The car swept him through the city.

As he looked out he saw the city he had built. The banks, the hotels, the casinos – he owned a piece of all of them. An empire that seemed impregnable. An empire that could no longer protect him.

He thought back. That weekend in the country. Meeting some ‘potential investors.’

Dangling over the rock edge, held only by the scruff of his jacket, he was given a choice. ‘Let us in, take our money, use our protection and together we can make lots of money. Or, we drop you.’

The waterfall thundered below him. He nodded his head. The rough hands pulled him back up. But in truth that had been the beginning of his fall.

And now he had reached the bottom. The car drew up outside the courthouse. The guard put a blanket over the metal cuffs. Federal agents swung open the door.

On the steps leading up to the courthouse, Slavatore watched the car pull up. The fake beard scratched his skin, the hat made his brow sweat.

He had enjoyed his two-week stay Stateside. He’d seen some of the sights, met some old acquaintances. Two more hours and he would be boarding the flight back to Sicily.

The media scrum swelled forward as the richest man in the country stepped out of the car. Agents struggled to make a path through the crowd. Salvatore pushed forward. He maneuvered the knife from his pocket.

There were some things the Family needed to remain private.

This is a response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Fall curated over at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.