Chapter 3 #2
But when the words hit my ears, it’s Irish’s voice I hear.
After the burial, the visiting chapters returned to our clubhouse, and some of the presidents sat down with Biggie, offering their assistance with the war.
Some offered weaponry, others offered manpower.
It was generous of them, but before we could take them up on any of it, we needed a plan of attack, and Biggie owed me a sit down.
The last few days have been chaotic, but now, with Irish laid to rest, and the other Kings on their way home, it was time to get down to business. The club couldn’t stay on lockdown forever, and I was hungry for revenge.
“Hey, Shotgun, I’m heading out,” Bella says, diverting my attention from the beer I just opened. Guido stands closely behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes stuck on his boots.
Once upon a time their parents dated each other, and after they broke up, Guido and Bella remained friends.
A couple of years ago, Bella became a trauma nurse, and every once in a while, when mayhem strikes, Guido calls on Bella.
She’s removed a bullet from Stacks and stitched almost every guy here. Us Kings have a soft spot for the girl.
“Club is still on lockdown.”
Guido lifts his head, meeting my gaze. “She’s got a shift at the hospital.”
I nod. “I assume you’re going to stick around there then.”
“That’s the plan.”
Normally Bella would argue, but I think she’s shaken up by Irish’s death. She points to my left wrist. “Do you want me to change the bandages before I go? They look like they’re starting to bleed again.”
I glance at the gauze and shake my head. “I’ll be fine, babe. Appreciate you.”
“Okay, well, Jade went to put the boys to bed so I didn’t get to say goodbye. I told Guido, but it’s worth repeating—if she needs any help, I’m just a phone call away.”
“Thank you, Bells. I be sure to pass the message along.”
She turns to Guido. “Am I allowed to drive my car or am I riding on the back of your bike in my scrubs?”
“The wind don’t care what you wear when you ride it, babe,” Guido says as he removes one hand from his pocket and presses against Bella’s lower back. He tips his chin. “See you later.”
Lifting my beer, I tip the neck toward him before bringing it to my lips and taking a long swig. From the corner of my eye I spot Biggie walking toward me. He rounds the bar, tagging a bottle of bourbon from the shelf, then reaches for a glass.
“You want some?”
I shake my head. “I’m good with the beer.”
“Suit yourself.” He starts fixing his drink, dumping a handful of ice into the glass before he fills it generously.
“We need to talk.”
His eyes lift and lock with mine. “It’s been a long day.”
I lean forward, propping my forearms on top of the bar. “Every day is long when you’re at war. You put me at your left, in his chair after I watched him die. I need to know where we go from here, Biggie.”
He stares at me for a beat, his nostrils flaring as he lifts his glass and takes a drink, nearly draining the contents of the glass in one gulp. He sets the glass down and eyes my wrist.
“We don’t go anywhere until you can throttle an engine without bleeding all over your Harley.” He sighs, swiping a hand over his face. “I know that ain’t what you want to hear, but it’s all I got to give right now. I have a meeting with the Mondestino brothers in the morning.”
Vito Mondestino is the head of the Campanello crime family, and his brother Bruno is a foreman at the Longshoreman’s Association.
They were the ones seeking control of the Brooklyn Seaport, not us.
But in Vito’s quest to expand his territory, he made a deal with the Kings.
We supplied him with the weapons his organization used on a raid targeting the Albanians.
We scrub our guns before we deliver them to anyone so I’m not fucking sure how the Albanians tracked them back to us, but when Irish and I went to deliver a new batch to the docks, where Bruno was supposed to be there ready and waiting to collect, we were ambushed.
“I don’t trust the Mondestino brothers as far as I can throw them,” I share. “Our guns were clean, Biggie. There is no fucking way the Albanians could trace them back to us without someone in the Campanello family giving them the intel.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he asks, his tone gravely.
“Do you have any idea what we’re looking at if that’s the case?
We’re talking about taking out one of the most notorious crime families on the East Coast. I don’t got a problem doing it—but it needs to be executed perfectly, and it can’t be done before we drain them dry of everything they got.
I’m anticipating tomorrow’s meeting will result in them giving up the Albanians.
The way I see it, they set us up so that we would do their dirty work and take them out. ”
I give that some thought. “So the Italians use our guns to kill one of the Albanians’ top guys, and they retaliate by killing Irish.”
“Vito wants Fatmir out of the picture, and he knows a King’s death is always avenged. He cleared the path for us to take out his guy.”
“Fatmir is the leader?”
“Yeah. He’s the one I was negotiating with.”
“That’s not who killed Irish. I told you there were three guys.”
“But he’s the one who ordered the hit.”
I see where he’s going with this, but I feel it necessary to make myself perfectly clear. “You want to take out Fatmir.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
“I want to take them all out. We don’t get to the masked cunts who killed Irish without Fatmir. They gotta be first, then we take out the rest, including the leader. But it don’t end there, Biggie. I want the fucking Mondestino’s too. Every fucking one of them.”
“Understood, but that’s going to take time. Mondestino played with me, now it’s my turn to play with him. We’re going to do his bidding for him and take out the Albanians just like he planned, all while planning our strike against him.”
Satisfied with that answer, I nod. “One more thing. I don’t care who puts hands on them. I know everyone here wants to avenge Irish’s death, and play their part, but I draw the last breath out of the three men who tortured us, and Fatmir is mine, and mine alone.”
“Then you better get those wrists healed, because I expect you to wreak havoc on those motherfuckers, and in the condition you’re in, you can’t even jerk your own cock.”