Blood Oaths, Shattered Loyalties

By not joining Vincent, they proved they were serious about their vows.

"Damn it," Michael curses next to me.

His muscles tense. This is our cousin dead on the floor. Our brother. Tony is on my other side, holding a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. His gaze slides back to Miguel, lying on the floor.

They were close. In our line of business, you have to prepare yourself for death now and then. But it’s been a long time since we’ve lost anyone.

“I’ll kill him,” I spit. Words are a promise.

“Vincent!” my father roars.

I catch a slight twinge of fear on Vincent’s face. It’s like he can’t believe what he’s just done. He knows better than anyone that he’s just started a war. The time for negotiations is over. There’s no turning back after this.

I've always been good at reading people, facial expressions, and body language. I studied psychology in college. I wanted to understand what motivates people, why they do what they do.

This understanding is the only reason I can see Vincent's expression change to one of resignation and acceptance.

My eyes widen as I see him whisper something to one of the men guarding him. Then his eyes meet my father’s. Time slows down. Everything that happens next happens in slow motion. All it takes is one shot.

My father knows what’s about to happen the moment it happens. All he can do is raise his gun and fire. But it’s no use. The bullet hits him in the forehead, and Ricardo De Luca falls. There’s no doubt that he’s dead.

The first thing that comes to mind is that he knew. Vincent knew my father was wearing a bulletproof vest, so he shot him in the one place he couldn’t survive.

He killed him without blinking. A man he'd known for decades. A man who gave him a chance when no one else would, and he shot him without a second thought.

My hand starts to shake, but I won't fall. I refuse to be broken by this. The last thing I remember is a scream of pain before everything goes black and all I can think about is murder. The sound of gunshots cut through the air.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony walking away from us, making his way behind enemy lines. I watch as he slashes one man's neck with his knife, then shoots another in the gut.

The rest of the people who are still alive cover me as I try my best to get to Vincent. But it's no use. Someone is driving. Panic overtakes me at the thought of losing the man who killed my father. I fire as many bullets as I can, but none of them hit. Vincent manages to escape.

I fire my last two bullets at the rest of his men, and then my rage subsides. This has never happened to me before. It's complete exhaustion that gives way to complete devastation. My chest threatens to collapse as I spin.

My father lies motionless on the ground. Michael is kneeling next to his body, his eyes wide with unshed tears. I barely notice the blood seeping from the bullet wound in his arm. Of the four other men who came with us, only one is still alive, and his face is written all over with fear.

Very slowly, I lower myself to the ground and kneel next to my father. I reach for his hand, hoping to feel something, but nothing. He doesn’t move. I can’t feel shit. Not from him and not from me. My chest is hollow, empty. Someone puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Get up,” Tony says.

I ignore him.

“Go to hell, Roman!” he hisses. “We grieve after revenge.”

It opens the floodgates of emotion, and I’m glad the rage is the first to return. We grieve after revenge. My father said so. It was a comfort, a promise, an encouragement. I know, without a doubt, he wouldn’t want me lying on the ground crying for him.

There are so many things I need to take care of. But like Tony said, revenge comes first. So I stand up. Michael follows suit, and they both fall into place beside me.

“You’re the Don now, Roman,” Michael says, his voice hoarse. “You call the shots.”

I’ve been grooming myself to be the next Don since I was a kid. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. My father wasn’t going to hand over this job until I was thirty.

He should still be alive. Vincent took it from me. And there’s a death toll for that. The DeLucas are notorious for keeping their dealings secret, but I swear this town will bleed until my father is avenged.

“Vincent will be dead by the end of the week,” I say.

Next to me, they both nod.

We’ll do our best.

***

Elena POV

“I’m going to get a drink,” I shout over the loud music blaring in the club.

Everyone nods in acknowledgement, waving at me. I navigate the crowd, trying my best to avoid the plants lying on the floor and swatting away the hands of overeager drunks.

Finally, I find myself in front of the bar. It’s much quieter than the rest of the club, away from the DJ booth.

The bartender smiles at me.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey on the rocks, please.”

He fixes me a drink, and I wait, spinning around and looking at the club. I notice the rest of my friends, or rather, coworkers. We’re not close enough to be friends, but it’s the most meaningful relationship I’ve had since moving to Boston.

I went to college with one or two of them. Now and then, when we're all stressed out at work, we come here on Fridays. At least I have a device I can use to do that. At least they won't give a shit if I don't show up for work on Monday.