Chapter One
Snake
It’s dead quiet in this car as we hurtle deeper into the desert at the California/Nevada border, except for the thumping in the trunk. Even though he’s not as noisy as when we first left the city, I find it agitating. My body is buzzing from the adrenaline, so intense it vibrates my eardrums. I want to close my eyes and feel that energy coursing through me, powering me, pumping me up for what we have to do next. But I can’t do that with this fucking thumping.
Salvatore is driving, drumming the steering wheel to a beat only he can hear. Anthony is in the front seat, hands folded in front of his face, his eyes focused on the road ahead. We’re all taking this quiet moment to prepare for what’s to come. You can’t just get there physically. You have to get there mentally too.
If it wasn’t for that fucking thumping.
I nudge Bruno, who’s beside me in the backseat, and point my thumb towards the trunk with a smarmy look.
“This fucking guy,” I utter under my breath.
Bruno gives me a slight nod, then squares his massive shoulders towards the window, where he looks out at the pitch black night. He holds his hands in tight fists in his lap. His knuckles are bruised and bloody. The guy in the trunk had put up one hell of a fight, but he was no match for Bruno. They never are.
I don’t know who that guy is, and I try not to think much about him. All I know is that the order came down from the boss himself. Whoever that dumb fuck is thumping around back there, he crossed the Mariano’s. That’s his fault. Not mine. I have to think about myself here. I want to be a Mariano soldier, and the only way to do that is to about face and act like one.
There aren’t any streetlights out here. I was born and raised in the grimy streets of the city, and it always shocks me how bright the stars are on these drives. They’re nearly fucking blinding. As we get closer to the spot, I grip my hands into fists and breathe hard, forced breaths. This is another opportunity to prove myself, to show my loyalty to the family. Salvatore told me a few days ago that the books are open. I’ve been hustling for this family since I was fifteen years old. Twelve years later, I finally have my chance to be made. The fact that I don’t have a kill under my belt is the only thing holding me back.
Anthony and Salvatore mumble to each other from the front seat. Salvatore slows the car, and pulls over on the side of the road. Bruno and I exchange hardened glances before getting out of the car. Anthony bangs on the trunk then pops it open. The guy looks up at us, blinking in the starlight. His hands are tied behind his back with thick rope, and his mouth is gagged with a balled up towel, held in place by duct tape. We stare down at him. The four of us must look fucking terrifying, standing over him in our black, tailored suits, which is the Mariano family dress code. I look into his red, panicked eyes for a moment, and wonder what’s going through his head. What’s it like to know you’re going to die?
Anthony flicks his head towards Bruno and me. “Let’s go,” he says impatiently.
I don’t like his disrespectful tone, but I keep that to myself. Since he’s made and I’m not, I have to do what he says. I grit my teeth and remind myself that it won’t be for much longer. Bruno and I grab the guy by the shoulders and muscle him out of the trunk. As soon as his feet hit the dry ground, we push him forward.
“Walk,” I grunt, next to his ear.
Anthony and Salvatore walk in front of us with flashlights. The guy struggles weakly against us. His screams are muffled by the gag, but I can make out the gist of what he’s saying. He’s claiming he’s innocent, that we got the wrong guy. Sorry, pal, but the judge and jury have already spoken. We’re just the executioners.
We walk, for I don’t know how long, until the road disappears from the horizon.
“This is good,” Salvatore says.
Bruno and I grip the guy’s arm, holding him like in a vice, while Salvatore walks towards him. Salvatore’s upper lip is curled. His eyes are cold and hard. He stands at least a foot taller than our guy. Bending down to look into his eyes, Salvatore breathes out loudly with a chilling smile.
“You thought you could fuck with the Mariano’s,” Salvatore says. He presses his gun up under the guy’s chin. The guy screams something through the gag. Salvatore smirks, then calmly pistol whips him across the face, so hard the guy’s nose starts to bleed. “On your knees,” Salvatore says, walking away.
I push down on the his shoulders at the same time Bruno gives him a swift kick in the lower back, knocking him to his knees. The guy’s screams turn to sobbing.
“I’m guessing you want to do the honors?” Anthony says to Salvatore.
Salvatore shakes his head. He puts his gun away, then lights a cigarette.
“I think our friend, Snake, can get the job done,” Salvatore says.
Bruno and Anthony whip their heads towards me. I look at the dusty ground, embarrassed by the swell of pride in my chest.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Anthony says quietly to Salvatore, but we can all hear it. “He’s not made.”
Salvatore, ignoring Anthony, holds the cigarette between his lips as he hands me the grip of the gun. When I take it, he pats me on the back. I look into his eyes and give him a grateful nod.
I’ve never killed before, but I’ve seen a handful of people die. It makes me a little queasy to point the gun. I clench my jaw, forcing that feeling down. Now’s not the time to punk out. This is my job, my life. I set my sights on the back of his head, and exhale as I pull the trigger.
Just like that, it’s over.
His wails are snuffed out in an instant, and he topples forward. The chirping of crickets rise up in the stillness of the desert. My arm remains in the air, still aiming the gun. There’s a slight smoky smell from the shot, and I can feel the heat from the barrel. Salvatore and Bruno pat me on the back.
“Good job, soldier,” Salvatore says with sarcastic salute. “There’s no getting away from us now. You’re in too deep. I’ll talk to my father about you taking the omertà, getting you made.”
“Congratulations,” Bruno mutters, and shakes my hand. I want to tell Bruno that maybe soon he’ll get his shot too, but I don’t know if that’s true.
Anthony approaches me, hands in his pocket, looking at the ground. When he’s in front of me, he extends his arms, and gives me a quick, professional hug.
“I always knew you had it in you,” he says with a smile that makes me want to punch him in the face. “But you’re not done yet.”
Anthony digs into his pockets and pulls out a needle and thread, which he throws against my chest. “Sew that rat’s lips shut.”
I haven’t looked at the body since I fired that shot, so I do now. The blood pooling around his head is so dark it looks black. I walk over to him, grab his wet hair, and pull his head up. His face is pretty fucked up, but I can still see what he looks like, which is like just a regular guy.
Anthony, Salvatore, and Bruno look on as I work the needle through the upper lip. The needle’s not very sharp, so I have to jam it through.
“You want to be a real soldier now, huh?” Anthony says, smoking a cigarette. “Get ready, kid. This is when the real work begins.”