Chapter Four Tyler #3
Her face shows the first sign of emotion since she began, and it’s more aggravation than anything.
“I don’t agree with how my father has made his fortune or runs his family, nor do I have any affection or loyalty for him. When I left home, I left all sentiments that existed there with my mother. I have no interest in maintaining his legacy.”
She runs her fingers through her hair, and I briefly get lost in the movement. “Look, I’m very aware that you could end my life right now and get a full eight hours of sleep without a single regret, but I’m here to end my father’s reign.”
“Why not take over and change it yourself?”
“Ciro would never allow that type of change, nor would his captains. None of them are willing to revolutionize with the times, and I’m not willing to sacrifice more of my soul waiting for them to die old men. It has to be now.”
She stares through me with her following words, her voice reflective as she drifts to some other place and time.
“One of my father’s favorite stories is that of my great-grandfather arriving in Harlem with nothing but the shirt on his back and the equivalent of twenty US dollars.
This is nearly a century of American DiCicco history that Ciro will never part with.
His organization is just as intricate and as concentrated as yours—if not more so.
I’ll be nothing but a speed bump and disposed of like trash if I don’t comply, and a speed bump can’t stop a fucking freight train. ”
“And if I don’t agree to help you?”
“Maybe I make it months or short years, but I die no matter what because, at some point, I will refuse to play his way.”
“And Tula won’t help?”
“We all have to earn our place. She earned hers. Killed the boss and had her husband act as boss for years before she finally commanded the respect she deserved and made herself known as the real donna. She’s confident that I’ll earn my place, but the answer is no.”
“That’s pretty ruthless.”
“She has nine fucking children, and so, naturally, they take precedence over me. It’s the way of it.”
“You’re being pretty flippant about your possible imminent death.”
“You’re asking questions you already know the answers to and wasting more time. I don’t fear death, Tyler,” she says, never breaking eye contact. “Though I don’t want it, either, I would welcome death over Ciro’s decided path for me and am prepared for that fate if this doesn’t work.”
She holds my gaze, walking over to me where I stand before palming my left forearm and lightly tracing all visible ink with the pad of her finger. The seductive smile forming on her lips demands my focus, the energy of last night’s interlude coming back into play as my cock snaps to attention.
“Tell me, Tyler”—her long dark lashes flit over her cheeks as she lightly traces the edge of one of my feathers before lifting her gaze to mine—“how many times did I just lie to you?”
She can’t be this good. Then again, Tula DiGiovanni is a force to be reckoned with and, no doubt, a master of deception. With the right amount of training from a notorious female mob boss, anything is possible.
That and eight years.
“I’ll be back,” I say, stepping out of reach of her toxicity while hoping Tobias is still tuned in, because my mind is racing.
Eight. Fucking. Years.
Eight years to put together a plan to exact perfect revenge. Eight years of recon to nail every player imaginable. Long enough to know where to strike, and how hard, to take any opponent down. Reeling, I’m already halfway out the door when she speaks to my retreating back.
“The clock is ticking. I have free rein now because I’m believed to be in allegiance with Ciro, but it won’t last long if I don’t feed him something concrete. If I’m being watched by anyone I’m unaware of, it’s already over, and they’re coming.”
“You are aware of where you’re standing, right?”
“Please don’t be that na?ve. Ciro has associates everywhere, including DC.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” I say, opening the door.
“Tyler,” she calls, her tone different, indicating the business portion of our conversation is over, and that fact is further brought home by her following words as I look back at her.
“I want to be your partner. I want my father’s reign to end.
I can’t …” She swallows. “No, I won’t allow myself to do what’s required to obtain his station any longer.
” She zeroes in on me, a hint of hope in her eyes.
“I will help you put them all away and give you enough to toss the key, but it has to be swift and exact. Please try to consider me without my name, and that my offer is sincere.”
I consider every word as I walk out, lifting my ringing phone to my ear after answering, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“How many times?” Tobias asks. “How many times did she lie?”
“None,” I say, which has me utterly perplexed. “Only omissions, which she alluded to, but even so, we can’t trust her.”
“Jesus,” Tobias whispers, the implication in his tone fitting while telling me we’re in the exact same headspace.
The knowledge solidifying that if she is lying—or we mishandle this in any way—it could lead to a war far more fucking devastating than our last. The difference between now and then is that we declared this one purposefully with whatever faceless enemies came calling, and as of now, we’ve identified our first.
“All birds on deck,” I say, stalking toward the elevator, a tactical plan forming with only a few more details to iron out.
In order for this to work, I’ll have to delegate a few of said details to my most trusted, and thank fuck for that.
“If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.”
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War