Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alejandro
Even though Dillan and Tío Enrique are equivalent, Dillan and Pablo are the same age.
They’ve known each other since they were in peewee sports.
Pablo grew up in New Jersey while Dillan grew up in Queens, like most of the rest of us.
He and Juan never went to school with the O’Rourkes.
However, we played peewee, little league, and club sports together.
As often as we were rivals, we were also teammates.
Our dads took turns bringing the orange wedges and juice boxes to each game.
Within the hour, I’m shutting the door to the strip club’s office and making my way to the mezzanine level.
The dim lighting and private tables make this a spot where many of our shady deals happen.
It’s that way for all the syndicates and their strip clubs.
Boardrooms are for above-board business.
However, when legit businesspeople want to do illegitimate business, they meet us in places like this; a den of iniquity in the seedy underworld.
Despite Javier and Joaquin both being older than me, I sit to Pablo’s right while Tres J’s remain standing as our bodyguards.
Dillan and his cousin Finn sit across the low table from us.
Finn’s younger twin brothers, Shane and Sean, and another set of brothers, Cormac and Seamus, stand guard for their skipper.
Such stupid names for roles in the mob. They couldn’t come up with anything better than titles from the ship their family came over on.
“What do you want, Pablo? I’d rather be home with my family than shooting the shite with your ugly arse.”
“But the drinks are on us. How many bottles of whiskey will you make your way through?”
The digs at our families’ origins are a given. It’s like heckling a rival sports team. We all take it in stride, so it doesn’t faze Dillan. His mocking laugh is the same one he’s had since we were all kids. He and Pablo do all the talking while my gaze sweeps over the other mobsters.
Something about Cormac feels off. He’s a shady fucker to begin with and always has been.
But the warning bells are ringing even louder than usual.
Our gazes meet, and we both reflexively cock an eyebrow before glowering at each other.
While I might focus my gaze on Cormac, I still listen attentively to Pablo and Dillan.
“O’Rourke, we know about you and the Kutsenkos. We’ve kept our noses out of your squabbles despite what happened to Jorge’s soon-to-be in-laws. Never once did you or the bratva thank us for not retaliating as harshly as we could.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful that you did us some great deal?”
“Yes.” Pablo’s response is so deadpan it hangs in the air before Dillan cackles.
“You’re crazy if you believe we owe you shite, Pablo. Jorge’s in-laws were unfortunate collateral damage. We apologized. Move on.”
I force my fingers not to flex into a fist because I know it wouldn’t go unnoticed, especially since Cormac’s still staring at me.
“We’re not telling you to back off supporting the Camorra and the ’Ndrangheta—”
“Good thing because we wouldn’t.”
Dillan interrupts Pablo, but my cousin continues as though Dillan said nothing.
“—We are telling you to warn your minions what will happen if they insist upon persecuting Alejandro and Vittoria.”
“You’re making a lot of speculations here, Pablo. You have no proof to show they’re involved in whatever shite Alejandro got himself and his woman involved in. I heard that a woman nearly got the better of you, Alejandro. Slippin’ up. Maybe you should think with your bigger head.”
It’s not a direct insult to Vita, but it’s still a veiled one at my expense. I grit my teeth before I say something I can’t take back. The impetuousness I’ve allowed myself with Vita can’t happen here. The stakes are far too high for everyone involved.
“What, cat got your tongue, Alejo?”
It’s Cormac who takes the dig. The muscle in Dillan’s jaw ticks once, but beyond that, there’s no outward sign he’s annoyed at his cousin for speaking.
“What’s got you so pissy today, Cormac? Your brother steal your favorite toy again?”
“Funny, dipshit.”
“Maybe you’re the one behind all of this, Cormac, since you can’t let go of how I bested you all those years ago. You’ve always been a petty Betty little bitch.”
When we were in college, we both ran underground gambling rings through the fraternities.
We didn’t go to the same school—I’m a fuck ton smarter than his dumbass—but the bookies we used sometimes overlapped.
One guy fucked Cormac over because he thought he could make more by pitting Cormac and me against each other. He died for his sins.
One of the few times Cormac and I agreed on anything.
But before that happened, I cost Cormac three-million-dollars in gambling wins. It’s not my fault I’m better at card and dice games than he is.
“You assume I’m still hanging on to all that.”
“Aren’t you, though?”
“For feck’s sake, Alejandro, I don’t care about what happened nearly ten years ago. I just dislike you because you’re a piece of shite.”
“No, you still care because you peaked back in college and haven’t come up with a creative idea since then. You’re pissed I’m way wealthier than you will ever be.”
Pablo redirects the conversation before it can fully deteriorate into a pissing match.
“Dillan, you have a choice. Get the hit called off, or we’ll start supporting the bratva in this little war of yours.
Not only will we funnel money to them, but we’ll also make it look like you’re responsible for shit going wrong for the Mancinellis.
Do you really want three against one right now?
Can you afford to fight a war on that many fronts? ”
Dillan knows his family’s limitations, just like we do.
Two against one is still doable. But if three out of the Four Families are against him, then they’re all fucked beyond belief.
There’s no way they can hold their own when all three of us are after them.
He’s too shrewd to allow his ego to get the better of him for this.
“We didn’t cause any of this, Pablo. So if—and that’s a very motherfecking big if—we can help you out, you fecking owe us.”
“The only thing we’ll owe you is not cleaning out every account you have in your little offshore enterprise. Get this taken care of, Dillan, and maybe we won’t blow up any more of your shit.”
All the O’Rourkes know we mean the labs they have in the .
We allow the other three families to have three labs each.
Any more than that is pushing our graciousness to the limit.
If they fuck around right now, they’ll find out that we’ll take it all from them.
Not a single lab will remain, and they’ll never get another.
The meeting ends, and my family follows the O’Rourkes downstairs.
Tres J’s escorts them to the door. They’ve just walked outside when flames leap into the air and shrapnel from their SUV pummels the building.
Guns are drawn before any of us know what’s happening.
Instinct demands all of us prepare to defend our respective families.
Call it PTSD or a trauma response from nearly being blown up twice, but I’m ready to shoot, then ask questions.
The O’Rourkes, with their men who waited outside, burst back into the strip club.
The shootout in the parking lot was bad enough, but this is an even more confined space.
Fortunately, we’re meeting here during the few hours the club is closed.
“Diaz!”
Dillan’s voice is close enough to me that I pivot on my toes from where I squat behind a booth.
“You fecking trapped us. You know these sit-downs are supposed to be neutral.”
“You stupid piece of shit. We didn’t do this. Why would we blow up your vehicle right by our building?”
I yell my thoughts before anyone else can answer Dillan.
He points his gun directly at me, but neither of us pulls the trigger.
It’s unfortunate for the men who work for both ruling families.
They’re our targets. While all’s fair in a situation like this, no one in los Diaz or the O’Rourkes will aim for the leaders.
If we get injured in the crossfire, that’s on us.
Dillan and I don’t lower our guns but shift our attention to guards who are fair game.
The situation intensifies as more Diaz men stream into the building, boxing in the O’Rourkes.
It doesn’t make Dillan and his family reckless out of desperation.
Just the opposite. Joaquin tries to call off our men and send them back, hoping to de-escalate the situation that’s rapidly growing out of control.
Glass shattering turns my head toward the bar as one bottle after another falls from the shelves.
That anyone who’s targeting the booze over a man grabs everyone’s attention enough to cause a ceasefire.
My heart drops to my toes as I watch Vita shooting at the bottles with her right hand while her left has a handgun pointed to the crowd.
She’s watching where she’s aiming into the crowd rather than at the bar.
“Enough! I saw who did it. It wasn’t Diaz or O’Rourke men.”
I lower my weapon as I bolt to her. She clicks the safety back on both of her weapons, pointing them at the floor. I position myself in front of her as a shield in case someone loses their fucking mind and believes she’s fair game.
“Jandro, I saw it all. I tried to get to you, but your guard wouldn’t let me out of the office.
I tried my best, but the guy’s a behemoth.
He didn’t flinch when I punched him in the face or the gut.
It was only my foot to his huevos that finally got him out of my way.
He wouldn’t believe me when I said it was an emergency and that I knew what happened.
I get he was doing his job, but I could’ve prevented this fuckstorm. ”
Men from my family and the O’Rourkes tentatively draw closer.