I run my hand through my hair and take another look out of the window. Nothing yet. My apartment is a few stories up, but I can see down below to the first floor from here. I’m expecting a few cop cars to show up any minute now, sirens blaring. We got word a little earlier from the judge that he had to approve my arrest. He’s in our pocket, but there’s only so much even he can do.

They have enough to bring me in for questioning, so I just need to keep my mouth shut. And I can do that--I’ve had plenty of practice.

“Quit worrying,” my brother says from the other side of the living room. I turn to face Anthony as he pours more whiskey into our glasses. The ice clinks softly against the glass as he hands me my drink before taking a sip from his. “At least this will give you something to do.” He chuckles at his own joke.

“Yeah, I'm bored to fucking tears.” I've been keeping a low profile, which means no family business. I don't know what the fuck to do with myself. I'm used to going out and getting shit done. Instead I'm holed up, waiting for this to be over. I miss being out there and making sure the Valettis are still respected and feared like we should be.

I'm the best of the best at keeping that fear alive. I'm six-foot-two, and muscle on top of muscle. I know some fucker is going to mess with our shit. They always do. And right now I can't do shit about it. Instead I'm sitting here on my ass, being a good little boy while the judge works his magic and Kane takes over my position.

“It's not like this is your first time.” He smirks at me and I grunt a humorless laugh.

Anthony does the hits, and all the shit behind the scenes. He’s never been taken in, not like the rest of us in the familia. Lucky fucker. When you work on the streets like I do, you get hauled in every once in awhile. Usually it doesn’t faze me, but this is different. I'm not gonna lie, it'd be nice to get a gig like Anthony's and not have to deal with this shit.

The first time I was taken in was back when I was 22 years old. A low-life asshole thought he could steal from us. He was a fucking idiot. No one steals from us Valettis. We’re well-known, feared, and respected. More so now than we were back then. But junkies will do whatever it takes to get their next hit. The poor bastard knew it was coming, too.

I found the fucker shooting up outside of a strip joint. He was in the back alley. Couldn’t even wait till he got home, I guess. It doesn’t bother me much now, but back then it took a toll on me. I hadn’t toughened up yet. I broke his arm first. I learned that from my pop. Grab, twist, and crack. That way it’s more difficult for them to fight back. He didn’t even see me coming until his arm was busted and hanging limp at his side. I had to rough him up a bit. It was one of my first errands, and I knew the familia would go checking up behind me to see what kind of a job I'd done.

We agreed on new terms to the deal while he sat huddled in his own piss in that dark, filth-covered alley. And by that I mean he agreed to pay it all back with hefty interest by the next day. I have no clue if he ever paid up. I can’t imagine if and how he did, but then again, that’s not my job. And I don’t ask questions.

Unfortunately, a little old lady saw us and decided to do the right thing. She stood at the entrance to the alley. I remember how her silhouette blocked the golden glow illuminating us from the street light. She was a small, frail woman in a cardigan, and had a plastic bag from the drugstore next door hanging from her wrist. When I looked her in the eyes, daring her to reach for her phone, she looked back with no fear at all. Feisty old woman.

I didn’t bother dealing with her the way we normally handle witnesses. I figured the punk would live, but his ass wasn’t going to press charges. That, and I’d only killed once before. That fucker had it coming to him, but this woman didn’t. I wasn’t getting her blood on my hands.

The prick ran out of the alley ahead of me and knocked her to the ground as she dialed the police. Having done my part, I took off and prayed she wouldn’t be able to identify me. After all, it was dark, I was clad in all black, and I never got close enough to her so she could really see me. Or so I thought.

Old bat did see me though, and the cops knew exactly who she was describing. They know we’re the mob, so they’re always waiting for a chance to pin something on us. And I gave it to them, like a dumbfuck. Uncle Dante reamed me out pretty good. He was the Don back then, before his son Vince took over.

Luckily, nothing ever came of it. A night in the slammer, and I was a free man. That was the first time. Since then I’ve been careful, but occasionally we get pulled in for questioning. It’s rare to spend a night in jail, though. Not when we have the best lawyer money can buy, and more than enough cops and judges on our payroll to make up our own court system. We always know when we’ll be detained ahead of time, so we’re always prepared.

But this time, fuck--this time it could be the real thing for me. The uncertainty surrounding this arrest is different from all the other times, and I don’t like it.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Anthony says, taking a seat on my sofa. He drapes his arms across the back of the grey leather couch, and I wish I were as relaxed as him. I've never been envious of Anthony. He's a few inches shorter than me, and between the two of us, I'm the bigger pussy magnet. But right now I wish I'd been smart like him and and taken a job that didn't have me risking my neck like this.

“He said there’s a good bit of evidence,” I point out. Those are the words I keep hearing. Good bit of evidence.

“What are they gonna charge you with, huh?” He takes a swallow of his whiskey and leans forward, setting his drink down on the glassy surface of the coffee table before answering his own question. “Doing their job for ‘em?” He says it sarcastically with a raised brow.

We got into a tight spot with some business partners, Abram Petrov and his crew. He was a big fucking deal, along with his supposed second-in-command Vadik Mikhailov. They took over international territories like it was nothing. Then he came here and wanted us to deal in the sex trafficking industry. That’s not our thing. Unfortunately, when you tell people 'no' in our line of business, cutting ties takes on a whole new meaning.

“Murder, that one’s legit,” I finally respond. Thirteen dead members of Petrov’s crew were left at the scene, along with twelve women we made certain were safe in the back room. We had a heads-up from Kane about Petrov's plan to murder us, so Petrov and his crew went down easier since they didn’t know our ambush was coming.

Now the cops are trying to pin it all on me. I was the one stupid enough to leave evidence behind. Usually the clean-up crew gets all of it. But this time, they didn’t. It’s not like I was sloppy--I’m never sloppy. Shit just falls through the cracks sometimes. And this time it might fuck me over real good.

“Stop sweating it. They’re just trying to get something from you,” Anthony points out, still trying to reassure me. I should listen to Anthony. My brother’s got great intuition, and he’s always right. “I’ll be there to pick you up when you’re done, waiting right outside.” He picks up his drink again, taking another pull before continuing. “And I bet the ice in my drink won’t even be melted by the time you’re getting into my ride.” He swirls the ice around in the glass for emphasis as he says it.

He keeps my gaze, but I have to break it. I have a sick feeling in my gut. Vince says it’ll be fine, that the judge says some of the evidence is inadmissible. But some is not all, and something deep down is telling me they’re going to get me this time. It was way too big of a scene to clean up. Too much shit on our turf. We’ve been laying low, but it’s going to blow up in our faces. I just know it.

Tilting my head to the left and right, I crack my neck on both sides. I down the remainder of my glass, savoring the sensation of the cold liquid mixed with the hot burn of the whiskey. It slides down my throat and warms my chest. That’s when I hear them. I take a heavy breath and roll out my shoulders, knowing they’ll be hurting once the cuffs are on. Gotta loosen them up now. Somehow, hearing the wail of the sirens get louder as they approach puts me at ease. Maybe it’s just the waiting part that irritates me.

My heartbeat steadies, and my nerves follow suit. It’s just like any other day, I tell myself. I’m used to this. These high-stress situations can’t faze me. I can’t let them see me in any other states but calm and confident. No one ever gets to see me in any other condition than prepared. If they view you otherwise, you give them a chance to think of you as weak. And that's one thing I'm not.

“That’s the brother I know.” Anthony gets up and walks past me to the window, tipping the upper blinds back to get a better view. “Oh, five,” he says as his voice rises sarcastically. “You’re so fucking special.” I chuckle and pat him on the back as I head to the door.

Him being so at ease and having a sense of humor about it all does help. I gotta admit, whenever I’m in this shit, he’s always here for me, before and after. The other guys are at the bar, but I know they’ll be waiting for me there when I get out, too. That’s something the familia is always good for, buying you a drink when you get out.

“You’re not gonna make them walk their asses all the way up here? Seems like a missed opportunity to me.” He shakes his head with a grin.

“You just wanna watch, don’t you?” I ask him with a smirk.

He pats my back again and sets his glass down on the end table. “I’ll go with you.”

I grin at him as I open the door and hear the sounds of them walking through the building. I decide to leave my apartment unlocked. I know they’re going to search my place, and I’d rather not have to replace my door in case they decide to be assholes. “Lock it up for me when they’re gone?”

Anthony nods. “You know I will.” They’re already climbing the stairs as we get to the landing, so I just stand there with my hands clearly visible. I don’t want these fuckers to shoot my ass.

“It’s all good, Tommy. Just remember that. Not a damn thing’s gonna happen,” he says under his breath with a straight face. His smiles and jokes are all gone. He’s doing the same thing as me and putting on his mask.

I’m large and all muscle. I look like I’d fuck you up with my bare hands, and you’d be right to think that. Anthony has a different air around him, he always has. He’s a little shorter than me, a lot leaner, but toned. But something about his expressions and his dark eyes lets you know not to fuck with him.

“Thomas Valetti, we have a warr--” the cop closest to me begins, as he starts pulling out a piece of paper, but I don’t even need to see it.

I cut him off and don’t let him finish. “Yeah yeah, I know.” I turn and put my hands on the top of my head.

As a set of hands grab my wrists to pull them behind my back, and a voice starts spouting off the standard bullshit, I look up and see Anthony.

I almost don’t see it, but I know I do. I see a flash of worry in Anthony’s eyes. And that’s the only thing that keeps playing through my head as they take me in.