The Killer

Chapter 1





"So how are we doing this Gi? you want to do a meet first or what?"

I looked at Damien in silence; I understood that my father's men were a little skeptical where I'm concerned. Their idea of me is of the little mama's boy who'd been sent off to the navy, right out of high school.

They probably believed I knew nothing about my family's operation. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Pop wanted to please mom yes, but each of us boys knew who we were. We were taught at a young age what the Callieri name meant in certain circles.

Two days ago, someone had tried to wipe out that name because of greed. It took me this long to get here because of my duties to the Seals, but money and a stellar record cut through bureaucracy like a leaf in the wind, and I was free in less than twenty four hours.

Free to do exactly what I knew had to be done, five minutes after I got the news.

I could still hear my mama's tears; they haunted me. I should've been here to protect them, but never again. Pop had seen it, so had Vince and Sonny; I'd made sure they'd seen what was in me that first night back.

There had been no question, no argument. Vincent didn't have the head for leadership, he knew it and so did everyone else. That's why the enemy had made their play.

Santino had no interest, other than looking out for the family's legalities. The torch was passed, there was no ring involved, I've been wearing my family crest on my hand since the year I turned thirteen.





Chapter 2





I thought of my grandpa, big, gruff, with a heart of gold; he was the first one to put a gun in my hand at the age of nine. It was our way; the elder took that duty.

Pop had looked on as I'd sent the bullet into the side of beef that hung from the beam in the warehouse. I remember the sights and sounds, the flies buzzing around.

I remember how that small ball had torn into flesh, and done irreparable damage. The story went that both my older brothers had lost their meals when they'd done this the first time. Not so me.

I'd learned over time, how to control that little muscle that ruled everything else. The navy had tried diagnosing me with some sort of condition. They said I was missing the fear factor, that I had no emotion.

They were wrong, but I didn't bother telling them that. I felt, too much even; but I'd taught myself how to control the heart. What they saw as indifference was sheer calculation, cold, determined. I call it my ‘I don't give half a fuck’ factor.





"No." I finally answered Damien.

I checked my glock, I hadn't told them what I was doing today; they didn't need to know. Someone had sold out the family, pop had told me the some of the names of those who had ordered the hit, but they hadn't had time to sniff out the animal who had turned traitor.

This traitor too, like the progenitor of betraying fuckers, will also lose his guts in a field, only this one wouldn't be given the opportunity to hang himself, no, I'm going to gut the bastard myself. It's what he deserved after all.

First stop, Arturo Villanova, grandpa's oldest and dearest friend; the two men had come up through the ranks together. From two completely different backgrounds, they'd gravitated to each other and formed a bond that had lasted sixty plus years. From the streets of Flatbush Brooklyn, to the Upper Westside, they'd divided their territories as they'd made a wide swath through the old regime.

They knew each other's secrets and the ins and outs of each other's outfits.





His housekeeper answered the door of his Staten Island mansion; the house was dressed for mourning, black sheets over the mirrors. Old man Villanova sat in the garden room, attached to the back of his home, a lap robe across his legs to keep out the cold. I made sure the woman had gone about her business, not that it would make a difference, I just didn't want to have to kill her too.

"Gianni my son, I'm sorry about this latest nastiness, he was a good man my old friend." He looked like he was about to leave this world to join that friend.

I took in the grey head of hair, the wrinkled brow. I could smell the peppermint he was known for; my mind ran through all the times he'd rubbed my head, for luck he said. The many gatherings where he was always front, and center, grandpa's best pal. His chess partner, his confidant; the two men had been like brothers.

I looked him in the face as I pulled the trigger and took his fucking lying ass head off.

Damien and Antonio were dumbfounded for about five seconds.

"Gi what...?"

"Cleaner." That's the only thing I said, it's all that needed saying, before I turned and left the house. No one knew my movements, where I was going, or what I intended to do, because I didn't know who was the traitor yet, but I will soon.





Chapter 3





By the time the boys came out of the house, I was already seated in the back seat.