Many thanks to Literotica author 'englander1961' for her help, editorial services, encouragement and a title much better than my original, which has elevated her to the status of House Goddess of Sexy Story Titles. Thanks to Sammi Scott, aka Titsy McYarn, the Cute at the Heart of the Abyss for her help and valuable critique. Thanks to Literotica author 'KY ridgerunner' for the stories that planted the idea in my head months ago. A belated and much overdue thanks to John Hasty for his peerless editing. Bounteous thanks to Kevin for his incredibly thorough critiquing and voluminous notes.
After you've read this, if you have any inclination at all to comment, please do so, either by email or on the comment board... The best way for me to grow and improve as an author is to hear from the people who read my work. I welcome constructive critiques and non-abusive comments. I will answer, in at least a semi-prompt manner, any email that comes with an email address. If you feel you must respond in a hateful or angry fashion, you may put your head down upon your desk and do so, quietly to yourself, for as long as you feel it necessary. This story may not be copied to other sites without my permission. If you have not read the earlier installment(s) of this tale, it would probably help you to make sense of this one if you did so.
* * * * *
Before Niccolo Philouma had a chance to finish his morning bathroom routine, one of his men was at the door.
"Phone... it's your father."
Ten minutes later he was dressed, had left a note for Susan telling her they'd talk over lunch and was on his way out the door.
When Big Vic summoned someone, they went.
* * * * *
The head of the Philouma crime syndicate looked old. That was Nick's first thought upon entering the kitchen of the house he'd grown up in... his father looked old.
"Siddown Nick... have some breakfast."
Nick took a seat across the old table that had seen so many smaller, less formal family meals. "Scrambled eggs and bacon... some toast too if it's not too much trouble, Renee," he told the cook.
"Like I've forgotten what you eat in the mornings," the old woman replied as she poured him a cup of coffee and put the cream pitcher next to his plate.
In a few minutes his food was on the table. It was obvious Renee had known he was coming and started her preparations early.
"Alright Renee, get outta here," his father said before having a coughing fit into his napkin.
The cook left, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'grouchy son-of-a-bitch' under her breath.
Once she was gone and the only sound in the kitchen was Nick eating, Victor Philouma spent several moments leaning back in his chair, gathering his thoughts while he watched his son before finally breaking his silence.
"So, you had your brother killed last night. We need to talk about that."
To his credit, Nick didn't try to deny it or even act shocked.
"How did you know?"
"There's very little that goes on in this family that I don't know about, sonny-boy. Let that be a lesson to you. You don't keep your seat atop the shit heap by bein' caught with your pants around your ankles playin' with yourself... or takin' it up the ass from your friend Randy."
Nick looked up from his plate, calm and focused.
"Are we about to have a fight, Father? If we are, I'll do you the courtesy of allowing you to make the first move."
"Yeah, and I'd need it... five years ago, hell, even two years ago, you wouldn't need to be doin' me no courtesies. Now... now you could prolly let me have the first three moves and you'd still put my ass on the floor. And that's part of what this talk is about.
"You decided that your brother was a threat to your plans, to those you feel an obligation to... and you decided that I wasn't gonna be able to, or wasn't gonna, control him. So you put him down.
"I was hoping that day would never come... that I'd be dead and him along with me before it did... but on the other hand, I hoped something like this would happen, something that would cause you to step up and take the reins out of my hands. You'd do something to let me know you were ready. Otherwise, I was gonna go to my grave hoping you were up to the job instead of knowing you were.
"Well, you did that. I can't hold the death of your brother against you... we both know what my plans for the poor stupid fuck were.
"And I've got no doubt that if I stand in your way you have something in store for me too."
"Yes sir... it would be quick, painless. I almost exercised that option along with taking care of Phil, but decided I could work around you."
"Well now you're not going to have to... I made a promise to your godfather Tony that the day you took the reins, I'd let go of them." The old man took off the ring that had rarely left his finger since his own father had put it on him just before he died. It was a simple silver band, widening out to contain a piece of granite with a rough and crude carving of a bird of prey... so rough in fact, that unless someone knew what they were looking at they probably couldn't tell what it was.
"Gimme your hand." Nick got up from the table, went to his father and knelt before him. Victor took his son's hand and put the ring on the middle finger of his right hand.
"Your great-grandfather hammered this ring out himself, and he carved the stone out of the rock of our homeland, rock that was washed with water from the Mediterranean for thousands and thousands of years. This is Sicily. We carry it with us wherever we go as a reminder of where we came from and what made us what we are.
"But as soon as his ship sailed out of the Mediterranean, this little piece of granite got wet with water our family had never known before. This piece of rock got baptized with our family's sweat in New York, in New Jersey, and here in Texas... it's been bathed in the blood of our enemies, and sometimes our friends, and our own blood as well. It's been wet from the rain of this country; it's been pissed on more than once. It's left its imprint on a lot of faces, on a lot of bodies. After Phil's funeral, when those who owe us allegiance kiss it, they're pledging their service not to you, but to the family. You and I will pass away... we only die if the family doesn't survive. Do you understand me?"
Nick felt the tears on his face as he answered, "Yes sir."
"Good... now then, dry your eyes, blow your nose and go finish your breakfast. We got shit to discuss."
As Nick returned to eating, his father continued.
"Now then, we're gonna get you married. Don't worry," he went on as Nick began to protest, "she'll know the score. It'll be a marriage of convenience. It won't be the first one this family has known. And you'll have kids... I don't care if you do it the old-fashioned way or use a motherfuckin' turkey baster, you and she will have children and they will be yours. I got a list of women I think might be suitable, we'll go over them later.
"I'm plannin' to plant Phil's fat ass day after tomorrow. You'll become head of the Philouma family at that time. Now if it were the old days, we could count on at least a couple of days, out of respect for the dead, before the jackals started shit... now we'll be lucky if the fuckin' Chinese don't hit us at the goddamn funeral with the cock-suckin', meanin' no offense, Russians followin' up with their shit right on the Chinks' heels."
"You really think they'll move that fast?"
"I dunno... I hope not... but then again, like your Uncle Almora used to say, 'I hope the next cunt I stick my dick in don't gimme the clap but hopin' ain't stopped it none of the times it's happened before.'
"Speakin' of your uncles, your Uncle Vincent, he's why I ain't so worried about you and your sexual... appetites."