Chapter 5 - The Inversion of the Sidewalk
Jimmy Vance let out a high-pitched, feminine scream of pain, his knees instantly buckling as Dominic twisted his wrist downward toward the concrete. The leather jacket rustled as he tried to swing his left hand, but Rocco was already there, his broad chest blocking the movement, his hand sliding beneath Jimmy’s armpit to lift him off his feet before a crowd could gather.
“Let go of me! You don't know who I am!” Jimmy gasped, his face turning gray as the circulation to his hand stopped completely. “I’m his father! I have legal rights!”
“In South Philadelphia, Jimmy, I am the only legal right that matters,” Dominic said. He didn't release the wrist. He used his weight to drive Jimmy back against the rusted side of the Malibu, the metal groaning under the impact. “Rocco, take the boy into the pharmacy. Buy him some of those sour worms he likes.”
Rocco moved instantly, kneeling down to scoop Leo up into his massive arms with a surprising, gentle efficiency. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go see the candy man. The big guys are just talking about car insurance.”
Leo looked at Dominic, then at his father’s twisting face, and allowed himself to be carried through the glass doors of the store.
When the child was gone, Dominic turned back to Jimmy. He didn't pull his gun. He didn't need to. He simply leaned forward until his expensive wool coat pressed against Jimmy’s chest, his green eyes dark with an old, ancestral violence that had been passed down through three generations of Bruno men.
“The girl works for my father, Jimmy,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a hard, rhythmic hum. “She makes his soup. She cleans his kitchen. That means she is under the protection of the Bruno name. If I see your car on Tenth Street again—if I even see your name written on a scrap of paper in this ward—I’m going to have Rocco take you down to the Navy Yard. Do you know what they do with the old shipping crates at the Navy Yard, Jimmy?”
Jimmy swallowed hard, his eyes wide with a frantic, animal terror as he shook his head.
“They fill them with concrete to stabilize the piers,” Dominic said softly. “Now get into your car and drive back to Delaware. And if those guys from Chester have a problem with your timeline, tell them to call Dominic Bruno. Let’s see if they want twenty grand badly enough to come look for it on my docks.”
He released the wrist with a sharp shove that sent Jimmy tumbling back into the driver’s seat. The Malibu’s engine roared to life with a ragged, broken cough, the car peeling away from the curb so fast it struck a plastic trash can, leaving a trail of gray paper and orange peels across the asphalt as it vanished down Snyder Avenue.
Dominic stood on the sidewalk for a long time, his breath steady, his gloves smooth. He looked down at the concrete, where the box of pasta had split open, the yellow noodles scattered like broken straw.
He knelt down, his expensive trousers straining against his knees as he began to pick up the loose groceries, his large hands careful as he gathered the head of cabbage and the undamaged carton of milk.
Elena stood three feet away, her arms still wrapped around her chest, her body trembling with a cold, delayed shock that had nothing to do with the winter wind.
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“I told you,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked down at his dark hair. “I told you I didn't want my son around men like you.”
Dominic stood up, holding the cabbage in his arms like a prize. “He isn't around men like me, Elena,” he said, his green eyes meeting hers with a quiet, unyielding gravity. “He’s around me. And right now, that’s the only thing keeping him from spending the weekend in a trailer in Chester. Let’s go get your boy.”
