Uncle Frank’s cheeks turn red, his hand clamping my shoulder.
“Sure, yes, of course.” He smiles, but it comes off bitter. He turns away, his hand that looks like he’s never gotten his hands dirty - because he hasn’t, he sends others to take care of his dirt - lingering on my shoulder a second longer than I like. “I wouldn’t take too long, though. One might get the wrong idea of where your trust sits.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I recoil. Sounds like he’s threatening me, which is a mistake. I may not be president, but I sure as hell won’t take anything less than respect. I am more than okay with putting a bullet in my uncle for disrespecting me.
He grins, biting down on his cigar with white teeth.
“It means the longer you take with your decision, the more shit could go wrong. People could… go missing?” The way he says it, it sounds like a question instead of a statement.
He is threatening me.
My chest tightens, and I point at him with force.
“Don’t fucking threaten me.” My voice is laced with venom that could kill. “I’m not one of your sleazy casino workers.”
A sly smile crosses his face before he speaks again. “You’re dismissed.” Uncle Frank turns and Cross stands with a gun in his hand, walking me out of the office.
***
“This is fucked-up, Felix. He taught me everything I know.”
“I hate to say it, but Uncle Frank makes sense,” Felix whispers, rolling a joint. Nobody is here, it’s just us in the main bar of the club in the early hours of the morning, but still, seeing how we have disloyal members, who knows what someone could do with the information we’re discussing.
“I know he makes sense, but my father was a Deluca. He kills rats.” I pound my fist on the table, making Felix have to start over on rolling his joint. “At least I thought he did,” I mutter.
“How else do you explain everything going down so quickly?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly. There is no other way. He tried to get your mother to take the blame, she didn’t, so now he’s making deals.”
Sitting back in the seat, I tap my foot anxiously.
“You want some?” Felix puffs on the blunt, gesturing it towards me.
Taking the rolled-up weed, I take a strong hit off it, hoping the earthy aroma will uncoil my fit of rage.
“You know Uncle Frank threatened me, told me if I didn’t make up my mind quickly, things and people would go missing.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.” I give a wry laugh. “I should fucking put a bullet in his head.” My finger twitches, aching to get behind a trigger.
“Man, you better be careful saying that shit. Someone could hear you.” Felix knows how dangerous my uncle is.
Rubbing my knuckles on my jeans, wiping off the blood from earlier, I scoff. I have respect for my uncle, but I’m not scared of him.
“Man, I don’t know. I hate to say it, but it all makes sense to me. If it were me, I’d do it,” Felix continues.
“You don’t think Uncle Frank is just trying to take the club over, do you?” I can’t help but think it.
Felix scratches his forehead, his eyes squinted in thought.
“I don’t know. I mean, I know they got into a bad-ass fight about the subject several months back. Do you remember that?”
“I remember Uncle Frank wanted to use the MC as muscle. I think Frank got into some shit with the bosses, or was trying some start-up project… shit, I can’t remember.”
“Yeah, I only heard pieces of it, too. Your dad was good at keeping that shit locked down. I think Frank was trying to pull away from the bosses, create his own circle to overtake them or some shit.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, I’m not sure.”
“But you gotta know, when you have family, there’s always drama. Doesn’t mean Frank is trying to take the club. I mean, if he was, why not just shoot you and take it?”
My head throbs, my knuckles aching from flexing them so much.
“I think he’s just as concerned as us all, that one of these nights we’ll be the ones pulled from our bed by the pigs and taken into custody. He’s family, so why would he try to fuck you over?” he continues.
I stand up, needing to move. Adrenaline and anger are rushing through my limbs, and me sitting here not releasing either has me about to combust.
“This club is a joke. Deluca, HA!” A drunk man stumbles into the club. A common hang-around, one who followed my father around like a lost puppy.
Marching toward him with angry steps, I fist his shirt and pull him within an inch of my face.
“What’d you say?” I seethe through gritted teeth.
“You heard me. This club is going to go down the shitter without your pops, son,” he slurs, spitting on my face.
I snap, plowing my fist into his face until the force of my hit knocks him from my grip.
He falls to the ground and I straddle him. Clutching his ripped shirt, I plow my fist into his face over and over again. The skin on my knuckles splits and cracks with pain, but I don’t stop.