I hand over the bag, and for a moment, it's like nothing ever happened. Gino flashes me this big fucking grin, all teeth and lies, and claps me on the back like we're friends. I feel the money land heavy in my palm, maybe three hundred, maybe four, and it's like I've finally cracked it. Like maybe I figured out how to survive this goddamn day.
Tommy's dead. The bag got delivered. I'm not bleeding out in a gutter or coughing up teeth behind Dante's. For the first time in too long, I breathe.
But it doesn't last.
Gino slips back into the restaurant, past the swinging kitchen door, and I'm left standing there, alone, money in hand, heart thudding like a war drum in my chest. I don't move. Something's wrong. Not loud wrong. Quiet wrong. The kind of wrong that creeps under your skin and settles in your bones.
Then I see Frankie, the new kid, barely twenty, soft eyes and softer hands. He's standing in the doorway, watching me like I'm a ghost. Like I shouldn't be here.
"You alright, Frankie?" I ask.
He flinches. Doesn't say a word. Just disappears back inside like he saw the devil in my face.
The adrenaline wears off hard. My legs go loose and the world tilts. I head home. Can't risk being outside too long. Can't shake the feeling that something's following me, like the night itself is waiting to pounce.
I take the long way back, double back twice, duck into alleys I never use. No tails. No signs. Just the silence pressing in close.
Inside my place, I chain the door, bolt it, drag a chair under the handle. I scrub myself raw in the shower, skin pink and flaking, and when I finally look at myself in the mirror, I almost don't recognize what's staring back.
Dead eyes. Hollow.
But alive.
That night, I sleep with the Glock under my pillow.
I wake up late the next day. Still alive.
The clock blinks 9:12 a.m.
I check my phone. No new messages.
I check the news. No word about Tommy. Not yet. Either no one found the body, or someone's cleaning it up.
My stomach knots. I've never had to go that far. I just shot him and walked away.
By noon, Gino calls. I hesitate before answering.
"E," he says, voice smooth. Too smooth. "Need you to come by."
My throat tightens. "What for?"
"Just a quick word. Don't worry, it's all good."
All good. Those two words feel like poison.
I walk into Dante's and the whole crew is already there. Gino, Frankie, Lou, even Vic is sitting at the bar like this is Sunday mass.
And in the middle of it all, sitting where Tommy used to sit, is a man I don't recognize. Black suit, clean shoes, eyes like steel traps. He doesn't look up when I walk in.
"E," Gino says, arms wide. "My guy."
I nod, keep it quiet. My heart's thudding again.
"Sit down," Gino says. "You earned this."
I don't like how he says it. Like he's sizing me up for something.
I take a seat. The stranger finally looks at me. He doesn't smile.
"This is Mr. Ross," Gino says. "He handles business when the waters get murky."
"Pleasure," Ross says. His voice is flat. Professional.
I say nothing.
"Tommy's gone," Gino says, as if it's news.
I stay still. Don't blink. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says slowly. "He went dark yesterday. Place burned down. Cops say maybe junkies. Or maybe something else."
Gino shrugged. "Half the city wanted him dead anyway, all the broads he ran through and the people he put in the hospital for no good reason."
Gino said it like he was any better. Eli's eyes narrowed, but he kept quiet.
"But he brought a lot of money to this family, so you guys are going to have to step it up."
Then Ross speaks. "We're looking for a replacement."
I blink. "A replacement?"
"Tommy handled deliveries, collections, took meetings. That bag you brought yesterday? He was supposed to do it. But you stepped in."
My mouth's dry. "Gino asked me to do it though."
Gino says, "You still handled it good."
"And we need someone like that," Ross adds. "Efficient. Unafraid. Hungry."
Hungry. The word lands hard.
I killed Tommy yesterday.
And now they want me to take his place.
"What's the catch?" I ask.
Ross's smile is thin. "You just have to be loyal."
"Yeah, I can do that."
I knew Gino would never make me an official part of the family. He liked having me on a leash, using me as his plaything, and making me one of them would just spoil the game for him.
I leave. Walk fast. My mind's a war zone. They either don't know I killed Tommy, or they know and don't care. Either way, this is bigger than I thought. That bag wasn't just money. It was something else. Something important.
And now I'm in the middle of it.