The Kill

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Vincenzo Fuccini reached inside his Armani jacket and gripped the butt of his weapon, which hung suspended in his shoulder holster. No one would die tonight. Not if he had anything to do with it.

Vincenzo turned in his seat and looked back at Ronnie and Frankie. Both men sat ramrod straight in the backseat, staring out at the passing countryside as the sun dropped below the warm July sky.

“Ronnie, Frankie, you both know what you’re supposed to do?”

Ronnie turned to face Vincenzo. “Yeah, Boss. We got it. Anybody who is not supposed to be there, we take them out. Any sign of trouble toward you, we take them out.”

Frankie nodded his understanding and then said, “We got this, Boss.”

“Good. Don’t let it get fucked up, because if it does, we won’t be going home, even if we walk away tonight. There are powerful men at this meeting.”

“Ahh, Boss,” the driver said. “Don’t talk like that. Your dad would kill us in the worst way possible if anything happened to you.”

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