of habit, Tino scanned the warehouse again. “ The fed had to go. Franco didn’t have the balls to order the hit.” He headed for the switch on the wall to shut off the fans. “ Franco’s gone soft.”

“ You don’t get to be head of a Family by being soft.” Rocco plodded to where Tino stood. “ Maybe he’s just smart. Maybe there was a better way to deal with the fed than drilling him fulla lead and dumping the body in that cornfield.”

He glared at the other man. “ How many times do I gotta explain myself?” The top of the older man’s head didn’t even come to his chin. “ I wanted to send a message to the FBI .”

“ Yeah , you sent a message all right.” Rocco nodded. “ It’s been six months and that agent— Gates —is still all over us.”

“ No kidding.” Tino spat on the floor. “ The guy’s a fucking pit bull.”

“ You should be careful around Franco .” Rocco planted a beefy hand on Tino’s shoulder. “ He still blames you for bringing heat down on the Family . With all the feds tailing us after the hit, revenue tanked, and it’s still not where it used to be.”

“ Don’t push it.” Tino’s fingers twitched as he seriously considered slamming his fist into Rocco’s jaw. “ I don’t need you to remind me of all the shit my old man blames me for.” Like the fed. Like his own wife, Maria . And especially the thieves who’d been ripping them off.

“ Look , all I’m sayin’ is you gotta be more careful what you say about your old man and who you say it to. People , and I’m not saying who, are starting to think you don’t respect him.”

“ Maybe I don’t.” He gestured for Rocco to follow. “ The old man’s time is over. We’re trailing the other families because Franco’s still living in the past. The ‘old ways,’ he calls it. We need to move into the twenty-first century before we fall behind.”

He picked up his pace, being careful not to step in the trail of blood the bookie had left behind. He didn’t give a damn that Rocco practically had to run to keep up. If Tino didn’t get his ass in gear, he’d be late for dinner. One more thing for Franco to bust his balls over.

“ Bookies , numbers games, shylocking, extortion, heroin,” Tino continued.

“ Pennies compared to what we could be making. New drugs like vaping products are where it’s at.

We should be getting more into cyber-crimes and sending our people to computer school, not onto the streets.

That way of life for us is gone. Dead and buried.

Franco doesn’t understand new drugs or the online potential for making money and deals. ”

To his credit, Rocco played it smart and kept his trap shut. Rocco was only a soldier in this Family , while he, Tino Falzone , was the Boss’s son and a capo.

He turned as Rocco lumbered up behind him. “ As soon as the Commission meets and Franco gets a seat, it might be time for a change.”

“ I didn’t hear nothin’.” Rocco threw his hands in the air.

“ Good .” Tino switched off the lights and shoved open the rusty, squeaky door. “ Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed his Christian Dior shades from his pocket and shoved them on. “ How do I look?”

Rocco scratched his double chin. “ Like a movie star.”

“ Maria says I look like George Clooney .” Too bad his wife was such a pain in the ass lately.

“ Yeah , yeah, yeah.” Rocco brushed past him, heading for the black Escalade parked behind the warehouse. “ Whatever .”

“ Hey !” Tino started after Rocco . “ What’s your problem?”

“ I don’t have a problem. I’m heading down to Atlantic City tonight with some of the guys.” He paused before hauling himself into the driver’s seat of the SUV . “ We were supposed to go a couple nights ago.”

“ You’ve got a night of gambling, drinking, and whores ahead of you. So why are you acting like you’re on the rag?” Tino got in and pulled the door shut.

“ Cuz maybe I am.” Rocco shot him a pissed-off look before starting the engine.

“ Buy a tampon and get over it.” He eyed Rocco from beneath his dark shades as they pulled out of the warehouse lot and headed back to Staten Island .

Rocco had been a real prick lately, and it wasn’t like him.

When the guy wasn’t busting someone’s kneecaps or breaking all their teeth, he was freaking jolly. Kids loved him.

Scenery flew by as Tino stared out the window in silence. Something was biting at Rocco’s hairy ass, but he had more important things to worry about. Like staying in Franco’s good graces.

Nailing the sonsofbitches who were ripping them off was the best way to keep Franco off his back. For now.

After his old man got that Commission seat and, with it, the official title of “ Don Franco ,” Tino would make his move.

He couldn’t stop the smile twisting his lips.

Don Tino sounded fine. Damn fine.