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“I don’t wanna have to hurt you, kid.”
Bruno glowered at the man, his knife still clutched firmly in his hand, ready to go should he decide differently.
“You’re the one who’s been going behind Polpo’s back, Zullo,” Bruno said darkly. “And he obviously knows—why else would he have sent me after you today?”
Zullo held his hands out in appeal. “Come on, Bruno, we’re friends, right? Hell, I taught you most of what you know.”
“I know that, Marco,” Bruno said quietly. “So why did you betray the famiglia?”
“There’s things you just don’t get, kid. Polpo likes you, he’s shielded you from the worst this organization has to offer because he wants to keep you around. You can’t tell he’s obviously grooming you to take his place eventually?”
“What is your point?”
“My point is that he’s blinded you, Bruno,” Zullo said firmly. “And it’s up to you whether you want to stay that way or wake up.”
Bruno stared at him a long moment, gripping his knife tighter. He thought of what Zullo said—he too suspected that he would be next in line as Polpo’s successor. Polpo had even allowed him to start forming his own team. He knew even now that Polpo likely expected him to ‘take care of’ this problem regarding Zullo. But Bruno couldn’t quite stand to kill the man for stealing a bit of money. He hadn’t done anything to hurt anyone, after all.
“I’m not blind to the organization, Marco,” he finally said, and stepped forward, putting the other man on alert. “And I’m not Polpo’s puppet.” He sheathed his knife and the man relaxed slightly. “So leave town and make sure none of us ever see you again.”
“What will you tell Polpo?”
“That you slipped me. And when he sends men after you, I hope that you’ll be long gone.”
Bruno turned on his heel and walked off, leaving his one-time mentor in the back alley.
He wanted to get his report to Polpo finished so he could go home.
~~~~~~
Bruno admittedly took the circuitous route back to Polpo’s townhouse, hoping that Zullo would be smart enough to just get out of Napoli like Bruno had said. But he still had a duty and he couldn’t hold out forever. He stood outside the door briefly before taking a deep breath and heading inside.
Polpo was in his office, having afternoon coffee as he worked at his desk, pouring over papers and books. The huge man glanced up when Bruno came in with a small bow.
“Signore.”
“Ah, Bruno, I’m glad you stopped by,” Polpo said, waving him toward the desk. “What did you find?”
Bruno pressed his lips into a thin line. “Zullo was the one skimming off the top of the betting money.”
Polpo nodded, obviously having known the whole time. “And I trust you took care of it?”
Bruno fought the urge to shift in discomfort, looking Polpo directly in the eye as he said, “He slipped me when he found out you’d sent me after him.”
Polpo raised an eyebrow. “He slipped you? Even with your Sticky Fingers?”
Bruno swallowed hard, his mouth bone dry. “I apologize for the incompetence, Signore.”
“It’s alright, Bruno, you’ll make it up to me,” the man said, and there was a certain danger in his words that tickled Bruno’s fight of flight response. He shifted slightly as Polpo stood, moving his large frame from behind the desk.
Bruno stepped back instinctively, but Polpo passed him and headed to a door on the far wall that led to a room Polpo usually held meetings in. He opened the door and motioned for Bruno to go inside.
Heart in his throat, Bruno stepped through the door.
He did a double take as he saw Zullo inside, tied to a chair, a gag shoved into his mouth. He had been beaten, fresh blood still dripping down his face. His eyes met Bruno’s with a resigned expression.
“Our men caught him at the docks trying to leave the city,” Polpo said. “He was very efficient about it. Almost as if he’d had some sort of warning.”
Bruno’s blood ran cold. He could feel sweat pricking his brow.
“I’m disappointed, Bruno. I know you two were friends, that he was something of a mentor to you, but your loyalty is to me and to the famiglia. I expected less sloppy work from one of my best.”
Bruno swallowed hard, stomach roiling. “Signore—”
“I don’t want to hear groveling and excuses,” the capo said darkly. “I want you to fix your mistake.”
He turned and unlocked the cupboard on one side of the room, pulling out a small wooden box which he placed on top of the table. Polpo motioned toward Bruno pointedly.
Bruno stepped forward and fought to keep his hands from shaking as he reached out to open the box, finding a pistol nestled within. He made no move to pick it up.
Polpo loomed behind Bruno, waiting. “Finish the job I sent you to do, Bruno.”
Bruno couldn’t move. Polpo made an annoyed tch with his tongue and picked up the gun, pressing it into Bruno’s hand. It was cold and heavy, an uncomfortable weight in Bruno’s palm.
“Finish the job I asked you to do.”
Bruno stood there for a long moment, just staring at the gun. He could feel Zullo’s eyes boring into him but, in his cowardice, he couldn’t face the man. Was he actually about to kill him while he was tied to a chair? Bruno wasn’t sure he could live with himself after that; killing a man, especially one he had once counted a friend, in cold blood.
He lowered the gun.
“Bruno,” Polpo said in warning.
Bruno inhaled sharply and placed the gun on the table. “Signore, at least allow me to untie him.”
Polpo let out a long sigh, the disappointment obvious. “Perhaps I have put too much faith in you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t kill a man in cold blood, Signore.”
“Weakness, Bruno, is what will get you killed in this life.” Polpo picked up the gun. “Weakness and betrayal.”
The shot rang out, deafening in the small space, but not as deafening as Bruno’s heartbeat as he watched Zullo slump in the chair, a spray of red painting the wall behind him.
Polpo turned and pressed the hot barrel of the gun up under Bruno’s chin, singeing his skin. “You won’t betray me, will you, Bruno?”
Bruno swallowed, throat bobbing against the gun. “No, signore,” he managed.
Polpo stared at him for a long moment, then leaned in and licked a stripe of sweat off of his face. Bruno shut his eyes, cringing in terror and disgust.
Polpo finally pulled away and tossed the gun onto the table. “Next time I ask you to take care of something, do it.”
Bruno took that as a cue to leave. He bowed and retreated from the house as quickly as possible.
Fugo was waiting for him when he got back to the apartment.
“I was going to make dinner but I didn’t know when you’d be home,” he said, a bit awkward.
Bruno exhaled slowly. “I already ate, I’m sorry. I should have called,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do right now was eat anything, and he didn’t want Fugo prying right now.
“Oh, all right,” the younger boy replied.
“There’s still some leftovers from yesterday if you want them,” Bruno told him. “I have some work to finish.”
Fugo nodded but his eyes were sharp. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Bruno replied probably too quickly. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He retreated to his room and shut the door before he started shaking so much he couldn’t stand. He sank down against the door, fighting back an oncoming panic attack. He could still feel the cold impression of the gun in his hand. He wasn’t a stranger to violence, even death. He’d killed more men than he could remember but never anyone who didn’t deserve it. He supposed he’d found his line in the sand.
He should have been at peace with his decision, after all, Zullo’s blood was not on his hands, but he couldn’t help but think of what would happen next time. Who would it be sitting in the chair next time? Who would be the next man Polpo expected him to kill? Who would do something to be seen as a traitor?
Bruno thought of what Zullo had said to him earlier, about him being blind. Maybe he was right. Or maybe Bruno had just been lying to himself that all of this, working under Polpo, wasn’t as bad as he had thought. But ever since his father had died, he had started to see through the cracks. Not that it mattered now. He was far too deep to even consider leaving an option.
What did it really matter at the end of the day who had killed Zullo, a man Bruno had counted as a friend and mentor was dead. There was no other way to put it.
He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to shake in the privacy of his room. Because as soon as he opened that door again, he would have to straighten his shoulders and face the bloody life he had chosen to live.
~~~~~~~
He didn’t know how Fugo had found out, but when he got back from a few business calls the next day, the blonde was waiting for him with a sour expression on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened with Zullo?” he demanded.
Bruno frowned at him, but a worm of guilt dug through his insides. “How do you know about that?”
“Because every one is saying he betrayed Passione and Polpo sent you to kill him.”
Bruno shook his head. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”
“Then tell me the truth,” Fugo snapped. “Because Zullo is dead, isn’t he? He was stealing, I can’t imagine Polpo would let him live.”
Bruno shut his eyes briefly. He knew that Fugo had also gotten on well with the man when they’d worked together, which was rare for Fugo. He deserved to know, it would only be a disservice to him if Bruno kept things from him.
“You want to know the truth?” Bruno said darkly. “I couldn’t pull the trigger, and I should have. Because Polpo won’t give me another pass, and next time it could be you.”
Fugo blinked, obviously not having expected that. Bruno hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know why he had said exactly what had been on his mind the whole time but now that it was out in the open…
“Would you do it?” Fugo asked from between clenched teeth. “Would you put a bullet in my head?”
“How can you ask that?” Bruno demanded. “Of course not!”
“So, you’d let someone else take me out instead? You’d let Polpo take me out?”
“No.” Bruno took a deep breath and gave Fugo an earnest look. “I look after my own. You’re part of my famiglia, Fugo. I would die for you.”
“But what if you’re forced to make a choice?”
“Then I suppose we will both be traitors,” Bruno said simply. “Because I would sooner betray the entire organization than betray my famiglia.”
Fugo stared at him, his lower lip trembling slightly. “That’s idiotic.”
Bruno gave him a look. “So, you would kill me then, if Polpo asked you to?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, then. I suppose that’s settled.”
He went to the kitchen to make some coffee, Fugo lingering behind him.
“Bucciarati…I’m sorry about Zullo. I know you were friends, and despite what happened, I still believe him to be a good man.”
“He was trying to get out,” Bruno said then, hands automatically working as he filled the moka pot measuring coffee and water. “He had a girl, and a baby in Rome. He was just trying to provide for them, give them a better…” He couldn’t continue, his throat closed and he had to press his hands into the countertop before he simply gave up and sank down onto his knees, doubling over as a panicked breath escaped with a strangled sob. “My god, Panna, I hate it here. I hate it so much.”
Fugo stared at him in shock for a long moment as Bruno fought desperately not to fall into pieces. Then Fugo finally stepped forward, crouching in front of Bruno. After a moment’s hesitation he reached out and gripped the older teen’s shoulder tightly.
“We’ll do what we can for them, for Zullo,” he said firmly.
Bruno nodded, wiping his face and taking several deep breaths to steady himself. He couldn’t allow himself any more time to break down, he had to put his mask back on and face the day, face the life he had chosen to be a part of.
Fugo offered him a hand and Bruno took it, allowing the blonde to help him to his feet.
“Please promise me that you’ll never cross Polpo, Panna,” Bruno said firmly.
Fugo nodded. “I won’t do anything without your say,” he promised. “But one day, Bucciarati, I believe you’ll be in his place, and when you are, you can make the changes you want.”
“Yes,” Bruno said wryly. “But that day is not today, and I think there are too many damages already done.”