Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Adrian
I ’m in the middle of watching Judge Henry Langston drink his morning coffee. His wrinkled face is twisted into a frown as he flips through the pages of the newspaper. The sight of the black and white newspaper brings me back to that first morning with Madi in my home, where she insinuated I was an old man for reading from a physical paper before I bent her over the table and punished her smart ass.
Pushing down the fond memories before my cock gets any harder, I try to focus on the judge. In a perfect world, I’d have more time to study his movements before I got him alone and laid out the terms of our arrangement. But I’m lacking time. Pressure from both Sam and Damien has me rushing this plan. My only saving grace is that Alessio was able to give me an outline of his schedule based on his calendar, which the tech wiz kid hacked into somehow. Now, I just have to hope that the man follows his schedule to the T.
“What’s he doing?” Fede asks beside me, taking a chug of his own takeout coffee.
“Just reading the paper.” I sigh.
Fede sighs, leaning back into his seat. “So, how was New York?”
“I already told you,” I say, keeping my focus on the Judge.
“No, not the whole plan part. How was it with Madi?”
Now I move the binoculars to the side and look at my brother. He’s been against my marriage to Madi since the second I proposed it. Seeing it as nothing more than a distraction.
“What are you asking?”
“Are you serious about her?” he asks, and I fear if I tell him the truth, that will only make him angry. Fede and I have always been close, and that closeness has been built on our shared need to take down the family that ruined ours.
“I don’t know, Fed,” I say with a sigh, even though I know I’m lying.
I’m in deep.
I’m in love with Madalena Russo, the daughter of the man who ordered my father’s death.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “We’re still going to take down the Costellos.”
“And then what?” he asks, the agitation rising in his words. “You two just ride off into the sunset? It doesn’t work like that, Adrian. She’s a liability.”
“What do you mean-”
The ringing of my cellphone distracts me, cutting off my words. John’s name flashes across the screen, and with a groan, I answer.
“What?” I ask, pulling the binoculars back to my eyes right as Judge Langston brings his coffee to his lips for another sip.
“What a lovely greeting,” John muses dryly, not a drop of humor lacing his tone. “Did you draw up that paperwork I asked for?”
A knot twists in my stomach. I did. But I was holding on to it, hoping to avoid becoming a part of whatever game John is playing.
I pull back the binoculars. “Yes.”
“I need you to bring it to the club. Now.”
“I’ll have Fede bring it over,” I say, keeping my eyes on the judge as he flips to the next page of his paper. How long is this man going to sit here, anyway? My plan is to get him in transit between his home and his office, but I can’t do that until he leaves his damn home.
“No. I want you to bring it.”
“I’m busy,” I tell John.
“Then get un-busy.”
I sigh. Conversations with John seem pointless. “I’m trying to get your beloved cousin out of jail. Would you like me to do that or come to the club?”
John chuckles, a deep sound that feels not quite human. “I’d like you to do both, Adrian. Are you having trouble with task management?”
Dropping the binoculars, I rest my forehead in my palm. This guy’s a psychopath, and if I keep pushing, he very well might kill me.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I need to stop by the office and grab it, and then I’ll be there.”
“Good boy,” John says, making my skin crawl before he hangs up the phone.
“Watch the judge,” I tell Fede, handing over the binoculars. “I have to go.” Exiting the car, I walk the block to where I parked mine, Fede’s words still echoing in my head.
She’s a liability.
It takes me twenty-five minutes to get from Langston’s house to my office and another fifteen to get to Saints and Sinners. The strip club looks dreary in the light of day, a painted black brick exterior with neon lights that boast the club’s name turned off.
John is outside, leaning on the side of a sleek black Porsche. Behind him, I recognize Roman, a fixer who works for Sam. The same one who was at my house with Madi the night John and his goons kidnapped me. Speaking of goons, the set of them is also here. Tommy and Christopher, the two assholes who beat the shit out of me while I was tied to a chair.
What a lovely reunion.
“Did you bring ’em?” John asks as I exit my car.
I wave the manila envelope with the papers in question. John extends his hand, taking the envelope from me and unsealing it. He leafs through the documents, checking that I’m not fucking him over. A good call on his part, because I did consider handing him a stack of blank papers.
“The club is currently owned by Rocco Santorre, that’s who Damien gave it to after Marcus’s…disappearance.” John chuckles at my wording, both of us knowing Marcus didn’t just up and disappear. “You’ll need his signature-” I reach forward, flipping to the correct page. “Here.” I point to the signature line. “And I’ll need yours as well.”
“And then everything will be legal.” John looks up from the papers, an unnerving smile on his face.
“I’ll have to file the paperwork, but yes. The club will legally be yours.”
“Great.” John hands the stack of papers back to me. “Now, let’s go get that signature.”
That tricky little organ in my chest begins to beat faster despite me trying to calm it. “Me?” I ask, then gesture to the club. “I got the paperwork, this is your domain.”
“Nah.” John shakes his head. “You’re gonna go in there and have Rocco sign it.”
“And what are you going to do?” I ask.
“Make sure he signs it.” I don’t like the wicked grin that’s spread on John’s cheeks right now. It promises violence that I don’t want to be a part of. But still, I follow him and the goons into the club.
There’s a guard out front. He lifts his hand, probably to deny entrance, but he doesn’t get a chance to speak before Tommy points his gun and shoots. The man falls to the ground and Christopher drags his body inside. The silencer on the end of Tommy’s barrel muffles the gunshot, and nobody flinches as we all walk over the body and into the club.
It’s quiet in the middle of the day, no loud music playing and just a few employees cutting limes and lemons behind the bar. They startle when we enter, and they must have some sense because they scurry away into the back, putting space between us and them. I’m thankful that this isn’t a killing spree and Tommy’s gun stays pointed downward, letting the staff leave.
John leads us to the back office, the space that used to belong to Marcus. Inside, Rocco sits at the desk, a laptop open in front of him. He looks up, his eyes roaming over John and then the crew behind him. I give him credit; the guy doesn’t show his fear outwardly, but still I can tell from the way his body tenses as he takes in the sight before him that he’s scared. I wonder if he knows that the guard stationed out front is dead, or if he just assumes as much.
He’s stuck in the middle of a bloody war between the Costellos.
One wrong move and anyone could die.
I’m in the same boat.
“Rocco,” John greets, walking up to the desk and sliding casually into the chair across from him.
“John.” Rocco closes the laptop and sits up straighter in his chair. “What brings you to the club?” he asks, trying to seem unaffected. If Damien was here, I doubt the big, burly man would even flinch at John’s presence. But without any backup, and having John plus his goons here, means the man is outnumbered.
“I need you to sign some paperwork.” John gestures to me, and I realize that’s my cue. Opening the manila envelope, I tug the papers free and flip to the right page, sliding it across the desk to Rocco.
The man seals his lips and looks down. “You know I can’t do that, Johnny.”
Tension consumes the small office. John laughs, a sinister sound that makes both Rocco and I both flinch. “Listen, you can either sign with this pen here…” John grabs a pen from the desk and clicks it, gesturing for Rocco to take it. “Or I can stab you in the eyeball with it.”
He shakes his head, nostrils flaring. John doesn’t hesitate. Rearing his arm back, he darts it forward with enough force that the pen goes straight into Rocco’s right eye. The man screams, his hands raising to the eye that still has a pen sticking out of it. Blood runs down his cheeks, splattering on the desk.
My stomach clenches, and I swallow hard, fighting the need to vomit at the grisly sight. “Jesus,” I mutter under my breath.
“Sign it,” John demands, taking a fresh pen from the holder and forcing it into Rocco’s hand.
Tears begin to leak out of Rocco’s good eye as he takes the pen and scribbles his name on the line. As soon as he finishes, John grabs the pen from his hand and signs his own name before stacking up the papers and handing them back to me.
John nods at Tommy, who steps forward, putting a bullet in Rocco’s head. “Roman, you and Tommy stay here. This mess needs to be cleaned up, and when the staff gets in tonight, please inform them of the change in management. Christopher, you’re with me. And Adrian”—he looks over to me—“get that paperwork filed today.”
I nod compliantly, waiting until I get into my car and a mile away from the club before I scream.
Despite the nausea that wells in my stomach, I file the paperwork and get back to my main task today.
I still have to get Sam released from prison and take down this fucked-up family.