The Boss's Son | ✅

16

Due warning: This chapter contains descriptive depiction of violence. Proceed with caution.

With my head propped up on Mike's shoulder, I had dozed off. When Mike woke me up with a tiny shrug, the sight that offered itself up to me, confused me. The sun had set. It could only be minutes to the starting time of the auction. By now, I would have expected the organizers to have set up chairs for the audience, tables to display the fragile goods, or at least a lectern behind which the auctioneer would go about his job.

Nothing of that had happened. Instead, a brightly lit circle burned into the barn floor, around which men stood in loose groups. They clung to the darkness, a scattered mass most unlikely to have come for the thrill of the raising of bidding paddles. In this very moment, a restlessness rippled through the gathering like waves rippled the surface of water after a stone had been dropped in. Heads turned towards the wide-open barn door.

Outside, headlights heralded the arrival of someone. Someone, who was awaited. The mass drew closer to the light's circle, shaping a wall at its edge. Fists were clenched, knuckles cracked, feet pawed through freshly spread sawdust. It all had more the feel of a fight club than an art auction. Only the betting on the victor was missing, as if the upcoming confrontation could only know one victor anyway. This didn't bode well for whoever was parking the car outside.

After a shared glance filled with questions, Mike and I shrugged and slid into position. Whatever would happen next, we'd be a witness. I had my camera at the ready, when a car door plopped shut and gravel crunched under feet. Mike tensed next to me. For all we knew, it could be Henry who showed up. For a second, I took my hand away from the trigger and rested it on Mike's back. There wasn't much else I could do. And then, I snapped my first shot of the night.

It wasn't of Henry, but Gio. He stopped dead in the door. Fear seized every wrinkle on his face. His eyes widened, flitted around. Sweat broke the surface of his face. He had something of a rat as he stood there. Like a rodent in sight of a cat, he began immediately to spin around. A briefcase slipped to the floor as he prepared to run.

His attempts were futile. Unnoticed by him, but not my camera, two men had slipped behind him. They seized him, took hold of one arm each, dragged his fighting and staggering self into the middle of the circle. In the bright light, his head turned until his oily brown curls danced in uproar. His feet stemmed into the wooden flaks in a last-ditch attempt to get away. His legs ran, but his body wouldn't move thanks to the two Hulks, hanging on to his arms without much effort.

"Gio, Gio, Gio."

I recognized the voice. My lens searched for the man, before the circle opened to make room for Rizzoli. His men – and there was no mistaking, these were his men and he was the Boss - closed their ranks behind him. I couldn't help to feel elated, triumphant even, despite what I guessed would happen next. I was about to witness mafia justice. It was nothing to be elated about. But it was exactly that fact that meant, that I had been right about Rizzoli all along. Here was the proof, I'd been looking for. That was reason to be triumphant.

I dared a glimpse at Mike. His mouth still hung open. I was tempted to close it for him, slightly giddy. That was so wrong with Gio panting and babbling in fear and about to wet his pants. I turned my attention back to my camera and through my camera to the light.

Someone had picked up Gio's briefcase and, after a swift check that it was safe, had handed it on to Rizzoli. He pulled some tissue paper wrapped pages from inside, then he passed the bag to another someone behind him, without looking.

The wrapping fell. I zoomed in on maybe three sheets of parchment. Manuscript seized, from what Mike had told me about the missing manuscript. Mike had his binoculars in front of his eyes. His thumb lifted in my direction. He must have recognized the design. The Prince was in the house, or parts of it.