“Repeat after me,” Carmine continues, “the spilling of this blood means that we are now one famiglia. I live by the gun and the knife, and I die by the gun and the knife. This drop of blood symbolizes my birth into our family and the knowledge that we are one until death.”
Every man is silent as Pietro says the same words in a calm, collected breath. My heart is beating like a violent drum in my ears, and I wish for one minute I could have the fifteen-year-old’s ice-filled veins in me. Pietro doesn’t seem one bit overwhelmed by the ceremony. It really is as his father foretold—he was born and bred into syndicate life, so this is nothing but another step on the ladder. I look over at Vincent and see the same empty expression on his face. It must be the Romano blood—nothing seems to touch them, or at least they learned early on not to show it.
DeLuca then takes the card from the table and holds it high for everyone to see. Then he turns once again to Pietro, card still in hand.
“This is Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Souls. As a member of this family, in this life and beyond, your soul is ours and therefore never lost.”
He then takes a lighter out of his pocket and commences to burn the card, but not before passing it to the capo nearest him. A flaming Jude burns on while Carmine orders Pietro to begin his vow.
“As burns this saint so will burn my soul. I enter alive, and I will only get out when dead. I will hold the rules of the Outfit above all man made. In my heart, first comes my syndicate brothers, followed by my God, my family, and then all else. I will care for my brothers, as I will care for their families should any depart nobly. I will show no mercy to traitors. I will lay no hand on a brother’s wife, sister, or woman. I will prefer death to snitching on any of my new-forged kin. And let it be said—after my death—that I, Pietro Romano, lived and died a loyal and honorable made man till the end.”
The card still flaming wildly makes its way to Pietro, and although it must burn his fingers, he latches on and spills one drop of his blood onto the card, before letting it fall to the ground and extinguishing its remains with his foot. Every capo begins to cheer, but Salvatore breaks the circle, and with one hand up in the air, silences his men.
“You are now a part of the family, Pietro, and as such, you will be asked to do your family’s duty. Do you understand?” he asks, his eyes roaming his son’s face.
“Yes, boss,” Pietro answers stoically.
“Good. That’s very good,” Big Sal responds looking pleased, but then he looks behind Vincent, to the entrance of the cabin and yells out, “Silvio!”
And it’s only now that Big Sal calls for Selene’s father do I realize he wasn’t present throughout Pietro’s initiation ceremony, which is highly suspicious since he is Big Sal’s consigliere after all.
I feel Selene’s whole body stiffen at my side when Silvio Bianchi appears before us with an unrecognizable man, gagged, bloody, and beaten to a pulp. A cold chill runs down my spine when I think of the only logical reason for Bianchi to miss out on the future boss’ initiation ceremony. Selene’s father must have preferred to make his big entrance with the final show of family loyalty.
Sick bastard.
He drops his prisoner on the ground, forcing him to kneel and look up at thirty scary-ass capos, along with the Outfit’s boss and his heir in the making.
“Pietro, this here is Tomás, an associate of ours. Tomás here is a singer, you see. Like a canary, he sings whatever tune pleases the hand that feeds him. Lately, that hand wears a federal badge, and Tomás has sung so much I worry what melodies have passed through his lips. Let’s make sure he loses his musical skills, shall we?” Big Sal instructs calmly.
“Yes, boss.” Pietro nods once, walking to the table where the knife and gun are placed.
The man on the floor starts shaking uncontrollably, but Silvio continues to hold him to the ground mercilessly. The malicious grin on Bianchi’s face pisses me off. The man takes too much joy in other people’s misery, even if this one deserves it.
Suddenly I see Vince breaking protocol and walking within the circle. Gio’s dad starts to stop him, but Big Sal just shakes his head, which is enough to make DeLuca stand down and allow Vince to approach Pietro. He takes Pietro’s jacket off his shoulders and hands him one of the objects from the table, and although we’re too far to see which one it is, just by the silent conversation the cousins are having, I’m pretty sure I know which one it will be.
Pietro needs to show strength and despotism tonight, and every night here on after. If he wants any of the men present to follow him once Big Sal steps down, there is only one weapon he can use to show them he’s as ruthless as they are and more than worthy to lead them. Pietro slowly unbuttons his shirt as the other capos watch his every move.
The man on the floor continues to shudder violently, desperately trying to say something, but the gag in his mouth prevents even one coherent word from being heard—his last effort at begging for a mercy he will not receive tonight. Vince takes Pietro’s shirt and steps back a few paces, but makes no attempt to leave the mobbed-up circle.
Big Sal looks at his son without any pity or impatience in his eyes, even though Silvio looks like he would prefer to get the show on the road sooner rather than later.
What a fucking dick.
“Selene, close your eyes, okay?” I hear Gio hush, moving in closer to both of us, grabbing her hand in his.
“Why?” she whispers back surly, but she hasn’t stopped shivering since her father came into view with his prisoner. I doubt watching what’s going to happen next will be any better.
“Do as he says, Red,” I add with a wink, and thankfully she places her head on my chest, blocking her from what would surely give her nightmares for months to come.
Pietro, now bare-chested, places himself behind the traitor, looking at each capo present, square in the eye. Hard to believe I was just playing Assassin’s Creed with that cocky bastard three hours ago. Much like his father, Pietro is as carefree as they come, but looking at his current executioner pose, the relaxed portrayal is the last adjective I’d pick to describe him. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.
Vincent’s face continues to give nothing away, and I wish I knew what was running through his mind right now. When Pietro runs his knife through the kneeling man’s throat, making him bleed like a gutted pig, Vince doesn’t even twitch a muscle. Not even when the man gurgles in panic and falls to the ground, dead as a doornail.
I do however notice how Pietro’s common smile is missing from his face, but not his father’s—Big Sal is beaming with so much pride I can feel its heat from here. Something tells me this last bit was added just because Pietro was Sal’s son. When Vincent is up for his oath, I doubt he’ll escape the same fate. And my intuition is telling me that Big Sal’s consigliere was the one to suggest this little improv show for the Outfit’s members.
This is so fucking messed up.
I look at Gio’s pale face, and I am certain now the fucker is reconsidering his idea of bringing Selene along to this shindig.