Ten-year-old Carlo took it all in from his hiding spot behind the sofa. He had never seen his uncle so angry before and was delighted to hear such bad words spewing like venom from his mouth.
“Fanocelli thinks he’s going to inform on me?” Enzo demanded incredulously. “Son of a bitch. When is the fucking indictment coming down?”
Angelo sighed. “From what I heard, about four days.”
“I’ll fucking rip his heart out. I’m not going to prison.”
“I know you’re not,” Angelo replied. “And that’s because we just found out his location.”
“Whose location?”
“Fanocelli.”
Enzo’s eyes widened. “The cocksucker’s not in protective custody yet?”
Angelo grinned. “Nope. He’s all by himself in a house on the south side.”
A wondrous smile erupted on the don’s face. “You are a fucking genius, Ange. We’re obviously paying off the right government pricks. Give me the address.”
“Now wait, Enz, we gotta plan this out, send a team in there—”
“Bullshit! We wait, he goes into custody before we have a shot. I’m going there now.”
“No, it’s too dangerous.” Angelo gestured to the empty glass in his older brother’s hand. “Hell, you’re two sheets to the wind by now, anyway. I got some guys on their way here and we’re gonna—”
“Do you know who you’re talking to? You give me that goddamn address this instant.” Enzo’s voice took on a menacing growl, and Carlo felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Maybe he should return to his bed, where he was supposed to be at the moment. This situation was becoming serious.
“This ain’t right, Enz. If something happens to you, what are Logan and Grant going to do?”
“I’ll take care of things and be back home before they know the difference,” Enzo said.
Carlo grinned. He knew something Logan didn’t! He finally had a leg up on his cousin, the boy his father constantly fawned over—it was so unfair. Carlo was finally part of the club. He was playing with the big boys now.
“Quit dicking around, bro,” Enzo ranted. “If Fanocelli gets away and I go inside, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.” His voice dropped as he stepped closer to Angelo. “Tell me the address, and I’m driving over there right now.”
Hearing those words, Carlo slunk off to find a new hiding place: the back of his uncle’s car. He wasn’t going to miss the real adventure.
Tucked away on the floor of the backseat, the diminutive ten year old prayed he wouldn’t be detected by his uncle. Luckily, Enzo didn’t even bother to check the darkened interior before getting into the driver’s seat and slamming the door.
His excitement building with each passing mile, Carlo shook with anticipation when the car finally stopped. He held his breath as his uncle rustled around in the front seat for a few moments before quietly leaving the vehicle. Peeking out the side window, Carlo watched him stealthily move toward a darkened house. His uncle wore black gloves, and he’d stuffed a handgun into his waistband.
Carlo gasped when he saw the gun gleaming in the streetlight. What was Uncle Enzo doing with a gun? Was he like a police officer or something? Was he going to arrest a bad man? This he had to see.
Crawling out of the car, Carlo watched from the bushes as Enzo glanced around, then leaned down and fiddled with the knob on the back door of the house. The ten year old was even more intrigued when somehow his uncle got the door open and disappeared inside.
Should he follow? Carlo stopped and started several times before telling himself to quit being such a pussy. He crept toward the same door that had swallowed his uncle. He winced as the hinges gave a small creak, and then suddenly he was inside the strange, dark house. Trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness, Carlo carefully stepped forward. His heart thumped and he wondered if this was such a good idea, but it was too late to turn back.
Just as Carlo made it to the base of the stairs, he froze. His uncle was descending, coming straight for him. Enzo inhaled sharply when he caught sight of the boy. He surreptitiously pocketed his gun. Swiftly making his way down the last few steps, Enzo seized Carlo by the scruff of the neck and growled in a seething whisper, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Wincing and squirming in his uncle’s painful hold, Carlo whispered, “I was following you! T-t-t-to see why you had a gun.”
“Jesus.” Enzo narrowed his eyes. “I was looking for somebody, but he wasn’t where I thought he’d be. Let’s get out of here.”
There was a noise to their left, and Enzo clutched his nephew’s neck even tighter. He held his index finger to his mouth to signal Carlo to be silent. Carlo whimpered in pain—his uncle was really hurting him now.
“Shut up!” Enzo hissed, and suddenly a shot blasted through the darkness, causing Carlo to slump into his uncle’s arms. His arm was on fire.
“Shit!” Enzo yelled, dragging Carlo to the floor of the hallway. Carlo felt his uncle claw at his pajama shirt, seeming desperate to find the source of the blood.
From the darkness came a small voice. “Dad?”
In his haze, Carlo tried to make sense of what was happening. There was another kid there?
Then a gruff adult voice admonished, “Get down, Tony!”
“Richie Fanocelli,” Enzo angrily whispered, halting his search. “He fucking shot my nephew?”
Carlo moaned, which refocused his uncle’s attention, and rough hands frisked his body. When his uncle’s hands grazed the bullet wound on his right arm, Carlo gasped. Enzo’s eyes lit up with fury.
Shaking with rage, Enzo whipped out his weapon and fired into the darkness. He gave a satisfied grin when he heard the other man holler, “Nooo!” But Carlo watched Enzo’s grin vanish when the man started wailing. “Tony, nooo! My Tony. You’re only seven—oh, God!”
Carlo sat up a little, panting with fear in his uncle’s arms. Enzo frantically looked back and forth from his injured nephew to the place in the darkness where a grown man was whimpering. Carlo felt drawn to the darkness, wondering what had happened.
Enzo rose and attempted to pull Carlo to a standing position. Carlo cried out in pain, and Enzo flinched and backed away. In that moment, Carlo rushed forward into the room. “Carlo!” his uncle shouted after him.
Gingerly holding his right elbow, Carlo stopped short. There, lying on the floor next to a discarded handgun, was a young boy. Carlo felt his uncle come up behind him, but he couldn’t look away.
A sticky, dark-red substance poured from a hole in the boy’s throat as he clutched at his neck, wheezing and gasping for air. A heavyset gray-haired man crouched over him, cradling his small head in his hands and sobbing. Both man and boy wore pajamas.
The man turned his weeping eyes to Carlo and his uncle, standing in the dim light.
Carlo felt frozen, entranced by the blood oozing from the boy’s throat. He heard himself say, “It’s like Buckingham Fountain.”
Enzo turned to him. “What?”