Chapter 4

4

Creed

Three days later…

I ’ll never know if Carmine was still alive or not when the cop checked his pulse. Either way, those motherfuckers let him bleed out on the bar floor and didn’t lift a finger to try to save him.

I saw the damage from the bullets and sent two of my guys to the morgue, but I still can’t believe he’s really gone.

It was my job to protect my baby brother, and I failed him.

When Carmine was born, I was only six years old. One of the first things my father told me was to always watch his back and keep him safe, and I took that shit to heart.

If he got into trouble when we were kids, starting fights at school, or wrecking one of our father’s cars in his teens, I would take the fall, along with our father’s beating, to protect Carmine.

He was my best friend. The one person who made enduring the burden of this family bearable .

I never should’ve left him at the bar to go talk to that goddamn woman. She’s to blame for his death almost as much as I am because she fucking knew something was about to happen and instead of just coming over and warning us, she decided to play a fucking game with me.

If Jasper wasn’t dead too, I would’ve thought he knew what was about to go down in my club. It was a setup. The warning was a ploy to lure me to the club. Someone baited me into showing up exactly when and where they wanted with the vague-ass threat hanging over my head so I’d come armed.

I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for it. My father would disown me for fucking up so bad.

And I can’t help but think that the reason Carmine’s dead is because the cretino cops thought he was me. I don’t buy that they were threatened by the gun in his hand. Those assholes shot him as soon as they came through the door and kept shooting him.

And now, I’m going to find every fucker responsible for his death and make them pay, starting with the cop who killed Carmine, then the one who wanted to put a bullet in my head.

“ Cazzo !” I slam my fist into the concrete wall of the holding cell we’ve been crammed into for three goddamn days while waiting for our arraignment. Now my knuckles are going to be nice and bloody.

“Baxter said he thought he could have us out on bail by this afternoon,” Dre whispers from the bench behind me.

“I don’t give a shit about bail! Carmine is dead! Jasper is dead! Someone set us the fuck up! I’m going to find them all and snap every bone in their goddamn bodies!”

As soon as we get out of this hellhole, I need to make plans to bury my brother. That’s not something I ever thought I’d have to do.

I’m the goddamn boss of bosses. If anyone should be dead, it’s me. I’m the one who calls all the shots, who runs the underworld. If someone wants my crown, they should’ve fucking killed me to get it, not Carmine.

People already think I’m the angel of death, and I’m about to unleash hell all across New York City.

Once Carmine’s been laid to rest, I’ll meet with the police Commissioner to find out why the fuck he didn’t warn me about the raid, and get the names of every cop at the bar and who put them up to it.

Then…then I’m going to find the fucking woman responsible for setting all of this into motion.

I won’t let this insult, this tragedy, go unpunished. Even if it means burning everything my family built to the ground.

“I’m sorry about your brother, Mr. Ferraro.” Baxter McMillan, the best criminal defense attorney in the state, sits down at the table next to me in the courtroom.

“Those fuckers came in guns blazing and murdered him!” I tell Baxter, hating that I’m required to sit around and wait for the judge when I should be by my brother’s side, saying a final goodbye.

“That’s what several witnesses said as well,” Baxter remarks quietly. He eyes my orange jumpsuit with a wince. “But I’ve already seen the body cam footage. It’s surprising how the officers’ cameras were all recording for once, and for the DA to be so willing to turn it over to me as soon as I filed my Notice of Appearance as your attorney. I’m sorry to say it, but Carmine pulled out his gun clear as day, giving the officers the green light to fire at him.”

“It was instinct. When the gunshots went off, how could we know it was the cops? They shot first,” I explain, remembering that I would’ve pulled out my own damn Glock if not for the woman I was busy trying to cover.

How ironic is it that my first instinct was to protect her when she’s the one who’s responsible for my brother’s death?

“It’s all messy,” Baxter agrees. “But the DA already has everything she needs to go to the Grand Jury and indict you and your three men for felonies. They have video of you all wearing or holding your guns in plain sight. Guns that are now in evidence with your fingerprints all over them and no serial numbers. You’re looking at serving time no matter which way this goes. A plea deal is damn unlikely with this new DA.”

“Fuck,” I mutter as I have to lift both of my cuffed wrists to shove my fingers through my hair. I don’t really give a shit about a felony, but if me and the other three heads of the family are put away for a year, our entire empire will crumble. Not to mention the consequences for Dre who is required to keep a spotless record. “Dre can’t lose his law license.”

“I know this isn’t the best time for this discussion, but there’s no point in dancing around the truth,” Baxter says. “You four are fucked. Not to mention that you need to watch your back once you’re out on bail. Whoever set you up may have wanted to kill you in the chaos, but they had to settle with getting you charged with shit you can’t possibly squirm out of.”

“Have the others had arraignments? Made bail yet?”

“Tristan, Andre, and Lorenzo have all just been released on a hundred-thousand-dollar bail. I’m expecting the same for you.”

Good. I have to get out of these goddamn handcuffs and get to work. “How much time are we talking about?” I ask him.

“The charges are resisting arrest, which we can probably get dropped. But not the second-degree criminal possession of a firearm. That’s a Class C felony with a minimum mandatory three-and-a-half years and a max of fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years? This is bullshit. Those cops should be in prison for killing Carmine!” What kind of pussy can’t face me like a man and pull the trigger himself but sends a woman to set me up? I can’t wait to fucking find out.

As if reading my mind, Baxter clears his throat. “Mr. Ferraro, as your attorney, I must advise you that while you’re out on bail, if you’re brought up on any new charges, you may not get released again until you finish serving time on the gun charges.”

“I know.” While I wait to say fuck it and blow everyone’s heads off, I can’t risk jumping to any conclusions.

I owe it to Carmine to do this the right way, to play it smart and take down every single individual responsible for his death in a way that won’t ever be traced back to me. My brother wouldn’t want me or anyone else in our family to serve a life prison sentence for getting vengeance for him.

“Accidental” deaths happen all the time thanks to car wrecks, fires, plane crashes, and falls from balconies. If done carefully, making murders look like suicides is fairly easy as well.

But apparently, we’re going to have to work fast before the four leaders of the family are all thrown in prison for at least three-and-a-half fucking years.

Once I’m finally released on bail wearing a white tee and blood-stained suit pants I was wearing when they arrested me, I meet up with the guys on the front steps of the precinct for my first breath of city air.

The sun seems too bright. My skin feels fucking filthy underneath the filthy clothes, and…it feels wrong that Carmine isn’t here with the four of us.

The three men stare at me in their own wrinkled clothing, looking like I feel after three days inside, waiting for me to breakdown or lash out. Hell, they probably want to do the same .

“I know what you’re thinking, Creed. Shit feels…wrong without Carmine,” Dre says as he pulls me into an embrace. “I don’t know what the fuck else to say. I’m sorry. Fuck, I hate this shit.”

“I do too,” I agree. “And I’m sorry you might lose your law license.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’ll be nice to be free for once to do whatever the hell I want with nothing holding me back.”

“Right,” I mutter, clearly seeing the blatant lie through his tough words. Dre worked hard as hell and went to college and law school for seven years to get his law degree. It’s impossible to forget what a pain in the ass he was all those months he was studying for the bar exam.

Slapping his back, I release him, then clasp Lorenzo and Tristan on the shoulder. “We’re going to find out who set us up and make them suffer a thousand times over for what they did to Carmine and Jasper.”

“Just let us know what you need, boss.” Tristan nods, his eyes glassy.

“It has to be one of the other families, right?” Lorenzo asks.

“That’s my assumption. But we can’t even think about drawing any blood without concrete evidence.” I want to play this smart so we don’t end up in prison for the rest of our lives or start a mafia war. The rules are simple, no bloodshed between the families without proof of betrayal. “You three get the word out to every single one of our men that they better keep their heads nice and cool until further notice. No retaliation against anyone, even the cops, without my permission.”

“Where are you going to start with this mess?” Lorenzo asks.

“First, I’ve got to…” Clearing the emotion from my throat, I’m finally able to speak the words. “The first thing I have to do is plan Carmine’s funeral. Then I have an idea about a few leads.” If I can get my hands on Carmine’s phone, I can send the image of that wo man to one of my private investigators. Failing that, there should be some club footage to go through while Roscoe works on the list of names involved in the raid.

“What do you need us to do?” Dre asks.

“After the funeral, the four of us are going to split up and watch the families. Alone.”

“Watch them? Follow them around? All of them? Alone? Do you really think that’s smart? What if they see one of us stalking them without backup?” Dre asks.

“We’ll just have to be careful and not get caught because I want to know where everyone is going, who they see, and what they’re up to. Worst case, we get some blackmail material. Best case, we find our rat.”

“Worst case, they finish the job and kill you while you’re on their turf!” Tristan exclaims.

“Exactly. Why can’t you just hire a few PIs to do that shit for you and report back?” Dre grumbles.

“Because after last night, I’m finding it very fucking hard to trust anyone right now,” I snap and let that sink into his skull for a moment.

I can’t afford to trust anyone. Not even Dre, Tristan, or Lorenzo. Not completely. Not when my brother is dead, and I don’t know who the hell is responsible. I doubt it was one of them, but then again, it would be one hell of a way to throw me off their scent if it was with them getting charged with gun possession too.

I know Tristan isn’t smart or savvy enough to pull off such a betrayal.

But Dre…he’s not only smart and savvy, he’s also ruthless. And now that Carmine is gone, he’s my underboss. My second in command. My heir if I were to be assassinated.

For the first time in my life, I find myself questioning everything, including my closest friendships with men I thought would die for me. Men who took oaths of not only silence but loyalty until their deaths.

After all, Dre left the main floor of the club right before shit went down, like maybe he was trying to stay out of the gunfire.

Goddammit. I need some sleep and a shower to get my head straight.

I hate even thinking such a fucked-up thing about my cousin, one of my closest friends. But I can’t afford to let my guard down around anyone, not when I’ll never get to see my brother again. I’ll never be able to hear his taunts or teasing voice. He could always find a way to make me lighten up and laugh, no matter what serious shit we were dealing with.

At our father’s funeral, after everyone had talked about what a good man the asshole was, Carmine went up last in front of a packed church. Hundreds of people had showed up to pay their respect to the ruthless bastard. He began normal enough with — “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” — which was then followed by him reciting the entire first verse of “Gangster’s Paradise,” all with a straight fucking face.

I had to walk out of the church, where I laughed until tears soaked my cheeks — the only tears I ever shed for our old man.

A decade later, it’s still impossible to think about Carmine’s audacity in that moment without smiling.

My brother was a good man, better than me or my father. That much I know for a fact.

So, I don’t care how long it takes. I will find every person who was responsible and make them pay.

Pressing my thumb and fingers to the bridge of my nose to dry the corners of my eyes, I mutter, “Fuck. I need to get to the funeral home and start making arrangements. Will one of you get in touch with an employee at The Vault and have them give you the footage of Thursday night? If Jasper wasn’t dead, I would’ve been suspicious of him. ”

I don’t tell any of them about the mystery woman just yet. First, I want to talk to her, then see if she’ll squeal and tell me who hired her to set me up.

“It definitely wasn’t Jasper. He was shaking like a leaf when I found him and brought him down to meet with us,” Dre remarks.

Leaning against the railing, I stare at him for several moments, then say shit I probably should’ve swallowed. “Funny you should mention that you were upstairs when the shooting started.”

“I was on the fucking ground floor when that shit happened! Jasper dropped right in front of my goddamn face. I was wearing Jasper’s fucking blood!”

“And I was wearing Carmine’s!” I remind him.

“Both of you just chill for a minute.” Tristan steps in between us. “Nobody should’ve died like that, especially not Carmine or Jasper. And now we’re also stuck with bullshit charges following us around that might land our asses in prison if we start stirring shit up too much. We all smell like stale garbage and need some decent sleep in an actual bed. It’s a lot to deal with in a few days. It could’ve been anyone who set us up, but it wasn’t any of us, Creed.” He shakes his head. “I fucking hate that my goddamn face was in a pair of tits when Carmine got popped. I should’ve been there, should’ve had his back.” He turns to Dre. “We’re going to do what the boss thinks is best without bitching. I’m sure none of us will be stupid enough to get caught, especially him, when we should all assume that eyes are on us every second of the day.”

Dre gives a nod, and I try to tell my paranoia to settle the hell down. It’s the last thing I need right now.

“A ride is on the way to pick us up,” Lorenzo says as he slips his phone back into his suit pocket. “From here on out, boss, you should probably keep a few men close to watch your back.”

“I don’t want any bodyguards lurking around me.”

“What do you mean you don’t want any bodyguards after what went down?” he asks with a furrowed brow .

“I’m going to the funeral home alone. We’ll all work alone when we’re watching the families too. It’ll draw less attention.”

“Then you’ll still need a driver.”

“I’ll go on foot or take a car out myself.”

“No fucking way,” Dre huffs. “When was the last time you were even behind a steering wheel?”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know how to fucking drive myself around my own goddamn city?”

“It’s not as easy as it looks, boss,” Tristan remarks. “And your cars aren’t exactly…discreet.”

“There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding here,” I tell them. “This isn’t a group decision. It’s mine alone. Is that clear?”

“Fine. Just…be careful,” As if sensing my distrust in him, Dre adds, “We will get revenge for Carmine.”

“I know we will,” I grit out. “We start after the funeral. And I want to know everything you three find out. No matter how small.”