49. Simon

Hospitals are always impossible to navigate. I get lost twice before I find the right ward and a nurse leads me into a private room in the far corner of the top floor. Even though the place is nice by hospital standards, it still smells like antiseptic, and the mechanical beeping of the machines and the groan of some distant air exchange echoes through me.

Mom's sitting at the bed. She looks haggard. I give her a tight hug when she rises to greet me. There's a second cot behind her, which is clearly where she's been sleeping. Dad's awake and he looks sunken, exhausted, his eyes yellowed, his skin sallow.

"How are the repairs?" Dad asks, shuffling slightly as he sits up. That's already an improvement—just a few days ago, he could barely move on his own. Mom fusses over him, makes sure his pillows are comfortable, and forces me to take over her seat.

"I should go get something for us to eat," she says, lingering at the door. She gives me a long, worried look, before she disappears into the hall.

"Expensive," I tell him. "But we'll manage. Helps that the union's under our thumb."

"I heard you had to pay for those bulldozers." Dad grins at me. "That was an insane idea."

"Desperate times."

He nods to himself, hands folded in his lap. He looks like he aged another ten years. "Simon, I'm glad it's you."

It takes a second for that to penetrate. When I understand what he's trying to say, I lean back in my chair to study him, but I don't think there's any ulterior motive here. Dad looks utterly sincere, as if he hadn't just spent the last few months fighting for control of the Famiglia and nearly killing my wife in the process.

"I'm not ready to forgive and forget," I tell him, speaking very softly, because I'm afraid I'll yell otherwise. "The way you behaved was unacceptable. You can make all the excuses you want, but I'm supposed to be family, and you never stopped to wonder if maybe I was right all along."

Dad takes a slow, deep breath and nods. "I ran the Famiglia for over thirty years, Simon. I've been the Don for half my life and I don't know how to be anything else. It felt like you were trying to take my identity from me, but I understand that's not what was happening now. I can make other excuses about pain pills and paranoia, but I won't. I'll just say that I'm sorry, and I'm happy that it's you sitting at my old desk."

I have every right to hate him. Dad tried to take Emily away from me. He nearly destroyed our family with his hatred and his refusal to fight against Santoro. But he's still my father, and for all that, I can't bring myself to destroy what little relationship I have left with him. And so I take his hand and squeeze it between my own, and he nods at me, his eyes sparkling with tears.

We talk about other things. He asks about my siblings and I promise they'll visit soon. He seems particularly eager to see Davide so he can hand out more apologies. We talk about future plans for the Famiglia, and I can tell he's struggling to keep his opinions to himself, and I decide to let him down easy on that one.

"You can be an advisor," I say and hold up a hand when he brightens. "But that's no promise I'll ever listen to you."

He laughs and waves a hand at me. "You'll listen when you realize I'm always right."

I'm already regretting that decision.

Mom returns with coffee and bagels. We kill some time visiting, and it feels like I leave Dad in higher spirits. Out in the hallway, a man's standing near the window wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt with a bad mustache and thinning hair. He nods at me when I stare at him.

"Simon Bianco. My name's Detective Kyler." I tense, ready to tell him to fuck off, but he gestures with his head. "Chief wants to talk to you."

That's a surprise. The chief of police doesn't normally make hospital visits. I nod and follow him to an empty room halfway down the hall where I find Chief Morgan wearing civilian clothes with a black baseball cap pulled down low over his face.

"Don Bianco," he says, shaking my hand, and I'm surprised to hear him use my title. But I shouldn't be. This is my role now, only I'm still getting used to it.

"Here to visit my father?" From what I understand, they used to have a good relationship. Mostly because my father's always been loose with the bribes.

"Not today, no," he says, shaking his head. "I'm here to speak to you. There's a shitstorm brewing in the DA's office, and I wanted to tip you off about it."

I grunt and pace away toward the windows. I feel the chief's eyes on my back. "I'm aware of the DA's plans," I admit. We have a mole in the office, but I don't need to tell him that. "It's nothing we can't handle, assuming the police department is still willing to cooperate."

Chief Morgan grunts, a noise low in the back of his throat. "After that fucking stunt you boys pulled, I'm not sure how involved I can be with you people. I mean, my god, it was like a fucking war zone."

He's not wrong about that. A few of my soldiers served in Iraq, and at least one told me that he never saw as much action over there as he did during the oasis battle.

"Then I think it's time we reconsider our longstanding agreement." I turn to face him, hands behind my back.

"Don Bianco, maybe you don't understand what's happening here. I came in person out of respect for you and your family, but I gotta be fucking done. We can't keep doing this, not with all the pressure I'm getting."

I nod slowly, since I completely expected this. "You have aspirations, don't you, Chief Morgan?"

He grunts and shakes his head. "Don't matter what I want."

"How many police chiefs have gone on to become mayors and governors? Off the top of my head, I can't think of very many."

Chief Morgan eyes me. "Your dad told you about that, huh?"

"I've been groomed to take over this position for a long time, Chief. I know all about your hopes and dreams, and I'm ready to make you an offer. I'll personally fund your political campaign, from the shadows, of course, if you agree to keep the heat off my family."

He laughs, low and grating. "You drove fucking bulldozers through a city street while a bunch of guys shot fucking AK-47s. I can't do shit about any of that."

"There's more to come, Chief. So long as Luciano Santoro's still breathing, there will be more blood, and I need you on my side. What do you say, Governor Morgan? Whatever you need, from a political action committee to pollsters, my family will provide it. So long as you stick with us through what's to come."

I can tell Morgan's tempted. He's always been an ambitious man, and there's nowhere else for him to climb in the police department. The next step is politics and the big game, and he'll need serious muscle and support for that, the sort of support my family can provide.

It'll be expensive, but without his support, we're fucked.

"Let me think about it," he says, but that's as good as a yes.

"Take all the time you need." I shake his hand again. "Just picture yourself sitting behind that big desk in city hall. We can make it happen."

Morgan grunts and walks out. I watch him leave with Detective Kyler, and I'm guessing they're discussing what comes next. They might not want to get their hands dirty with my family's money, but Morgan knows he doesn't have any other choice. Nobody else is going to fund a damn cop's election bid.

But I'll do it, so long as it means I get to cut Santoro's throat.

I leave the hospital. Davide's waiting for me at his place. I join him in the back yard and we crack open a couple of cold beers to fight against the heat. I tell him about my meeting with Morgan and my offer, and he seems a little surprised I was willing to make an open-ended offer like that, but there's no other alternative. Without the cops, we're fucked. The heat will get too heavy, and we'll topple.

"I'm ready for this though," I tell him, staring across the yard at the back fence. I take a long drink and stretch my neck. "We haven't had a real war-time Don in forever, but I'm ready."

"We're all ready, brother." Davide nods at me, his face deadly serious. "No holding back. No cooling things off."

I raise my can in a toast. "To cutting off Luciano Santoro's head."

"To shoving Uncle Santoro's skull onto a fucking pike."

We drink deep to that.