I wait in the junkyard for everyone to show. I’m wearing my gun holstered inside my suit jacket, and the weight is reassuring. Still, a lot of pieces have to come together for this to play out the way I hope. I called Marco a few hours ago and told him I wanted to give him some critical information about the Capobiancos. He sounded eager enough to show, probably on one hand because he thinks he can set up a trap and have me killed, and on the other because he knows the Capobiancos could decide to gun for him at any time. It’s a win-win for him.

Fredo and his crew show first. I see the small convoy of four SUVs pull up to the entrance of the junkyard and wind their way toward where I wait near the center. If he’s smart, he’ll turn the cars around when he sees I already broke the agreement and showed up early, but as I was hoping, his arrogance and pride seem to take over, because the SUVs don’t stop, even when they have to have a clear view of me.

I stand in a clearing, surrounded by piles of junk cars and scrapped electronics. The Capobiancos managed to hire four ex-seals that are working as military contractors. Two wait to my left, and two are to my right, lying prone on top of cars. They have heavy weapons, and I’m counting on them being able to do a hell of a lot of damage in a short period of time, otherwise I’m fucked.

I crack my neck, and clench my fist as I watch Fredo and his men step out of the cars. I need to keep my mind in the here and now, but I keep thinking of Julia and Roman. My son. Jesus Christ. Has it really only been half a day since she told me? It was one thing to suspect, but hearing it confirmed was like a weight off my shoulders I didn’t know I carried. He’s my son. Julia and I had a son together and I didn’t even know. The thought is terrifying and exciting at the same time. I need to clean this up here and now, for them.

My phone buzzes in my pocket from a text, but if I reach for it, the Morettis will think I’m pulling a gun on them.

Fredo walks up to me until he’s inches from me. He’s not as tall as me, and he has to look up to meet my eyes.

“Leo fucking Citrione, the phantom in the flesh.” He smirks, the walking around me in a slow circle, appraising me like a rancher inspecting a fine piece of livestock. “You know the funny thing? I didn’t even give a shit about killing you at first. I just wanted that fucking brother of yours. But you’re like the fucking white wolf, the unkillable, aren’t you? Once I realized what a pain in my ass you were, I wanted you, just for the sport of it.”

I don’t move, standing motionless as the smaller man paces in front of me. “You want sport?” I ask. “We could settle this, man to man. Right now. You and me.”

He barks a laugh that’s too loud. “You would like that? Wouldn’t you?” He rushes toward me, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “You’d love to kick my fucking ass in front of my men and make me have to yell for them to help, to put you down like the fucking mad dog you are.”

I look down at him, meeting his eye and making him take a step back. I smirk. Fucking coward.

“Wipe that look off your face,” he snaps, pulling his gun and pointing it at me. “Or should I just shoot the look off myself?”

I don’t flinch. “I can see why none of your men were able to kill me now,” I say. “You must have been the one who taught them to run their mouths instead of getting the job done.”

I see his hand tense, his finger pulling the trigger back a fraction of an inch. I brace myself, ready to move if I think he’s going to do it, but I don’t. He has wanted me for too long to kill me now. I just need to keep baiting him and dragging this out until the Bianchis come. The seals hiding know not to shoot until I give them the signal, and they wait, even while Fredo’s gun is pointed straight at my forehead.

“You think you’re tough, don’t you?” asks Fredo. His face contorts in rage, letting me know he’s about to hit me. He whips the butt of his pistol toward my face and I’m able to roll with the blow, taking the bone-crushing potential of a pistol-whip away. My cheek throbs and I feel blood trickle down my jaw, but I don’t let any pain show on my face. I show him nothing but cold indifference. He’s a dead man, whether he knows it or not, and I want him to go to his grave with the same fear and helplessness my brother probably felt before he was executed.

Fredo’s lips twitch as he scans my face, looking for some sign of weakness. He punches me in the stomach, but I flex just before impact and only feel a dull throb from where he hits me. I don’t even bend over with the blow. He pulls back for a wild swing at my face and I catch his fist, squeezing until his mouth parts in agony.

“One word,” he hisses.

I lean close, whispering so only he can hear. “Did you tell them what to do if I rip your jaw off with my bare hands?”

Fredo’s eyebrows draw together as I let him go. He shakes his wrist, clenching his fist. He turns, and I think he’s about to give the order to shoot when the sound of engines meet us. Three black sedans are pulling up to where we are in the junkyard. I have to keep from smiling. Like a hungry rat, Marco took the bait. Fredo motions for his men to stand down while we watch the cars pull up.

Marco and his men get out slowly. I see Antonio Bianchi get out as well, his second-in-command. Perfect. Marco frowns at the Morettis and then at me.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks.

Fredo still holds his gun, and when he turns to wave it toward Marco, the Bianchi guys pull their own weapons. In a split second, the Morettis and Bianchis have each other at gunpoint. Only Marco is showing some semblance of calm.

“Leo, you fucker. What is your game?”

“I don’t have a game. I was waiting for you here when the Morettis showed up and started threatening me. I thought maybe you put them up to it.”

Marco glares at Fredo. “You wanted me to get Leo. That was our deal. You trying to get him before I do so you don’t have to pay your end of the bargain?”

I quirk an eyebrow. They are at each other’s throats a lot more quickly than I had hoped. I hoped Marco would feel shafted if he saw Fredo trying to kill me under his nose, but I didn’t expect him to jump to accusations so quickly. He really is an idiot. Even here, the Morettis outgun him.

“Well,” I say, feeling my muscles tense as I know how much chaos is about to follow my words. “Maybe you should be asking the more important question here,” I say.

Both Marco and Fredo turn to look at me, confused.

Now it’s time to make both sides think they’ve been double-crossed. “I’d be wondering which one of you set this up, and why there are men with rifles hiding in those cars,” I say, pointing to the piles of trash around us.

To my surprise, Fredo lifts his gun and squeezes off two rounds without hesitation. Marco falls, but not before he fires back, catching Fredo in the shoulder. The Morettis open up on the Bianchis, and the Bianchis return fire. Both groups of gunmen duck behind cars and use car doors for cover, but when I raise my hand, the seals hiding on either side bring down a hail of bullets that sprays blood and dust into the air. Antonio Bianchi catches a bullet in the neck and then his body jolts as several high-powered rifle rounds tear through him. Within seconds, the crossfire shreds both groups of men. All that’s left is a red mist and mangled bodies. I didn’t even have to draw my gun.

The I see Marco’s broken body lying a few feet from Fredo’s. Instead of the rich satisfaction I thought I’d feel, I only feel numb. Killing them didn’t bring back Angelo. It didn’t keep me from missing the first three years of my son’s life. It didn’t stop me from making Julia’s life a living hell. But if it means Julia and Roman are safe, I can live with the emptiness. I can shoulder it for them.

I walk back to my car, pulling out my phone to call the Capobiancos to tell them they are going to need one hell of a cleanup crew, but instead I see the text that came through.

Julia (4:42 p.m.): Help

My blood turns to ice. I may have just cut off the head of both the Morettis and the Bianchis, but I’m not done yet.