Killian #3
Jhene tenses up but otherwise doesn’t have a chance to respond.
I cross the restaurant to where Sal’s stopped near the entrance, his soldiers fanning out behind him like a human wall.
“Rourke,” he rasps. “That fight’s around the corner. I’ll be placing my bets.”
“You and everybody else.”
“Heard about the kerfuffle you’ve got into with the Russians. Been real interesting watching from the sidelines.”
“Kerfuffle is one word for it,” I reply. “Interesting coincidence, you showing up here. Didn’t realize the Ferreras had say at Tony’s Pizza.”
Sal takes a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. “We have say at most Italian establishments around the city. But rest assured, I’m not here ’cuz of you. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. No offense.”
“That goes both ways. You’re not on our radar unless you want to be.”
He grunts in place of a laugh, more smoke swirling around him. “Nico’s preoccupied with other matters. Like the owners here.”
I glance in the direction where he’s gesturing. He’s motioned to the back of the restaurant where not only the kitchen is, but the office is located.
I’m no expert on Tony’s, but I do know Tony and his wife normally work from back there. They’re a nice couple; Tony’s stout with a bushy mustache and his wife is Black with kind eyes and short hair.
“Tony?” I say. “What business do you have with them?”
“It’s not me who’s got business with ’em. It’s Nico. They go back. Way back. Almost before my time back.”
I’m not normally a nosy bastard, but my curiosity rises. What business could the don of the Ferrera family have with a middle-aged husband and wife who own and operate a small-time Brooklyn pizzeria?
The same the clan’s got with any of the small businesses we have under our thumb.
I give a nod and step back. “Alright. Don’t let me keep you.”
Sal grunts and motions to his soldiers. The four of them move past me, heading for the other half of the restaurant. It’s clear by the way his soldiers move in, it’s far from a friendly visit.
I’m halfway back to the booth when it starts.
A scream from the kitchen. The crash of pots and pans. Raised voices, one of them pleading. Then a thud that sounds distinctly like a body hitting the floor.
Jhene’s eyes go wide behind her glasses.
“C’mon.” I grab her arm and pull her toward the door. “Change of plans. We’ve got to go.”
“But what’s happening—”
“None of our business. We’ll grab dinner somewhere else.”
We end up grabbing sandwiches from a deli around the block instead.
It’s not the dinner I had planned and it doesn’t give me and Jhene an opportunity to talk like I thought, but she decides to press the issue on our way back home.
“So what was this dinner outing really about?” she asks.
“In case you haven’t noticed… food.”
“Right, and Idaho is a great place for a beach house. What was it really about? Don’t be shy now, Killer.”
Her lashes bat as she blinks up at me and distracts me enough I almost stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
We’ve made it onto the street where my studio’s located and don’t have far to walk. We should keep going, but it’s easier said than done.
My mind instantly flashes back to last night when we’d stood so close, then started leaning in toward each other and—
A pained groan catches my ear and interrupts my train of thought. I turn my gaze toward the apartment building up ahead and spot the large heap crumpled by the front stairs.
It takes another second to click.
Adrenaline shoots through me as I take a couple lumbered steps forward then break out into a jog. Jhene’s only half a pace behind me, obviously alerted to the same discovery I’ve made.
What the hell am I looking at? Is that really who I think it is?
“Teagan!” I shout. “What the fuck happened to you?”
I kneel at his side, my hand clamping down on his shoulder to roll him over. He’s only half conscious, his body limp but heavy as he’s turned onto his back.
Jhene gasps and covers her mouth.
I can’t say I blame her—it’s a gruesome sight even for me, let alone most civilians off the street.
Teagan’s been beaten to a pulp.
He’s had the shit kicked out of him, his eye knocked out of its socket and the blood vessels on his face busted.
The bone’s sticking out of his shin, having broken the skin, and the crotch area of his pants is dripping slick crimson.
But it’s what’s carved into his bare chest that’s caught my attention more than anything else. Etched into his skin as if his chest was paper and the blood they drew was the ink.
Return what belongs to us.
Every muscle in my body coils tighter. My gaze snaps over to a puzzled Jhene who’s standing at my side.
There’s no question what the Russians mean; they’re talking about Jhene.
They’ve burned down the Banshee and almost killed Tom in the process. Now, even after our retaliation, they’ve doubled down, beating Teagan within an inch of his life.
Leaving this message for us to see and making it clear they won’t be giving up any time soon.
They want Jhene back, and they’re not going to take no for an answer.