71

GIO
Finally, I came face to face with the individual who had dared to badmouth Millie. Even though he stood at an imposing six feet three inches, he had to tilt his head slightly as I halted right in front of him, a stark reminder of my commanding presence. To many, I must have appeared as though the very Devil had ascended from the depths of hell.
In a voice that dripped with menace, I spoke, “I have a preference for knowing the names of the men I’m about to eliminate. So, what shall I call you?”
His attempt to project an air of nonchalance faltered as he replied, “Jovan.” Beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip, and his hand hovered near the firearm strapped to his waist.
“Jovan,” I echoed, my tone lethal, as I closed the already narrow gap between us. My gaze bore into his, conveying the impending fate that awaited him.
He retreated by a single step, a minuscule movement, yet one that did not escape notice.
A grin spread across my face, a sinister reflection of the satisfaction that surged within me. “Tell me, what derogatory term did you use for my wife?”
His eyes darted around nervously. “She was the price for our truce. A whore,” he managed to utter before hastily adding, “I’m not the only one who believes so.”
“Is that the truth?” I inquired, my furious glare sweeping across the assembled men-most of them soldiers under Amadeo’s command. Though none of them verbally corroborated Jovan’s claim, I could well imagine the venomous tales Amadeo had woven among them. “Perhaps your comrades will come to your aid, Jovan. I sincerely hope they do, as I’m quite eager to extend my ‘hospitality’ to them as well.”
Jovan flinched, his fingers curling around the grip of his gun. In an instant, my hand shot forward, fingers closing around his throat. I forced him down to the ground and drove my knee into his chest, pinning him there. As his airway constricted under my unyielding grip, panic ignited in his eyes. His struggle for breath became increasingly spasmodic as he arched and writhed, yet I showed no mercy. With a simple gesture, I beckoned Sebastian, my trusted accomplice. “Pass me the knife.”
I possessed my own weapon, concealed within either my calf or back holster, but extracting it while grappling with the struggling individual beneath me would have required a considerable effort. In that intense moment, Sebastian extended his hand towards me, offering his favorite skinning knife with a blade made of short, sharp carbon steel a tool designed to slice through flesh with ease, akin to cutting through butter. Jovan’s eyes widened, a mixture of terror and oxygen deprivation filling them.
As Jovan neared the brink of losing consciousness, I released my grip on his throat, allowing his mouth to open wide as he gasped for precious air. Taking advantage of the moment, I inserted my hand between his upper and lower jaws to keep his mouth forced open, then brought down the knife upon his tongue. Despite his hoarse shrieks and the resistance of his clenched teeth, the blade carved through the flesh of his tongue. A jolt of pain shot through my fingers due to his jaw’s unyielding grip, but I remained resolute. The knife fell from my hand, and with a swift, vicious tug, I tore his partially severed tongue from his mouth. His eyes rolled back as blood surged forth, filling his oral cavity. He collapsed onto his side, convulsing a fate sealed by either blood loss or the impending danger of choking on his own life fluid.
Clutching the slimy, detached tongue in my hand, I pivoted in a slow circle, ensuring that all my comrades were within my sight. With a deliberate motion, I discarded the useless piece of tissue onto the ground. Turning back to the front, my hand and forearm drenched in crimson, I mounted a platform, facing the assembled crowd. I made no attempt to cleanse myself I allowed them to witness the testament of blood on my skin. Yet, the majority of gazes fixated on my countenance, a sickened reverence distorting their features.
“My wife is a woman of honor, a woman who belongs to me,” I declared with firmness, projecting my voice across the assembly. “And I shall not hesitate to eliminate anyone who dares to show her disrespect.” With these words, I hoped to lay to rest the contentious matter once and for all.
A smirk danced across Sebastian’s lips as he held the bloodied knife I had dropped earlier. I gave him an acknowledging nod, and he seized the opportunity to speak. “Now that we’ve addressed Jovan’s unruly tongue, the time has come for you to pledge your allegiance to your Capo. Those among you who still harbor doubts about Gio’s worthiness as Capo can step forward and abstain from taking the oath. The choice is yours.” A feral grin exposed his teeth as he wiped the blade on his trouser leg.
Not a soul stepped forward. As Sebastian placed his hand over his heart and intoned the words of our sacred oath “Born in blood, sworn in blood” the crowd fell into alignment, a harmonious chorus of voices. I inhaled deeply, my gaze unwaveringly fixed upon my compatriots. I had silenced my dissenters, instilling in them a fear that suppressed their voices, though I knew such silence would not endure. Yet for the present moment, I stood as the Capo, a Capo stronger than my father ever was, for I had engendered the belief in my soldiers that they had elected me. When my time to step down eventually arrived, I accepted the towel Sebastian proffered to cleanse my bloodstained hand, and I received the well-wishes of my comrades, exchanging handshakes with them.
My men sought my proximity, particularly those who had never before met me in person. They had only heard tales, and now they had the opportunity to converse with me. I provided them with what they sought conversations, listening ears, and encouraging pats on the shoulder.
Later, Davide, the Underboss in Philadelphia, his weight supported by a cane, approached me. His son, Renato, stood tall beside him. I greeted Davide with a firm handshake and then extended the same to Renato. “Your wife brings a radiance and brilliance to New York. In my nearly seventy years of life, I have never encountered beauty quite like hers. Truce or not, you are truly fortunate to have her as your companion.”
An involuntary tenseness gripped me.
“Father,” Renato interjected, casting me an apologetic look.
Davide offered a genial smile and nodded. “Protective, as you should be. I am an old man, do not mind my words.”
Indeed, I knew Millie was beautiful. Had she existed in a bygone era, she would have been a queen, bestowed upon a king for her exquisite allure. Even in contemporary times, she was destined for the spotlight, meant to be adored by the masses. She could have been the fantasy of countless teenage boys, the object of desire for married men whose minds strayed from their partners if she were not my wife. My possessiveness knew no bounds, and that was why she belonged to me alone, every aspect of her.
“I understand that today may not be the most opportune moment, but I must broach the subject of my succession with you,” Davide revealed.
Renato’s expression tightened. “You will not depart from this world today, Father.”
“Perhaps not today,” Davide responded calmly, “but perhaps tomorrow.”
My gaze bore into Renato’s. “You shall succeed your father.”
Renato inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Should you grant your approval. I am still young.”
A sardonic grin crept onto my lips. “Not as young as I once was. The Famiglia requires the infusion of youthful vigor.” I turned to Davide. “No offense intended.”
“None taken. Certain factions within the Famiglia are impeding progress. Nevertheless, I hold faith that you will eradicate the root of the problem.”
Davide’s eyes shifted to the heart of the hall, where Jovan had met his demise. Not a soul had come to Jovan’s aid during his final moments. “I believe you will,” he affirmed.