Sal put the blank, frog eyes on his son and said, “I listened because I got no doubt in my heart that you would do this, and watching you now, I know you did.”

“Whattaya talking about? That’s horseshit.”

Sal hit Charlie with the back of his right hand so hard that Charlie staggered backward. Vito looked at Ric, and Ric made a little head move, saying he wasn’t in it, and Vito nodded.

Charlie was taller than Sal, and younger, but where there was something flabby and mean about Charlie, in Sal it was hard and vibrant, even at sixty-five. The Rock. “You’re a piece of shit, Charlie.” What Charlie had said to Joey Putata. Charlie tried to cover up, but Sal slapped him again and again, steady, rhythmic shots. Sal held my Dan Wesson in his left hand and slapped with his right. “You double-crossed the fuckin’ Gambozas. You made the family into liars, and you ain’t even got the balls to admit it. Be a man, Charlie. Face me and tell me that you’ve done this horrible thing.”

I looked at Ric again, but Ric didn’t seem to be watching or hearing. His eyes were flagging closed and his head was gently bobbing in time with some dark music.

Charlie stumbled into a chair, trying to get away. His face was purple and ribbons of snot leaked down across his mouth. “It’s not true. I dint do nothing. I swear I dint.” Like a little kid.

Sal said, “I gave them my word, Charlie. This family made peace with the other families and you’ve broken it. You understand that? You know what that costs?”

Charlie scrambled away from the chair and covered up against the wall. He said, “Please, Daddy.”

Sal grabbed Charlie by the throat and shook him. “I keep hoping you’ll come around, but that day is never going to come, is it? I put you in business, I make it easy for you, but you’re always gonna be a fuckup.”

Charlie slipped out of Sal’s grip and fell to the floor, then tried to crawl away. Sal hit him harder, grunting with every blow.

Vito looked embarrassed and Angie looked confused and I wished I wasn’t there seeing it. Sal followed his crawling son around the room, hitting him until Charlie ended up on his side, curled into a ball behind a heavy leather chair. Sal stood over him, breathing hard and hitting and saying, “Be a man, be a man,” until finally Vito said, “Jesus Christ, Sal,” and went over and pulled him away, lifting Sal DeLuca off his feet and talking to him and calming him down. Moving the Rock.

Then it was over. Sal stood in the center of the room, the Dan Wesson at his side, breathing hard and watching his blubbering adult child for what seemed like forever. Maybe violent insanity ran in the family.