“It’s different this time, Salvatore,” he said heavily.

“When are they flying home?”

“Late afternoon. I’m flying with them.”

Silence again, but I could tell he had something to say.

“Franco won’t give the word just yet, but you need to know what’s going on.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

I hung up and pocketed my phone. I didn’t want to deal with Dominic’s jealous aggressions right now. I had other things on my mind. I needed to get back. Talk to her. Explain that I wasn’t a fucking monster.

She’d said she had no friends and refused to see her family. Well, we had more in common than she knew. She’d learned to hate my family over the last five years. Learned to hate everyone, maybe. I just, stupidly enough, didn’t want her to hate me.

I got back into the car, started the engine, and drove an hour to the cemetery. I came here more often than I probably should. Parking close to the family plot, I got out. The heat and humidity seemed to want to suffocate me after the air-conditioned drive. I stopped and picked up a dozen white Calla lilies from the flower store a block away, my mom’s favorite, and headed up the small hill. The ground beneath my feet felt soft here, damp and covered in moss. A small gate surrounded the plot of land housing many of the Benedetti family. I walked my usual path, reading off the names of the dead in my head, noting the number of years each had lived. Too many damn lives cut short.

But this was what we did. We killed. We died. And for what?

I reached the spot where my mother’s and brother’s headstones stood side by side. I tossed the dying flowers, the ones I’d brought the last time I’d come, and replaced them with fresh ones. I pulled out some weeds and scraped dirt off the inscriptions on both their tombstones, noting the year of birth and death on Sergio’s grave. He’d been a year older than I was now. Married. His wife pregnant when he died. It wasn’t fucking fair.

When it had happened, I’d been broken. He was my one ally, my friend. He’d known how to become boss. Our father loved him and yet, Sergio wasn’t like him. Not at all. He’d been gunned down at a gas station. A stupid, cowardly drive-by. He’d deserved a better death than that. And he’d deserved a life first.