Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(3)

“And are we not? Does Clan Constantin mean nothing?” the old man asked, phlegmy voice going stronger as he clenched his hand defiantly.

“Christoph, you know what Clan Constantin is, and you know it’s that way because you made it. People respect us because of you. They like Christoph Junior, but he’s new, unproven. It would be foolish to test the bonds of loyalty, especially against such a formidable opponent.”

I would pit my clan against anyone’s, knew that our men were strong and loyal. But the Petrans were strong, stronger than us in many ways, particularly in their influence on other clans. Admitting so was only an acknowledgment of reality and not a concession of weakness. Which made it a very good thing that our clans had always been cordial if not close and had worked cooperatively for decades, Christoph and the senior Petran having had ties in the old country.

He watched me, and if I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought I saw a spark of pride in his eyes. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. In either case, he nodded. “I agree. Junior is untested, and when I’m not around, people might feel free to question his leadership. Which is why I asked you here today,” he said.

“Whatever you need,” I replied automatically.

“I’m putting Christoph Junior in charge. He has to learn, and what better time than when I’m still here to help guide him?”

“Smart, I guess,” I said, speaking slowly as I considered the possibilities. Junior was a wild card, and I’d always banked on him having more time to grow into his role, thought he might settle some before he took up leadership. But that wasn’t to be the case, it seemed, and I couldn’t say for sure whether I thought he was up to the challenge.

Christoph raised his grizzled brows. “Guess?”

I weighed my words carefully and then decided on candor. Christoph usually appreciated that.

“Even if he’s making decisions, everyone will know that you’re behind them. And even if you aren’t, they will think you are. They won’t respect him. Not when you still breathe.”

Christoph’s face turned into a grim frown before he barked out what passed for a laugh, bitter though it was. “I barely breathe,” he said, but then he nodded. “But you are correct. They won’t respect him, which is why you’re going to help them,” he said.

It was my turn to be surprised. “Me?”

“You. And don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. They take their cues from you, and if you listen to Christoph Junior, follow his leadership, they will too.”

“You know I won’t do anything else, but I still can’t see how I’d be of much help,” I said.

“You’ll set an example,” he said. “And make one out of those who don’t follow it.”

So I was to be shield and spear, wielded by Christoph Junior, a man that I had known for all of my living memory, but one that I was not sure I respected. I had cultivated a reputation, and a well-earned one, for my willingness to address slights against the clan. I didn’t mind though, because disloyalty in whatever form was the ultimate sin, at least in my book, and if my reputation made people less likely to be disloyal, I’d gladly take advantage. Even if it was for Christoph Junior’s benefit and not Clan Constantin’s.

“I understand,” I said.

“Do you, Anton?” the old man asked.

“I do,” I repeated.

“I hope so. Because the fate of Clan Constantin rests on you helping with this transition, probably more than you’d think. And after…you’ll be there for him?”

“I will,” I said without hesitation because there was none. No matter how I felt or didn’t feel about Christoph Junior, his success as leader would ensure the continued success and prosperity of Clan Constantin. And I would do anything for that.

“Good—”

Another cough, deep and rasping, cut off his breath. And it was followed by another, and then another, until he wheezed, searching for air that was not coming.

I rushed to him, grabbed one of his frail shoulders, wanting to help, but unsure of what to do.

I watched him, but then turned when I heard the door open and saw a woman rush in.

She held a white plastic tube in her hand and, without pause, stepped between Christoph and me, sticking the tube into his mouth at the same time as she pushed my hand away, then put hers where it had been.

I jumped back quickly, but not before I felt her warm, strong fingers brush against mine, the touch barely a whisper, but one that jolted me and then lingered, the spot that she had touched tingling from the contact.