26. Cú Sidhe
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cú SIDHE
M y phone goes off for the third time in a row in a matter of minutes. I ignore it like I did the previous calls. This is not the time to bother me.
Someone has a lot of fucking nerve to hound me while I’m in the middle of cataloging our latest inventory for the upcoming auction. Time is money. The images of the women need to be uploaded quickly to get as much interest as possible. I mask my annoyance by grinding my molars, showing nothing on the outside, as I continue working.
When my cell rings for the fourth time, I lose my cool. Grumbling, I push away from my computer and yank out my cell from inside my blazer pocket.
I glare at the name of the caller.
Fucking Patrick Duffy—a never-ending pain in my arse .
I miss the good old days, where I could redirect Duffy to Lorenzo Bianchi or Lucky Luca. But one of the leathcheann s got himself run over, and the other is MIA—most likely killed off by the someone he wronged. Alas, I’m stuck managing Duffy by myself these days.
No rest for the wicked .
Preparing myself for Duffy’s bullshite , I answer with a bark, “What?”
“About time you answered,” Duffy blurts into the phone, his voice winded. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. You had me running to my car. I was ready to come to you if you didn’t pick up.”
“Watch your tone. You forget who you’re speaking with,” I clip, my temper stewing.
“Sorry, sir,” Duffy apologizes quickly, his voice nervous.
Good. He best remembers his place. We’re not equals in this operation, nor will he rise to the status of an equal partner.
“We have a situation.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Must you call me with every single issue that arises? You know we’re on a deadline. I need to get the girls’ profiles up on the auction site. Dealing business on the black web is a delicate production requiring my undivided attention.”
“Trust me, Cú Sidhe , you want to hear this.”
Interesting. Duffy normally doesn’t push back. It must be serious.
“I’m listening.”
“Piero Bianchi reached out to me.”
My eyebrows jump. This is unexpected.
Word on the streets was, Lorenzo’s cousin from out east was taking over the Denver branch of the Bianchi Mob. The criminal underworld recognized Piero differed vastly from his deceased cousin, dealing in more legitimate business transactions.
As squeaky clean as most of the young don’s organizations were, the man himself was far from untainted. Piero’s method of cleaning house was putting a bullet in the head of most of the people who worked in Lorenzo’s inner circle.
But we’re Irish. We weren’t in the inner circle. We were more like business associates, with the added benefit of sharing women once in a while, “testing the merchandise,” as we liked to call it.
Being an outsider to the Bianchi organization was the only thing keeping us out of Piero’s line of sight—until now.
How the fuck did he find Duffy ?
My nostrils flare. “Have you been piss-talking at the pub again, hmm? Have you? Airing our business for anyone in earshot? You pathetic twat. Never could handle your liquor.”
“It wasn’t me! I swear it,” Duffy protests.
“If not you, then who?”
“No idea. All I know is what he told me.”
“Which is?”
Duffy is quiet for a hot second before he timidly admits, “He caught wind of people going missing in Denver.”
“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHITE !” I roar, standing from my chair with haste, causing it to tip over. Like a trapped beast, I pace the corner of my Aspen office, ready to spring into action. “I told you to stay out of Denver. No good can come from hunting on Piero’s turf.”
“But there’s better stock in Denver,” Duffy flounders, trying to defend his stupid reasoning.
“There’s also Bianchi’s trigger-happy cousin, you twit. We had an agreement. When we picked up where Lorenzo left off, we’d steer clear of Piero Bianchi.”
“But Cú Sidhe , it’s not all bad.”
It’s surprising my eyes don’t pop from their sockets with how wide I open them.
“Not all bad? NOT. ALL. BAD? Are you daft ? Fuck, I knew you were slow, but not incompetent.”
I shake my head, chastising myself for choosing such a fool for a business partner. I should have taken a page out of Piero’s book and put a bullet into Duffy’s head when half of our quartet died. The only reason I kept Duffy around was to get our business off the ground—it’s hard to run a criminal enterprise in the flesh trade solo. You need men you can trust assisting you, and I unwisely assumed I could trust Duffy, at least with this.
Perhaps Duffy’s position has run its course. Putting a bullet in him is sounding less stressful for the job. And with Duffy out of the picture, all the funds would go into my pocket.
“He asked to talk,” Duffy blurts, possibly sensing his life was on the line.
“Talk? About what?”
“About doing business together.”
Say what? I halt my pacing. “Piero wants to work with us?”
“That’s what he says.”
This makes no sense. “Piero only deals in legitimate business.”
“Maybe legitimate isn’t cutting it anymore,” Duffy suggests. “He gained access to all his cousin’s business dealing after he passed. He’s probably seen the accounts. It’s hard to turn down the paycheck once you see how much there is to be made.”
“Hmm,” I muse, rubbing my finger above my upper lip.
Duffy isn’t wrong. Prior to meeting Lorenzo, our little Irish gang was smuggling guns. The pay was good, but the cost of getting caught was harsh.
Not true with sex trafficking.
In this country, guns are valued higher than pussy—thus, the punishment fits the crime. The legal system puts more effort and money into chasing weapons than they do a human life, especially one belonging to the female sex.
Higher pay with less risk of being arrested—it’s a no-brainer for a criminal.
Reclaiming my seat, I loosen my tie as I think aloud. “Having Piero on our side would allow us to collect women in Denver without risking his wrath, pulling more for inventory.”
“It would come at a cost,” Duffy says, his voice hesitant.
“Nothing is free. What’s his percentage?”
“He asked for eighty percent of Denver.”
“Out of the question.” I scoff. We’re in this business to make money, not lose it. The cost of holding the merchandise, hiring security, and organizing these auctions wouldn’t be covered with the remaining twenty percent.
“That’s why I countered,” Duffy says proudly. “We settled on seventy percent.”
I face- palm my forehead. “Seventy percent?! Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Is seventy percent bad?” Duffy asks nervously.
“Yes, it’s bad, you eejit ! Anything above thirty percent is bad business when we’re the ones doing the work.”
“Oh,” he replies, sounding deflated.
As he should. The man fucked us over. Not only are we stuck doing business with another Bianchi—one who has a reputation for cleaning house—we aren’t gaining much profit from the deal.
Sonofabitch.
My fingers itch to take my gun from my shoulder holster and unload a clip into the wall. Duffy is lucky he’s nowhere near me, or he’d be a human target for me to annihilate.
But alas, I need Duffy’s services until this auction is done. I’m in no position to find another loyal partner when there’s merchandise in my possession.
Sighing deeply, I order, “Moving forward, I’ll handle all negotiations. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Cú Sidhe .”
Time to find out how big of a blunder Duffy got me into.
“Did you mention me?”
“NO!” Duffy nearly shouts into the phone, panicked. He clears his voice, attempting to sound calmer. “No, Boss. I know better than to reveal your involvement.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
If all goes to hell, it’ll be Duffy’s head on Piero Bianchi’s hit-list, not mine.