January 14, 1945

Return with Manny’s head.

These were Angelo’s parting words, though I didn’t bother to respond.

The Saputo estate is nestled in northern Seattle, nearly taking over an entire block by itself. Leonardo Saputo owns the largest paintmanufacturing company in the country, with locations in nearly every city across-the-board. He uses the business to wash the tens of thousands of dollars the family makes transporting guns.

I hope Leo has picked out a suitable heir.

The entire car ride to the house was silent save for Paulie’s doublechecking that we had enough bullets to win the goddamn war.

I park far enough away from the front gate to stay undetected. There, two guards are stationed. The second they see us at the gates, Paulie and I are firing off one shot each, our bullets sluicing through their brains before either of them can reach for their pack sets.

Only a heavy chain and a padlock keep the gate secured, just as it was all those years ago. Paulie hands me bolt cutters, and I make quick work of clipping the chain and sliding it free, tossing the tool aside when I’m finished.

The outside of the estate is quiet. Trees rustle in the chilly winter air above a light dusting of snow on the ground.

I forge ahead and Paulie keeps to my left, as he always does—an unspoken arrangement between us. Since the moment he found out about the blindness in my left eye, he started stationing himself on that side of me, understanding the vulnerability with my lack of peripheral vision.

As we approach, one man walks out onto a balcony on the second floor. Paulie takes aim and fires off a shot instantly. The body slumps over the railing before plummeting onto the pavement below.

If they didn’t hear us before, they surely have now.

Shouts arise from within the house, and I waste no time grabbing my tommy gun strapped to my back before I barge in, my finger pulling the trigger before the door fully makes it open.

Paulie opens fire only a moment later, the two of us quickly taking down three men standing in the foyer. Straight ahead is a hallway and a stairway on the left wall. Entryways to other rooms are on either side of the foyer right before the staircase, so we split up, taking cover behind our respective walls.

Chaos ensues. Return fire zips in our direction. Wooden chunks fly in my face from bullets nicking the edges of the doorframes.

While they shoot, I glance around, finding myself in a grand living room. Another entryway is opposite me, so I wait patiently, keeping my eye on it.

It takes only a few more seconds for Lorenzo Saputo, Leonardo’s firstborn son, to appear in the opening. Our guns are both raised, but I pull my trigger faster.

Bullet holes riddle his face before his finger can twitch, and then he’s tumbling to the floor.

I turn back toward the entryway facing the foyer, and the moment the Saputo bullets cease, Paulie and I are stepping out, unloading our magazines and taking out two more men.

In the middle of the massive foyer is a fountain constructed of baby angels, water spouting from their mouths to create a serene ambience.

I don’t like it.

I turn toward two of the bodies strewn on the tile floor, grab them by the collars, and drag them toward the fountain. Then I throw their bodies into it, and their blood slowly pollutes the water until crimson is spitting from the angels’ mouths.

Much better.

Paulie cocks his head, staring thoughtfully at my creation. “Nice,” he mutters, a grin ticking up one corner of his mouth.

Then he turns and zips down the hallway while I climb the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Leonardo’s office is on the third floor, and I have a feeling it’s where he and Manny currently are.

The second floor is comprised of another expansive living area with a few other large rooms branching off from it. I check each area, ensuring no one is hiding. After deeming the floor empty, I head toward the far back wall in the main area, where the second staircase is. The third floor is an open concept, the middle completely exposed and allowing a view of the second level. Closed doors are littered across all four walls, though several of them open just as I reach the final step, loud shouts ringing from their pack sets and alerting them of my arrival.

I’m firing before I can process who spills out from the rooms.

While spraying bullets with one hand, I fumble for the nearest doorknob to my left and rush into the room, scarcely missing a bullet that whizzes past my ear.

I’m greeted by a startled scream and a man shouting something indiscernible beneath the gunfire.

Lucia kneels on the bed between her new husband’s spread legs, entirely nude. Her wet mouth hangs open as she stares at me in utter horror. She still grasps his hard cock, and the man whom it belongs to is just as astounded. These upper rooms are soundproof, and they were unaware of the carnage going on inside the house until this very moment.

I don’t give them any more time to react. I laugh, aim my weapon, and unload several bullets into the two of them. Their screams quickly die out as blood sprays from multiple points of their body.

“He’s in Lucia’s room!” a man shouts.

I turn and take aim toward the open doorway, instantly realizing I’ve depleted my bullets. Footsteps are pounding toward me while I quickly switch out the magazine.

I take aim just as a man appears, the two of us firing at the same time. My shoulder jerks; intense pressure erupts, followed by burning pain.

Luckily, my aim was true, and the man drops to the floor.

Ignoring the searing agony, I wait for the rest of the men to appear. Their shadows stain the doorway right as the telltale sign of a needle catching onto vinyl sounds from the depths of the house, followed by a familiar tune.

Cesare Andrea Bixio’s composition “Mamma son tanto felice” plays, and Beniamino Gigli’s voice belts out the lyrics, which causes enough of a distraction for me to step out and unload several bullets into the last two men. They drop like flies. All the while, I wear a wide grin.

Paulie mentioned once before that he likes to play music when he completes contracts, so I’m confident he’s the culprit for the melody playing from below.

And I can admit, it adds a nice flair when watching blood paint the walls.

I head straight into Leonardo’s office. He stands in front of his desk, holding his own tommy gun, while Manny Baldelli stands beside him. They glare at me with beady eyes, though sweat slicks their thinning hair and the weapon trembles in Leo’s hold.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Ronnie,” Leo calls, attempting to choke down his fear. “Come on, you’re already hurt, and I don’t want to see you dead, but I will if I must. You’re a good man, but you’re blind to your friend. You know as well as I do, Manny is the rightful godfather. The Salvatores stole his birthright from beneath him, and any man with honor would never respect that.”

“You speak of honor, yet you refuse to acknowledge that the Baldellis’ great-grandfather had no ties to the Mob. He was a cafone and an empty suit, desperate to belong to something that was never his to claim.”

“That’s not true!” Manny roars, his face reddening and spittle flying from his mouth.

Maybe. Maybe not.

But it doesn’t change the Baldelli roots.

They’ve always been simple men playing dress-up in mobster clothing.

“You move exactly like he did,” I respond stoically. “Undermining authority and laying claim to something that was never rightfully yours. Seems it runs in your bloodline.”

Absolute rage overtakes Manny, and he’s reaching for the tommy gun in Leo’s hand, intent on shooting me himself. I don’t let him get that far, though. During their struggle, I lay my finger down on the trigger, the vibrations from my gun filling my body and sparking euphoria.

In a matter of seconds, metal fills Don Manny and Don Leo’s bodies, their eyes wide in disbelief as they fall to the floor.

Approaching the two men cautiously, I mumble a few of the lyrics alongside Beniamino Gigli.

Leo’s eyes are wide open, devoid of life and destined to rot inside a body that decayed his soul years ago.

Manny is still alive, though, his breath whistling from his punctured lungs as he glares up at me. How poetic that he spent five months recovering only to find himself in front of my barrel once again.

He coughs up blood, his red face violently trembling as he attempts to reach for the fallen weapon beside him.

I kick it aside, and his dilated eyes sear into me. “Fuck . . . you,” he spits, hardly managing to get the words out.

I crouch over him, ensuring my pleased smile is the last thing he sees before his entire body deflates, giving out on him and releasing his soul to the pits of fire below.

This time, I leave no room for error. I stand and unload my gun into the two men again, my bullets decorating their faces until they’re nothing more than meat and bone.

There will be no surviving me a second time.

When I’m satisfied, Paulie’s voice rings out from behind me. “Didn’t Angelo tell us to bring Manny’s head? There’s nothing left of it now.”

Staring down at the corpses, I hum, adrenaline coursing steadily through my veins and numbing the pain in my shoulder. Even still, my finger is still itching to unload a few more magazines.

I turn and meet his stare. As usual, he wears a blank expression, but there’s a gleeful glint in his eyes.

I chuckle quietly. “No, there isn’t. And maybe it’s just me, but it still doesn’t feel like enough, does it?”

The slightest smirk plays on Paulie’s lips. “Not nearly enough.”

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