Tommy
Salvatore’s chair bothered me.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud. Wouldn’t even look at it too long. But every time the crew gathered in the back room, that empty space at the table felt louder than the men arguing around it.
Sal had been with me since I was seventeen. Back when we were running numbers out of a bar with busted neon lights and borrowed guns.
Now he was gone.
And I had let Maria give the order.
I watched the crew carefully.
Romano wasn’t speaking as much. The younger soldiers were overcompensating — too eager, too obedient. That kind of obedience didn’t come from loyalty.
It came from fear.
Fear I understood.
Doubt I didn’t tolerate.
One of the captains finally said what the room was thinking.
“Sal would’ve died for you.”
I didn’t blink.
“He did,” I answered e
