Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
ALESSIO
Since I still have the car that got dropped off last night, it’s easy to make it to Wild in plenty of time to hear Xav out before the meeting.
My stomach has been in knots since I left the apartment, not just with worry about what lead Xaviaro found, but also whether Spettro might take off while I’m gone.
I know he doesn’t like the idea of lying low, and he seemed restless when I left.
It’s not like I can stop him if he decides to leave, but I’ll sure as hell look for him.
He wouldn’t exactly be hard to find. All I’d have to do is follow the trail of dead Reapers.
I chuckle to myself as I get out of the car and head towards the entrance.
I nod to the doorman like I always do, then pull my phone out of my pocket and type out a quick text, weaving my way between strippers and customers with their hands down their pants on my way to our usual table.
ALESSIO: Would it be too boring and normal to suggest that I pick up a pizza on my way home and we watch a shitty movie on the couch?
Maybe I’m looking for reassurance that he’ll be there when I get back.
Maybe I want to see if he’s only into this when it’s nothing but kinky sex and murder.
Not that I’m against either one, but even I know that real relationships have quiet nights every once in a while, and that’s what I want with Spettro.
I want this to be real. I want to help him take out the Reapers and let him tie me to the bed and fuck me any way he wants, but I also want trauma dumping over morning coffee and pizza on the couch.
I want to know if there could be a future between us.
SPETTRO: Does it have to be a shitty movie?
ALESSIO: I guess I could settle for a good movie instead if it’s a dealbreaker.
SPETTRO: What about a terrible movie with good actors?
ALESSIO: Deal.
The sound of Xaviaro pointedly clearing his throat forces my attention away from my phone. I stuff it back into my pocket and pull out my usual chair, unbuttoning my suit jacket to get comfortable and kicking my feet up onto the table once I sit down.
“Alright, hit me with it.” I fix my face into a curious expression to hide the nerves still dancing in my gut.
He can’t have anything solid, can he? Spettro doesn’t know his own name, he rents month to month without any kind of lease and pays cash, he doesn’t have any credit cards or ID. He really is a ghost.
But I learned a long damn time ago not to put anything past Lorenzo’s right-hand man. If anyone could find a ghost, it would be Xaviaro.
“It’s not much,” he warns. “But I managed to track down medical records of a John Doe who was admitted to Wildcliff General a little over seven years ago. He was an overdose they found dead in the Sleepless Reapers’ favorite dump spot and managed to revive.
No identification, fingerprints and DNA weren’t on file, and when he woke up, he couldn’t remember anything. ”
My heart sinks. Fucking Ice Man.
“You know where this guy is now?” I hope to hell he doesn’t hear the little tremor in my voice. I clear my throat just to be sure and lower my feet back to the ground so I can lean my elbows on the table instead.
He shakes his head and I try not to visibly sag with relief.
“They kept him a couple of days until he was stable, then they basically kicked him out the door with nothing but his vomit-stained clothes and the contact information for a drug counselor. I figure if anyone might know who this guy is, it’s him.”
I force a slightly manic laugh. “Assuming he didn’t just go right back to the Reapers for another fix. I don’t know about you, but if I’ve got nothing but the vomit-stained clothes on my back and the itch of a drug habit, I’m crawling right back to the source.”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Couldn’t hurt to pay the counselor a visit though.”
Shit. He’s circling dangerously close to actually sniffing Spettro out.
But I can’t keep arguing without raising suspicion, so I give a tight nod.
I’m not gonna be able to drag my feet on this as long as I’d hoped.
Definitely not long enough for Lorenzo to get over this Declan thing and into a better mood.
Salvatore and Elio show up, which at least gives me an excuse to drop the conversation with Xaviaro for now.
“Did you guys hear the rumor?” Elio asks with a glint in his eye, leaning on the table like a teenager who has some juicy gossip rather than a thirty-something mafioso with a body count.
“It had better not be about another dead Reaper,” I mutter. I swear to fuck, if that body surfaced already, I’m giving up the disposal racket all together.
Elio pauses and raises his eyebrows. “Wait, what? What did you hear?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “I’m just talking shit. Tell us who got a bad nose job or which Desperate Housewife got caught oiled up with someone else’s husband.”
“Or wife,” Sal adds sagely.
“Obviously. We’re an inclusive organization.” Lorenzo’s voice behind me startles me. The man can move like a cat when he wants to. His lips twitch with a smile as he rounds the table and pulls out his own chair. “I always say, just because we’re bad guys, doesn’t mean we have to be bad guys.”
“We should print that on the Christmas cards this year,” Elio says, and I’m honestly not sure if it’s a joke or not.
He actually does send out Christmas cards to all of the employees, and almost all of them feature a picture of an unsmiling Lorenzo that’s been photoshopped into a holiday scene.
Last year, he was Ebenezer Scrooge surrounded by Muppets.
I’m pretty sure if Elio wasn’t his brother, he’d have shot him by now.
Lorenzo grunts in response and frowns slightly, I’m assuming at the reminder of the annual tradition.
But whatever gossip Elio had, we’ll never know because the boss is all business tonight.
We launch into our regular updates and reports.
While Elio is pitching the idea that we stop wasting our time fixing MMA matches and just buy up the whole infrastructure here in Wildcliff, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I slip it out underneath the table and click on the new text notification from Spettro. It’s not a direct response to the conversation we were having—at least I don’t think it is. It’s just two words that make my blood run cold.
SPETTRO: I’m sorry
Sorry for what? I don’t even have time to type out a response asking what the hell he’s talking about before Elio goes silent mid-sentence and everyone at the table except for me reaches for their pistols, their eyes fixed on something behind me.
Shit.
GHOST
Shit.
Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.
I raise my hands in surrender so they can see I’m not holding any weapons, but none of them relax.
I guess that’s fair. They don’t know me, and I’m sure they have more than enough enemies to justify a healthy paranoia.
Alessio is the only one sitting with his back to me, and he turns around slowly.
The look on his face is something between pissed and terrified. But he doesn’t look surprised.
I heard what he said about wanting to think through the best way to talk to Lorenzo about me, but I didn’t really see the point.
Alessio’s worried that it might look like he knew something before he did, but that just means he shouldn’t be the one to tell his boss about me.
This was the perfect solution, even if I do currently have four pistols pointed in my direction.
“I heard you’ve been looking for me,” I say in a steady voice, looking directly at Lorenzo Moretti. With my hands still up, I take a few steps forward and extend one hand across the table towards him. “Most people call me The Ghost.”
He stares at my outstretched hand for a long moment, and my heart beats out a surprisingly even rhythm.
Things might be different between Alessio and me now, but when I first lured him to Wonderland, all I wanted was an in with the Morettis.
I wanted the chance to pitch them the idea that Wildcliff would be better off with the Sleepless Reapers wiped out, that they would be better off.
This is it, my shot to convince Lorenzo that they should help me, and if I have to stare down four barrels while I do it, so be it.
He doesn’t shake my hand, but he does set his pistol down on the table and wave for the others to do the same.
“Alessio,” he says. “Search him.”
My body tenses reflexively as Alessio slides his chair out and stands up.
Thank fuck he said “Alessio” and not one of the other men, but I still don’t relish the thought of him patting me down like this.
I grind my teeth and lift my jacket for him so he can grab the handgun tucked into my waistband.
He pulls it out and sets it on the table, then moves behind me again.
“Are you fucking insane?” he whispers under his breath, his hands ghosting as lightly as possible over my body in a cursory check for any more weapons.
“Maybe,” I murmur quietly.
He goes all the way down to my boots before he stands back up and announces that I’m clear.
Lorenzo pauses for a beat, and I get the sense that it’s a power play more than anything. We all have to wait for his instructions, including me. I grind my teeth again, and I notice a flicker of a smile on his otherwise stoic face before he waves to Alessio’s empty seat.
I glance at Alessio for confirmation and he nods subtly.
I sit down and Alessio stays standing behind me, his arms crossed and a slightly menacing expression on his face that I have to admit makes my dick a little hard.
I wonder if he’d be up for a little roleplay sometime.
He can be the intimidating mafioso and I can be the uninvited guest at their meeting…
except my version will end with me railing him until he cries instead of the business discussion I have planned for Lorenzo.