47. Simon

It's the longest five minutes of my life.

Davide's men are spread out along the east side of the street, while Dad's soldiers are on the west, but they've been communicating and trying to coordinate since the attack happened. It's an uneasy truce, but a common enemy makes everyone shut the fuck up and start working together, so there's that.

I pick off as many of the Santoro attackers as I can. My rifle bucks against my shoulder over and over, smashing bone, snapping skulls, ripping through flesh and body armor. The men in the center of the oasis are only the tip of the spear; the main body of the assault team is slogging through the houses at the north half of the block, getting closer and closer to my father's home.

Of course they know which one is his. Santoro lived in the oasis for years before he betrayed us. The man helped devise and plan our fucking defenses. If there's any person in the whole world who could pull off a crazy attack like this, it's Luciano Santoro.

I make a solemn promise to myself up on the roof of an empty guest house: when this is over, I'm going to destroy that man, no matter what.

My pocket buzzes as I'm climbing back down after getting spotted again. It's a text from Vito: thirty seconds. Meaning they're right around the goddamn corner. I send out the word and tell everyone to get ready.

The thing about being in the mafia is, we have a whole lot of access to big, expensive toys. Our family has fingers in every industry, especially construction. There's not a union, a company, a small mom-and-pop shop that doesn't have something to do with the Bianco Famiglia, from dues-paying members to blackmail victims.

Which is how Vito was able to procure three enormous bulldozers with no notice.

They rumble around the corner, and for one glorious moment, all shooting stops.

I scramble back up to the roof. Nobody's looking in my direction anymore. All eyes are staring at the bulldozers as they lower their enormous pushing blades. They scrape the parked cars on either side of them, shoving the sedans, trucks, and SUV sideways as the dozers rumble forward on their tracks, grinding down the street. They're moving in slow motion but the attackers are too stunned to do much more than stare.

Until I give the signal and start shooting first.

Then the Bianco Famiglia unleashes hell on those armored trucks.

The men hiding behind their shields and the doors scatter, most of them ducking for cover back into the truck bodies. The sound is glorious and terrifying as every single Bianco soldier fires at once, the whole massive body of the Famiglia orchestrated at once, all thanks to fucking Davide for putting this together in barely a few minutes. And meanwhile, the dozers grind forward, getting closer and closer, and my heart races as they come within a few yards, then a few feet, and then?—

Contact. The first dozer hits the back of the first truck, followed by the second dozer. Everyone freezes as the sound of grinding gears and crashing metal overwhelms the gunfire. There are screams from inside the trucks, but they don't move, not yet, until the dozer drivers switch into another gear and the tracks begin to grind against the pavement, and the third dozer pushes the backs of the other two, and the whole group of armored cars begins to skid down the block.

It's glorious. It's horrifying. The attackers scatter, spilling like angry hornets from a kicked nest. I pick them off, dumping rifle fire into their exposed numbers. Davide's soldiers do the same, slaughtering terrified men as the bulldozers shove the armored trucks out of position, knocking them back and back, toward the end of the block cut off by fake construction.

I think it's going to work. The bulldozers are making good progress and Davide's soldiers are keeping up a steady rhythm of firing. Until one of the bulldozers suddenly stops and a red smear covers the windshield.

The driver slumps over, dead, and the whole mess skids to an ugly halt.

Trucks fly into the entrance to the oasis. Four of them, five of them, ten of them. They slam on the brakes as Vito and his men spill out. The ambush team tries to take them on but there are way too many, and I watch as Vito leads a group to chase the attackers down. Meanwhile, the trucks are still stalled.

I throw myself down the roof again. I hit the ground hard and twist an ankle, cursing my dumb luck, as I angle myself toward the stalled dozer. There's more shooting now as the attackers begin to rally themselves, but I reach the construction truck's cab without getting murdered. I grab the dead driver and yank his body out, letting him slump down to the concrete, and I'm about to take his place when a hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me down.

"Do you know how to drive that fucking thing?" Matty yells at me over the shooting.

I stare at the young guard. He's bloody and drenched in sweat, but his face is hard. "I was going to figure it out."

"Fucking Bianco," he growls and shoves me back. "Think you know everything. I'll do it."

"Matty, hold on." But it's too late, he's already putting the dozer back into gear. When the whole beast roars forward, I sprint away to get clear of the mess as the dozers begin their push again.

This time they're covered by Vito and the other Capos as more fresh men roll down the block, turning the battle in our direction. I find Davide kneeling on a porch clutching a bloody arm. "I'm fine," he barks at me. "Just fucking grazed."

I bite back an angry retort as sirens finally blare in the distance.

We exchange a look before we're both up and running across the street, weaving behind the bulldozers to avoid getting shot. On the other side, Vito flags me down. "We're clearing them out!" he shouts, still in his customary jewelry and white tank top, but now with a cigar pinched between his teeth. He fires his gun into the air. "We got the motherfuckers!"

I leave him to it and follow Davide. The main family house is about six buildings down from the midpoint of the block and one of the most opulent in the area. The once-gorgeous front lawn is a crater of smashed bushes and the facade is a mess of bullet holes and blood stains. There are corpses all over the ground, most of them in armor, like a fucking war movie. But Bianco soldiers greet us as we head around back, and the bulldozers keep up their lumbering push, shoving the attackers toward the far end and out toward the street.

Diego, one of Father's personal bodyguards, tries to get in our way when I unlock the back door with the family security code, but he backs down at a growl from Davide. The inside is surprisingly quiet and comfortable, almost like the battle outside isn't happening. I shove past more anxious guards and find my family holed up in Dad's library.

"Simon, I was so worried," Mom says, giving me a big hug. Elena comes over and joins in while Davide and Stefania share a tear-streaked reunion. Laura reluctantly gives me a nod and a quick hug, which is about the most affection I've gotten from her in a very long time.

"It's almost over," I say and update them on what's happening. The cops are coming, the trucks are getting pushed out, and Santoro's men are in retreat.

I turn to where Dad is sitting behind his desk.

He's got a bottle of good Japanese whiskey out and a tumbler filled to the brim, no ice. It's a strange, cloudy color. I step forward and a hush drops over the room.

"So you're doing it now then," Dad says, staring at me with hollow eyes. It's the look of a man who knows he's finished, but isn't ready. I hate that look and wish I could do something to make him understand that this wasn't my choice and if there was any other way, I'd gladly take it.

"Dad—"

"We're at our lowest," he says, finding a little fire in himself still. He leans forward, showing teeth. "The worst attack in our family's history, and you're doing it now. It was always coming to this, wasn't it, son? You were always going to pull off a coup and shove me aside, weren't you?"

I slam my fist down on his desk, seething with rage.

"You're so fucking blind," I say through my clenched jaw. Everyone's staring down. Davide closes the door and stands in front of it, and now it's only the family present. "All this time, you keep thinking I'm going to overthrow you, like I want to fucking kill you or something. You haven't stopped to think that maybe I have your best interests at heart. Because, Dad, you're a goddamn mess. If you hadn't been shot, if you were still the Don you used to be, I never would want to step into that role. But you're a wreck, and worse, it's killing you. This isn't a fucking coup, Dad. It's an intervention. It was always going to be a fucking intervention."

That was my plan. Get together everyone he loves and trusts, and make him understand how far he's fallen. An intervention. Simple, but hopefully effective. Too late for that now.

My father, the greatest Don of his generation, a warm and loving man, the one human I've always looked up to, leans back in his chair and looks around the room.

It's like he finally sees. Everyone's looking back, and their faces are all tired and sad, but not angry. Nobody's angry here, because even if my father's been in a free fall since he got shot, he's still our father. He's still the man who raised me with respect and dignity, the warm and loving man who kept our family together through every trial and every fight. The patriarch, the king. We love him, and his mouth presses into a horrified line as it sinks in.

"He's right, honey," Mom says, going over to put a hand on his arm. She kneels down at his side. "He's right. We need you back, but we can't have you back if you're the Don. You have to let it go."

"I'm still the Don," Dad says but there's less venom in his voice, less fight. He stares at his family, his face going slack and empty, the color draining away. His hand trembles as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long drink. He chugs it down, draining the alcohol to the dregs.

"It's time, Dad." Elena's voice next. "We love you. It's time."

Laura steps up beside her. "They're right." That's all she says. That's all she needs to say.

Davide comes to my side. "We love you, Dad. It's time to retire. If Angelo were here, he'd say the same thing. It's time."

Outside, the sirens are getting louder, and we're going to need real leadership if we're going to survive the shitstorm that's about to be unleashed on this damn city.

Dad closes his eyes and puts his glass back down on his desk. Nobody moves, and for a second, I think he's about to finally give in.

But he gives an ugly gag, pukes blood onto the floor, and slumps off his chair as Mom screams.