The Leone Crime Family Box Set

by B. B. Hamel

  “That was the most bad-ass thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said.

  I burst out into laughter. I didn’t know why, since nothing was funny, but I couldn’t help myself. I was sweating, my hands were shaking, and I thought I might throw up.

  Luca grinned at me and stood, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He paced across the room and turned to face me, his smile slipping off his lips.

  “Are you sure about all this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if I have any other choice,” I said.

  “You always have choices.”

  I shook my head and leaned back on the couch. “And so do you. But you seem to think all your choices were made for you already.”

  He glared at me, balling his hands into fists. “You keep making this about right and wrong. I don’t know why you think you know what’s best.”

  “I know killing is wrong.”

  “And I know killing is necessary sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’m going to go out there and kill for you, and you’re going to be sitting in that car, thinking I’m a monster.”

  “Then don’t do it,” I said.

  “I have to.”

  “There you go. I guess you don’t have choices after all.”

  He clenched his jaw. “You know how many people you just got killed?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Giving the Don that property in Chicago just guaranteed he’s going to push into that city and people are going to die. If you stood up and refused to give him anything, then maybe he’d never make that move, and lives would be saved. Are you a monster then, for letting him do it?”

  I shook my head. “It’s different.”

  “It’s not,” he said. “You’re forced into a shit position, so you’re making the best of it. Just like everyone else.” He shook his head and walked to the kitchen. “I’m going to call Steven and set this hit up. I’d go get changed if I were you.”

  “Wait, you’re going to do it tonight?”

  “Damn right,” he said. “Put on something black. Maybe something sexy.” He stormed into the kitchen without another word.

  I sat there on the couch, body ringing as I digested his words. I got up slowly and felt like I’d just aged twenty years in ten minutes, like my whole world was coming apart at the seams and I was barely holding my stitching together.

  I walked to the stairs, stared up them, and slowly climbed to my room.

  13

  Luca

  Temple University was an oasis of lights in the middle of lower north Philadelphia. The buildings jutted up from the city like futuristic fungus, separate from the otherwise blighted buildings just on their outskirts. The school was almost an entire city in itself, separate from the rest of the city around it. North Philadelphia was not the safest place in the world, and had been plagued by gang violence and general economic collapse for years. Temple was one of the few bright spots, one of the few places that was actively hiring and bringing more money into the community.

  In that sense, everyone in the area loved Temple. But they also hated how it drove up the cost of living, made rents more expensive for local folks trying to live their lives, made food more expensive, restaurants unattainable, and increased police presence all over the place.

  I had a soft spot for Temple. I could remember coming up to the school when I was younger and hustling the stupid college kids. I used to sneak into frat parties, break into the bedrooms, and steal as much money as I could get my hands on. I got my ass kicked once or twice, but mostly I dished it out much more than I ever got it. Those were some fun days, back when I was young and reckless and carefree, but now we were headed to the school on much, much worse business.

  I reached Cecil B. Moore Avenue and turned left, heading up the numbered streets. Clair moved restlessly in the passenger seat, staring at the houses as they flipped past.

  “I’ve never been up here before,” she said.

  “Really?” I asked. “You live in this city, and you’ve never been to Temple.”

  “Never had a reason.”

  “It’s a nice school. Lots of stupid kids to fuck with.”

  She gave me a look. “Is that all you ever think about, how to take advantage of people?”

  I laughed softly and shook my head. “Not at all,” I said. “I think about how to keep my friends safe. I think about how to help my family.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot. You’re the consummate gangster.”

  “We can’t have a single conversation where you don’t give me shit, can we?”

  She opened her mouth then snapped it shut again. She adjusted her hair, tightened her bun, crossed her arms. She wore dark jeans and a black tank top, and I could see a hint of her cleavage between her arms, just enough to get my heart beating fast.

  “Fine then,” she said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Did you go to college?” I asked.

  “I took some classes at Penn.”

  “No kidding?” I smirked at her, genuinely surprised. “I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were that smart.”

  She smiled a little bit. “Well, you were right, because I’m not. I dropped out after two semesters.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Couldn’t handle it, I guess.”

  “Come on, that’s bullshit. What do you mean, you couldn’t handle it?”

  She shook her head and stared out the window. The houses were half crumbling, half boarded up. The grass was dead or dying in places, and in others it was overgrown and swallowing entire plots whole, the weeds going wild and jungle dank. Trash littered the sidewalks, plastic bottles thrown into bramble bushes, fast food bags rotting in the gutter.

  Packs of college kids roamed the streets, moving in groups for safety. Stray cats flitted down the streets like ghosts, disappearing under parked cars with broken taillights and smashed side mirrors.

  “I guess I just didn’t fit in,” she said. “I finished my degree online after that.”

  “Online, huh.” I shook my head. “You seem like the type that would have fun at college, you know?”

  “I guess not,” she said.

  “What happened? I mean, I’m curious now.”

  “Do you really care?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

  “Yeah, I do,” I said. “I’m curious about you.”

  She let out a breath through her nose then stared out the window. “I had this roommate,” she said. “Her name was Veronica. Everyone called her Ronnie, and it was the most obnoxious thing, but whatever. We lived in this old dorm together, and we got along fine at first, but then… things changed.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “I told her about my dad.”

  I let out a slow whistle. “Damn, girl,” I said. “That was a bad call.”

  “She was nice about it at first, mostly just interested, you know? Asked questions and stuff. But then she told other people, and I started getting some nasty comments, people started treating me different, and I just… I couldn’t handle it anymore. Eventually, one of my professors asked me if it was true, she actually asked if she could interview me for some fucking book she was writing.” Clair gave a bitter, angry laugh, shook her head. “I told her to go to hell and never went back to her class.”

  “Fuck that bitch,” I said.

  “Don’t call women bitches,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, pretty much. I failed her class, got a couple Cs in other classes, barely squeaked by that semester. And I sort of realized that I’d never fit in with the kids at Penn, you know? All those rich kids and their rich, comfortable families. I know you have this idea of me as spoiled and wealthy or whatever, but my dad didn’t leave us all that much money, and my mom was a single mother for most of my life. She worked a ton, and I got a job the second I was old enough. We never had extra, never had savings, always just got by. And I guess I decided I didn’t want to just skate by and be mise
rable in college, so I dropped out.”

  I was quiet for a minute as I reached Twenty-Eighth Street. The lights of Temple were far behind us and we were deep into North Philly territory. The houses were broken down and the packs of college students were missing, replaced by men sitting out on stoops or working the corner.

  I pulled down Twenty-Ninth and parked at the end of the block.

  “I can see why you’d do that,” I said. “I mean, shit, I might’ve dropped out if that happened to me, too.”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a little smile. “I feel like you might’ve just killed them all.”

  I grinned at her. “Maybe not my first choice, but yeah, that would’ve been an option.”

  She laughed but sounded angry as she belted it out. I killed the engine, turned off the lights. The street was mostly empty, just a few sporadic cars parked along the curb. There were no lights on, no streetlights, no lights outside of the houses. It was a totally different part of the city where darkness reigned supreme and the world had forgotten all about it.

  “This is it?” she asked.

  “They’re in a house down there,” I said, pointing ahead.

  “Where are the others?”

  “Parked along the block,” I said. “Steven and a few other guys are scattered around. We didn’t want to all come together, make it too obvious.”

  “Right. Because if you’re going in to kill people, you need to be subtle about it.”

  “More or less.” I leaned forward, squinting into the gloom. Our target house was midway down the block with a white door and windows with bars out front. It looked abandoned, but I knew it wasn’t empty, since there was a single light on upstairs in one of the front bedrooms.

  “You don’t have to go in there, you know,” she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “You could stay in here with me. Let the others go in.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “And what would we do here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll tell you stories from back when I was a college girl.”

  I smiled a little bit, tilted my head. “That’s tempting. But you know what really gets me?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m going to go in, and I’m going to kill those men. And I’m doing it for you, because if I don’t then one of them might find you and do something so much worse than whatever you’re picturing.”

  She stared at me, eyes narrow and hard, and I watched her bite her lip.

  “Don’t say you’re doing this for me,” she said.

  “I am doing it for you,” I said. “To keep you safe, little princess. You might not appreciate that, might not care, hell, maybe you hate me for it, maybe you hate killing so much that all you can see is some sick monster. But I’m going in there, and I’m killing for you.”

  I didn’t wait for her argument. I pushed my door open, climbed out. I didn’t look back as I closed the door and strode down the sidewalk. I was too angry to tell her to stay put, but I figured she wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the car.

  I moved down the sidewalk, hugging close to the houses. The shadows were deep in this part of the city, and it was well past midnight. The college kids would be stumbling around drunk right now, but not out here, not in this neighborhood.

  Up ahead I saw two figures get out of a car, and another figure coming down from the block further away. I recognized them, even in the darkened gloom. I picked up my pace, angling for the house with the white door, my mind falling into an easy rhythm and a strange sense of calm. I kept my heart from beating too fast as I reached the door first.

  Steven came up next, wearing a black vest, black jeans. He had his Glock out already and he gave me a tight nod. Alex and Santo were with him, both solid and dependable guys. I motioned up at the single light on in the house upstairs, and Steven gave me a nod. I gestured at Alex, pointed upward, and he grinned back. He was a skinny guy with crooked teeth and bright green eyes. Santo was broad and chubby, but he made up for his baby fat cheeks with a wicked angry streak.

  I turned back to the door. The plan was simple. We didn’t know how many guys were inside, but we were going to hit it fast and hard, kill everyone in sight, take anything that looked useful, and get out.

  I pressed my Glock against the knob and fired two shots in quick succession. I raised it up, shot out where the bolt should be, and kicked the door as hard as I could. It popped open, but got stopped by a chair. I cursed, fired two more rounds, kicked again, and the door broke free in a shower of splinters.

  I stormed forward into a dingy living room. Alex turned left, toward the stairs, and ran up. Steven stuck with me, moving close, gun out and ready.

  The living room was empty. A TV sat on top of a wooden carte to the right. A futon was set up across from it, but was covered by empty pizza boxes. The coffee table looked like it used to be a spindle for some kind of industrial wire, but I didn’t stop and inspect it as I stormed ahead.

  I heard cursing in the kitchen beyond and I came in hard. There was one guy near the refrigerator, his hands up, his eyes wide. He had light brown skin and shaggy hair, looked like he might be twenty-five at most. His baggy jeans were sagging off his hips and he held a slice of cake balanced on a plate in front of him. He was shaking so much, the fork rattled against the plate.

  I held my gun out, but I didn’t pull the trigger.

  Steven shoved me aside, shot the kid in the face. He dropped, blood splattered on the wall. I hurried forward and kicked the plate and the fork away from him. I knelt down and found a gun tucked into his jeans.

  “What the fuck was that?” Steven said. “You hesitated.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “I just… I didn’t hesitate.”

  I stood up and heard another noise, like a chair getting knocked over, and cursing. I ran to the back door and threw it open, gun out and ready.

  There were two guys, one still sitting at the table, a lit cigarette in his mouth. The other was running for the back fence. I shot him in the back, knocked him down, turned to the other guy. He threw his hands up, eyes wide, and I shot him in the skull. I kicked him over, put another bullet in his chest, walked to the guy near the fence, but a bullet in his skull, just to be sure.

  Then stood there, catching my breath. I felt like I’d just run a fucking marathon.

  “You good?” Steven asked, rifling through the pockets of the guy still at the table.

  “I’m good,” I said.

  Steven shoved some cash in his pocket and tossed a gun onto the table. “Fucking Jalisco weren’t ready for this,” he said.

  I heard gunshots from upstairs, some yelling, more shots. I gave Steven a look then rushed back inside. I barely noticed the blood on the floor, the dirty dishes in the sink, the alphabet magnets lined up in Spanish curse words on the refrigerator door. I hurried through the dirty living room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  I found Alex leaning against a wall, bleeding from his shoulder, and two Jalisco guys dead in a back bedroom. Santo kicked at one hard, cursed at him, then began searching the room.

  “You okay?” I asked Alex.

  “Almost fucking killed me,” he said. “They were waiting.”

  I moved his hand, checked the wound. Gunshot to the shoulder, not life-threatening, but he’d need work. “Go find Steven,” I said. “He’ll get you out.”

  “Fuck,” Alex said. “Getting shot hurts like hell.”

  I grinned at him, hit his shoulder. “Just be happy you’re alive to feel it.”

  He grunted and staggered into the hall then back down the steps.

  “You good, Santo?” I asked.

  He gave me a thumbs-up.

  I turned away, went to the next room. It was empty except for a mattress on a simple metal platform and a desk shoved against a far wall covered in soda cans with a closed laptop. I found a duffel bag in the closet with some knock-off designer clothes, grabbed the laptop, shoved it in the bag, just in case. I checked under the
mattress on a whim, found a bag of weed, a rolled wad of hundreds, and a file folder.

  I grunted in surprise as I took the green file folder out from under the bed. I put the weed and the money in the bag then opened the folder up, staring at the contents.

  A picture of a woman stared back at me, in her fifties, smiling a little bit. She had dark hair, tan skin, dark eyes, looked about as Italian as it got.

  Something bugged me about her, but I couldn’t decide what. I shoved the file in the bag, got up, checked the next room. I found more cash, more drugs, but nothing important, no laptops or phones.

  “Fucking useless,” I said, coming back out. Santo stood by the stairs. “These guys were low-level nothings.”

  “We should go,” he said. “Might be more coming back soon.”

  “Fine,” I said and took the stairs with Santo at my back. Steven and Alex were already gone, and so I strode back out into the night with the bag on my shoulder. Santo turned and walked in the opposite direction, his gun tucked back into his waistband, whistling like nothing had happened.

  I sighed, put my gun away, headed back to the car.

  Clair didn’t speak when I got behind the wheel. I threw the duffel on the floor at her feet and she stared at it like it was full of live, writhing snakes.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Treasure,” I said.

  She unzipped the bag. “Drugs… money… and a laptop?”

  “And a file,” I said.

  I started the car and pulled out. I noticed more lights on in the houses surrounding us, but ignored them as I drove at a normal clip. I went through the next stop sign, turned left at the stop sign after that, and headed back toward Broad Street.

  Clair took the file out and stared at it. She opened it up and I caught the look on her face as her eyes scanned the picture tucked in the front.

  Her eyes were filled with horror.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Luca,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “This woman… this is a picture of my mom.”

  I nearly hit the brakes. I looked at her, unable to hide my shock.

  “You’re serious?”