Chapter 4ANGELO

Chapter 4

ANGELO

Turning my head, I see he's right and holster my gun before jogging after Ronnie. I snag the back of his collar and frog march him back to Mars and the old man.

Double fuck. The dog needs a vet, but his owner will no doubt deny giving him to the old guy when the vet calls to tell him Mars is in the clinic.

Ronnie's begging again. I shake him. "Shut the fuck up, unless you want to lose your tongue right along with your hand."

I need to think.

He shuts up.

The old man's lips twist in a sneer. "Not a lot of fight in that one, is there?"

"Nah."

"Known a lot of suits like him. Too many," he grumbles. "You need help with him?"

"Do I look like I need help?"

The old man deflates, mumbling, "No, 'course not."

I don't feel guilt. It's not a thing.

But there's a weird feeling in my chest right now and I don't like it.

"He touched my woman. It's personal." I don't explain myself either, but I guess tonight I do.

"She one of the dancers inside?"

"She is."

"That's a tough way to make your living. Those ladies work their asses off, and no one should be touching them without their permission." Calling Ronnie a nasty name in Italian, the old guy spits at his feet.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Friends call me Boomer."

No. That's one coincidence too many, but this guy cannot be that Boomer. The son of an old friend of my nonno's, that Boomer wasn't made. He was career Army.

Lots of dogs named Mars though. Lots of men who go by Boomer, especially former military.

I dismiss the similarities and ask, "You got any urges to go to the cops with what you've seen tonight?"

My gut says no , but I always verify.

"Naw. Even if I didn't think that stronzo deserves what's coming to him, I'm smart enough to know better than to go against the Cosa Nostra Hangman."

"I haven't heard that name in a long time." Hangman worked for Don Matteo, the first De Luca don. Just like my nonno. "Hangman is dead."

"I guess he would be. He was a lot older than me. Thought hangman was the job though."

"You knew Hangman?" How does Boomer know I have the same job for Severu as Hangman did for Don Matteo?

Do I look like an assassin? It's probably something in the eyes. Like a lack of a soul.

"I did." Boomer coughs and pounds his own chest to get his breath back. "Back in the day, he ran with my cousin. "

"Your cousin was la famiglia ?"

Fuck, these coincidences are getting too big to ignore.

"Our dads were loyal Genovese soldiers."

"Then what the fuck are you doing sleeping behind a titty bar?" If he's who I think he is, he should have plenty of money.

His dad wasn't just a loyal soldier, he was a smart one. At least that's what my nonno always said.

"My dad was Cosa Nostra. I'm not. I didn't want to be a soldier in the Cosa Nostra, so I enlisted to serve my country. To be a soldier with honor." His mouth twists like that belief is a sour memory.

"Your dad disapproved of your decision?" Disowning a child for not taking the oath had been the least violent response by men of that generation.

And it would explain Boomer's current circumstances. Every one of Don Matteo's crew were old school, just like my nonno. If nonno had been around when the time came, he would have beaten me bloody if I'd refused to take the oath.

Never a chance of that though, even if it got delayed by Don Enzo's order that I go into the Army to learn discipline. I mustered out in time to pledge my allegiance to him and serve as his personal enforcer for two years before his death.

"Told my dad I didn't want his dirty money. Thought a life like his was the worst one I could live." Boomer looks around the alleyway and shrugs. "Guess I was wrong."

Like my nonno, Boomer's dad is gone. Unlike nonno, Boomer's father died peacefully in his sleep in his retirement bungalow in Florida the year before last.

"You talk to your ma?" I'm guessing not, if he's living rough like this.

"She don't need a son like me. She's got three that did their duty by the family."

"One of them is in the graveyard with your pop." Got shanked in prison doing a stint for aggravated assault.

Boomer nods. "But he died in the line of duty. Like I should have ." He mutters the last under his breath.

"Wasn't his duty to get caught." Was fucking sloppy is what it was.

Some of the old guard are too arrogant to be smart, like that asshole Lorenzo Ricci. Worst capo under Severu. He's going down soon though.

"There are a lot of prisons that don't have cement walls." Boomer looks off into the distance, seeing a place that isn't the alley behind Pitiful Princess. "A lot of ways to die that don't include getting shanked by another prisoner."

I can't argue that. "Do you want to die?"

"No one has asked me that in a long time."

Not sure why the fuck I'm asking it now, but I don't ask it again. I just wait for his answer.

He looks at me and then he shakes his head. "No, I don't want to die. I've been off the booze for almost a year, but I am still working to get back on my feet. Lost my job though when I had to leave the shelter to take care of Mars."

The dog woofs his approval, his bark a deep bass tone.

"What kind of work did they have you doing?" It wouldn't be what the Army trained him for, that's for damn sure.

"Took their computer training so I could stand behind the counter and take orders at McDonalds. With most customers using the kiosk menus, not sure how long that job was going to last anyway."

"What did you do in the Army?"

"What they trained me for."

The Army trains for all sorts, but delivered in that tone, he was trained like I was. To kill. "You get into special forces?"

"What is this, a job interview?" Ronnie asks with too much attitude for a man on the way to losing a hand.

I glare down at him. "Shut the fuck up."

"Just let me go."

"He's a whiny bitch, ain't he?"

"Calling Ronnie a bitch is an insult to Mars' dam."

"True." Boomer turns to look at Mars. "Sorry, buddy. No offense meant."

"You're a bum and you think you're better than me?" Ronnie snarks with bravado he's shouldn't be feeling. "You're nothing but shit on my shoe."

I clock Ronnie and he drops like a bag of rocks.

"You going to tell management me and Mars are back here?" Boomer asks.

"Your offer to help with that pile of shit still good?" I ask instead of answering.

Boomer straightens. "Yes."

"Bring Mars. We'll get him checked out." Without the dog being returned to his former piece-of-shit owner.

Headlights shine in the alley, flipping on and off in a pattern I train my guys to use. Derian's here.

Making a proceed motion with my hand, I don't have to tell Boomer to grab his stuff. He's not leaving it in the alley to get taken by someone else.

He disappears into the shadows by the dumpster as the nondescript black SUV, plates registered to a shell corporation, pulls to a stop.

Mars barks at the headlights. I give a firm command to sit and approach him with a confident posture, my hand out. He sits, showing that puppy, or not, he's had some training. It also shows that his animal instincts identify me as the alpha here.

As they should.

No one in this alley is as deadly.

Mars sniffs my hand as I talk softly to him. "That's a good boy."

Derian pops out of the driver's side and his cousin, Mario, exits from the front passenger seat.

Like me, my next in command, Derian Parisi, is from one of the old Sicilian families on his dad's side. However, his mother is a smart lady from Haiti, who keeps all the Parisi men in line, Mario included.

A couple of inches shorter than my six-foot-two, Derian is a good four inches taller than his cousin. Both men have the muscles, strength and agility that comes from the training regime all of my crew are required to follow.

Mars breaks training to move in front of me, growling.

Interesting.

You know how they say dogs pick their people? This dog just picked me, and I'm okay with that. Every family should have a pet and soon I'll have a family living with me on Long Island.

Mars will have to get some extra training though, to make sure he's socialized for children and a woman who spends a great deal of her time in a wheelchair. Cane Corsicas are extremely territorial and can be aggressive. Traits I admire and identify with.

Nonno believed they made the best family guard dogs though, once they were properly trained.

That's something Boomer can do, because it looks like we're sharing custody of a dog. He'll have to come work for me. Taking care of my dog has to be better than standing behind the cash register at a fast food joint.

I drop to my haunches and lay my hand on Mars' neck. "It's okay, boy. They're friends."

Jerking my head, I indicate to my men they should come forward. Derian comes first, giving Mars a wary glance. I grab his wrist and direct it toward Mars, letting the dog sniff while repeating the word friend in both English and Sicilian. Amicu .

I do the same for Mario.

Mars stops growling, but he maintains an attitude of vigilance. Just like I do.

"Bind him and toss him in the cargo hold." I indicate the unconscious Ronnie.

Neither of my men ask what's going on but immediately get to work, slapping duct tape over Ronnie's mouth when he wakes up and starts squawking. They must have pulled on his broken wrist when zip-tying him.

Oops. My bad.

But that's what I'm good at. Being bad.

The pain he's feeling right now is only a taste of what tonight holds for him.

Boomer comes out from behind the dumpster carrying a neatly rolled sleeping bag with tattered edges and wearing a backpack that has seen better days.

"Get in the back with Mars." I throw the keys to my bike to Mario and tell him where I'm parked. "Take it back to my place."

Mario nods and trots back down the alley, toward the street.

Derian tosses me the key fob for the SUV and I get in behind the wheel. My men know I don't ride in cars. I drive them. When I'm not on my bike.

Severu says I have control issues.

But the man working to take over as Godfather of the Cosa Nostra doesn't have any room to talk. At least I don't want to control the whole damned famiglia in North America.