Yeah… This might have been a new low for Tommy.

He’d always tried to be fair in dealings with retribution, always tried to keep a level head, but this time, he found that he couldn’t do that. Not after Grace.

He tried his best to ignore the shocked stares of John and Arthur as they stood in the wide, double-doored doorway, staring at the sight in front of them. He could almost taste, smell, touch, and hear the disappointment that radiated off of John in waves, and the same with the utter disbelief that came from Arthur.

Tommy turned his attention back to the matter at hand- the person that sat half-slumped over in a wooden chair in the middle of the room. If it weren’t for the coarse ropes keeping them bound to the chair, they’d likely be a heap of useless limbs on the hard floor.

“Alright, boys. This is-“ Tommy began, but was cut off immediately by his younger brother.

“Fuck me, Tommy, we know who that is. Are you out of your fucking mind?” John asked, his tone nearly frantic.

“Great, so you know this is the youngest of Vicente Changretta’s children. They didn’t flee to New York with Mrs. Changretta, probably should have, though. Debts are to be paid, like it or not,” Tommy proclaimed, trying to ignore the sliver of guilt he felt lodge itself in his throat.

Arthur rubbed his face a few times before he shook his head, “Tom, we already dealt with Vicente, ain’t no reason to bring more death-”

“Debts are to be paid, like it or not,” Tommy repeated sharply, glancing over his shoulder at his brothers.

A stirring in the chair effectively silenced all three men and they instantly shifted their eyes to the Changretta in the room. John and Arthur slowly shuffled out of the warehouse, feeling ashamed.

Tommy nearly called this whole thing off. He felt frustrated and almost remorseful, wondering how exactly it even came to this. He forced himself to think of Grace, though. Her funeral, her smile… holding her while she bled out.

“{{user}} Changretta. Do you know who I am?”