The Mafia's Target

Wilder

Red streaks of water raced down the metal basin. Dust muddied the edges of the drain like a riverbank after a storm. The first orders were completed. I turned off the faucet, then wiped my hands on my jeans. Fans circled overhead. I glanced at the incinerator, the carcass sealed inside. Everything was in its place.

The front doors slid open. A dagger of sunlight swung through the barn, casting long shadows from the rails separating each pen. My brother’s dress shoes scraped on the cement. He adjusted his cuffs, then checked his watch.

“Where were you last night?” Sawyer asked.

For our family business, the Feldman Farm, to grow like my brother wanted, we had three new hires to train. A cattle herd our size didn’t require the extra men, but that was not our sole business. Still, we trained the new hires around the cattle. If they could handle themselves around a cow protecting her calf and our tests of loyalty, then they were promoted to other positions, eventually moving to the Dairy Barn. We had never had a dairy cow on the farm before, but we still called it that for show. I swung around to the lifeless pen.

“Training the new hires,” I said.

A few seconds passed as he watched me clean up the corral. I shoveled the rest of the scraps from the ground into the wheelbarrow, to take to the incinerator. Made sure the camera was powered off. Dumped the trough in the basin, then rinsed it with a hose until the water ran clean. Waited for my brother to leave. The Dairy Barn wasn’t his office; it was mine. Though Sawyer was several years younger than me, he acted like turning thirty meant he owned the family business, as if our father would relinquish his crown to the Feldman Farm, an empire that did far more than farm livestock.

All Sawyer’s birthday meant was that it was time for the Trial to start, an event in our timeline that the two of us had been waiting for since we were children: the Feldman Trial.

“It’s disrespectful,” Sawyer said.

“To whom?”

“Me.”

I pulled my lips back, baring my teeth. “You were the one who hired them.”

“You weren’t training. You were ranching,” he said, calling me out. ‘Ranching’ was part of our cover; it had to do with the other orders. “You’re obsessed.”

“Good,” I said. That was how it should be.

Sawyer wanted to own the business, to give our family the power to take over the country, and eventually expand internationally. He had worked in the Dairy Barn, but now he was used to dealing with the other side of the business. Networking. Making deals. I specialized in our actual services, knowing that the only way we could conquer the world was by making sure that every livestock order was completed to the buyer’s requests with exact precision.

Both of us were tall, with the same gray-blue eyes as our father, and the same black hair. Where I had tan lines from working in the pastures and bulging muscles covered by a layer of fat, Sawyer was muscular and toned, and never without a tailored suit.

He gestured at the wheelbarrow.

“Those orders could have been completed this morning. Easily.” “And now I’m ahead,” I answered.

He rubbed a hand across his face. “You’ve got to take every aspect of the business seriously. Not just that.”

“I do what I do best.”

“You use it to avoid everything.”

I clenched my fists. “Stop crying about your damned birthday.”

He chuckled to himself, dismissing my remark. Anger boiled inside of me. But now wasn’t the time. If I needed to take out my aggression, the Feldman Trial would start soon, and then we would be on the same playing field once again.

“Like I give a shit about that,” Sawyer said. “But that was one of our last chances to discuss the Trial without—”

The door to the barn opened again, light blasting inside.

“You missed one hell of a party last night, my boy,” a loud, gravelly voice called. Every muscle in my body tensed. Forrest, our father, came striding toward us, his gray hair styled, his presence dominating. He would understand my absence. You didn’t double the family business without making sacrifices like my father had. “Must have been an important order for you to stand us up like that,” he continued.

Us. He, and Sawyer. He didn’t like my decision to work, then. I lifted my head and leveled his gaze. “Someone had to take care of it.”

“You’re right,” he said, matching my tone. “Though one of the ranchers could have handled it. But anyway,” he slapped his hands together, “I was looking forward to today more. Our Feldman Trial.” Sawyer and I waited, both of us nodding silently. “Now that you are both in your thirties, we can hold a brotherly competition, to see who reigns supreme when it comes to our business.” Sawyer opened his hand, waiting for the list, but our father shook his head. “Not yet, my boy. But we’ll see who can finish their orders first. Now, each list is tailored to your abilities. Sawyer, since you take part more in the financial side of things, your list will be significantly larger than your brother’s, but one that will leave you time to deal with your regular duties.”

Sawyer nodded, pleased with himself. He was always eager to prove himself to our father, to show that even if he was younger, he was better than both of us. I, on the other hand, didn’t care about that. I wanted to do my work. To experience the complete tranquility that came whenever a livestock order was finished.

“And you, my oldest,” Forrest said, acknowledging me. “You will have only three orders to complete. But these orders have been difficult for other rival businesses to complete. I admit that I’ve tried to do each one of these, but have come up short. So it’s up to you, my son. And I know you can do it.” A flame of rage crashed through me. He was always so proud to have raised us. “Your uncles and I did the same thing to see who would take over the Feldman Farm.”