3. Roman
CHAPTER 3
ROMAN
D ark lashes frame wide eyes that I can stare into for a lifetime and still not know exactly what color they are. Flecks of gold fire ignite in the depths of blue, green, and caramel swirls. In the dim lighting of the bar, the green is fighting for center stage, flashing with intensity as I lose myself in her shocked and slightly appalled gaze.
Holy fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to look into those eyes again.
I remember them…the heat, the emotion, the desire flickering in the aquamarine pools.
Yeah, I saw it. And I hated myself for ignoring it, but what the hell was I supposed to do?
She was my best friend’s little sister.
I could look, but I couldn’t touch, or Frankie would have cut off my balls.
Besides, it’s not like our families parted ways as friends. My father and his associates chased them from their home, forcing them out of Sicily.
The Amantes became our enemies and I never saw her again.
I was actually surprised that Pop let her father live after he fucked us over. But I guess karma came back to bite him in the ass since he’s rotting in prison now, and my family has built a billion-dollar empire here in the States.
But fuck me, Marchella Amante is standing right in front of me now after all of these years, and she clearly has no idea who I am.
I mean, yeah, I look different. It’s been ten years, so I’ve put on about fifty pounds of muscle and my dark hair is longer. But the biggest change is that I’m no longer that clean-cut pretty boy she once knew. This older version of me gets dirty…gritty…and bloody.
I was able to escape all of that back in Sicily but here? Now?
It’s my way of life.
No wonder she can’t see through all of the darkness.
Her pale pink lips are slightly parted, enough that if I grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her close, my tongue could slip right through them, just like I’d always fantasized about doing.
She might punch me if I did that right now.
She may try to scream.
But she’d definitely enjoy it and everything that would follow.
I’m a lot of things, and confident about my sexual prowess is one of them.
For a second, I get lost in my daydream, watching her lips form words, but not hearing a single one.
Then the arms start swinging around, the forehead becomes pinched, and the eyes take on a kind of murderous glow.
I decide it’s time to perk up my ears.
“Are you just going to stand there, staring at me?”
She still doesn’t recognize me…
But I sure as hell recognize her. Damn, the years have been very fucking generous.
And while I want to look a little longer, now is the time for me to speak. So I have fun with it, keeping my cover for the time being.
“That depends. Do I need to order food?”
She makes a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, that’s the rule at the bar, isn’t it? If you’re gonna hang here, you need to order food.” I wink at her. “I was just making a joke.”
“Oh. So smooth. Just like your lame pick-up line!”
I furrow my brow. “Lame? I actually thought it was kinda clever, you know, since you banged into me and made me spill my drink all over you. I figured it was a good opening.” I let out a chuckle. “Guess I figured wrong.”
“You figured very wrong!” she says, her fists clenched at her sides. “And I don’t appreciate the harassment!”
“How is it harassment if I just want to talk to you?” Her face is bright pink now and she’s angry. So I play along because it’s just too much fun watching her get all hot and bothered.
She pushes her chest against me, and fuck me if my cock doesn’t tingle a bit despite the world of shit I’ve recently been plunged into. “It’s harassment if I don’t feel the same way!”
“Chella, do we have a problem here?” A guy behind the bar wanders over, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks from me to the girl.
Chella.
I’d always loved her name. It always sounded sensual. Sexy. Savage .
And I just ignited a spark inside of her.
Let the flames roar.
She jerks around, stumbling over her words of assurance that there is no problem, that we just had a minor collision.
I’d like to make it a major one next time.
The guy lifts an eyebrow at me, nodding at my empty glass. “You need another?”
I smirk. “You read my mind.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Macallan, neat.” I give the girl a sidelong glance, feeling her glare sear my skin.
He hands me a full glass. “I’ll check on your table, Mr…?”
“Just Joe,” I reply, holding up the glass. Average Joe. I never give my real name. It’s too recognizable, and I’m the guy who likes to blend into the shadows. Makes me more menacing. More of a ghost.
I turn toward Chella, but she’s already storming off toward the back room, her long brown ponytail swishing behind her, the scotch-soaked ends slapping against her back.
Mmm.
Booze and pheromones.
Fucking magic combination. Lethal in their complexity.
I look around the crowded room. None of my guys have shown up yet, and even though I’m anxious to get answers and figure out how to handle the scumbags who snatched Zoe and my blow, something about Marchella makes me forget what’s at stake.
Luckily, it’s no longer Zoe’s life.
Whoever pulled the job the other night stuck her in a nearby hotel room, half-naked and a hundred-percent panicked. They tied her up just enough to give themselves time to escape, but not so tight that she couldn’t free her wrists from the restraints.
They wanted me to know what they did.
They wanted to show me that I could easily be duped.
And I fucking was, something Matteo will not let go of if he finds out about it.
I’m supposed to be his right hand, his eyes and ears while he’s away!
How the hell do I tell him I that took my eyes off the ball and let piece-of-shit Salvatore manipulate me?
Salvatore.
Fucking guy is lucky I didn’t choke him with a chained cinderblock and sink him to the bottom of the Hudson River.
Although, I still may do that.
I should have just set him on fire and let his ass burn when I had the chance!
I loiter at the bar, waiting for Marchella to reappear after she stormed into a back room. Another glance at my watch confirms that my guys are officially late.
I toss back the amber-colored liquor, enjoying the heat snaking through my insides when a finger taps me on the shoulder. A pretty blonde smiles at me when I turn around.
I came here tonight because I wanted to keep a low profile in the wake of the supposed heist. I didn’t want any of my enemies watching me strategize…and sweat. There are plenty of other places down here in the West Village where I’m considered a regular but tonight, I wanted…no, needed…anonymity.
“Joe, right? Your table is ready.”
Yes. Exactly what I ordered.
The hostess shows me to the table and places a stack of menus in the center. “There’s a girl working here tonight. Chella is her name?”
The hostess smiles. “Yes. She’s one of our best servers.”
“I’d like her to handle my business tonight,” I say, sitting down in the corner with the entire room in my view. I don’t speak another word to the hostess. I just nod. She flashes a quick smile and hurries toward the back room.
I’m not a guy who likes to hear the word ‘no’. I’m glad she got the memo.
And I’m damn curious to see how well-received it is by my waitress for the evening, Marchella.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. My brother Dante’s name flashes across the screen.
Huh.
It’s not like Dante to just pick up the phone and shoot the shit with any of us. He’s usually on assignment… paid assignment. He’s basically a problem solver. Whenever there is someone causing a problem, he makes them disappear.
And voila! Problem solved.
He is truly the best at what he does, but he always keeps a low profile as a result.
He has to pretty much be invisible at all times in order to do his job as swiftly as possible.
If you so much as see him coming, it’s already too late.
You’re dead.
Dante thrives on the element of surprise in his kills.
He’ll get you either way, but he favors the sneak attack.
I stab the Accept button. “What’s the good word, bro? I thought you were holed up somewhere in South America.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m in your living room,” he says with a loud yawn. “And I need some pizza. Who do I order from?”
“Bleecker Street Pizza,” I say. “Best around and they’ll deliver fast.”
“Good, I’m starving. What time will you be home?”
“A couple of hours,” I say. “Hey, you’ll never guess who I just ran into. Marchella Amante.”
“Get the hell outta here. She still hot as fuck?”
“You have no idea.” I crane my neck to see if she’s returned to the seating area, but there’s no sign of her yet.
“Too bad her father fucked shit up. I’d have loved a chance to get her on her back.”
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“Still so sensitive about that, huh?” Dante chuckles. “You never could close the deal.”
“Like I ever had the option.”
“Yeah, Frankie was a sick bastard. He’d have castrated you.”
“Or worse,” I quip. “I wonder what she’s been up to. Her father caused a real shit show when he killed that Russian. I hear he’s in gen pop on Rikers Island. His days are numbered, that’s for sure.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna make a play to comfort her?”
“Nah, she didn’t recognize me,” I say, seeing Ray and Bobby finally walking into the restaurant. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. The guys are here. Don’t drink all my booze. I’m gonna need some when I get home.”
“I’ll try to save some of the booze. But don’t count on any pizza.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I smirk, clicking to end the call.
Ray and Bobby shuffle over to the table. I watch the patrons peer curiously at them as they walk over to meet me. They stick out like sore thumbs with their slicked-back hair, wearing expensive suits and shoes.
Definitely not the uniform for this type of place.
The guys pull out their chairs and sit down. Their eyebrows are knitted, their jaws tight, and I’m damn anxious to find out what they know.
And ready to take action against the pricks who tried to pull one over on me.
I lean forward, my hands folded. My eyes dart between their faces for a minute or two. “Are we speaking tonight? Or are we doing the whole mental telepathy thing for privacy’s sake?”
Ray takes a deep breath, raising his eyes toward mine. “Sorry, Roman. We, ah, have some information for you, but you’re not gonna like it.”
My back stiffens. “Tell me why.”
“Well, first, Dario was the one who was shielding the coke.”
I rub the back of my neck. “And why did he leave his post?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“He was banging one of the cocktail waitresses from the club. She went looking for him, flashed her pussy, and bing, bang, boom. The blow disappeared while he was getting a blow.”
I drop my head into my hand. First Salvatore, then Dario. The guy thinks with the head of his dick, so luring him away from his domain isn’t much of a challenge. I slam my fist on the table, vaguely aware that people are beginning to whisper and point.
All I care about is getting this situation under control and fast. If I have guys playing both sides of the fence, it means that one of our enemies has already burrowed into our organization like a fucking infection that will just keep getting worse and worse until I douse it with gasoline and fire. “Where is Dario now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I figured you’d want to handle things with him directly. Somewhere other than here,” Ray says in a hushed voice. “Gio will take you to him.”
“Smart move. Do we have any leads? And in case you were wondering, that was a rhetorical question because we’d better have some fucking leads!”
The guys exchange a look.
Bobby clears his throat. “Yeah, um, when I found Zoe?—”
“And she’s fine, yeah?” I interject. I’d been told she was unharmed when he got to her, but I want to hear it straight from Bobby that those fuckers didn’t hurt her before he blows me away with any more betrayals from my crew.
“Yes. Just scared shitless.” Bobby rubs the back of his neck. “I took her home and had Berto stay the night with her until we found the guys who snatched her.”
I nod. “Okay. So it was an inside job. Was it the Dominguez Cartel? Those bastards have been waiting for a chance to get us back for fucking up their whole trafficking ring months ago.”
A deadly hit led by my sister-in-law, Heaven.
She has the look of an angel…but the fire of the devil rages deep inside of her.
And damn, she lets that flame roar like wildfire when she needs to.
She’s seriously one of my favorite badasses.
We didn’t always have bad blood with the Dominguez Cartel, though. It wasn’t until Matteo violated an agreement with Dominguez himself that we were put at the top of their hit list. Heaven initiated the ambush on his sex-trafficking ring after his guys tried to pop Matteo.
The day after their wedding.
Those motherfuckers don’t play around.
Ever since Heaven killed Dominguez, I’ve heard that his sons have been working hard to put the pieces of their shattered organization back together.
I always knew it was only a matter of time before they came back to finish what their father started, even if I’m the only one in my family who believes they’re looking for revenge. Matteo always blows it off when I mention that they’re still a threat, but I know it’s real. And the robbery could be just the beginning.
Bobby shakes his head. “It wasn’t the cartel.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” I mutter. “Who the fuck is responsible?”
“That’s the thing,” Ray interjects. “You’re not gonna like it.”
I rake a hand through my hair. This conversation should have been cut and dry. An exchange of names, torture plans, and body part disposal methods. Period! “Let me ask you this — have I given you any indication that I like a single bit of this? No matter who is responsible? And why do I feel like you guys are dicking me around by dragging things out? This meeting was to deliver information, okay? And you two dipshits were late. So tell me what the fuck I need to hear so I can take action!”
“Ooh. You sound a little tense.” A sugary-sweet voice drawls, jolting me from my next sentence. “You also look pretty heated, so I figured you could use another one of these.”
I stop short, mid-tirade, staring up into Marchella’s captivating eyes. My mind immediately snoozes on the threat I was about to unleash at my guys if they didn’t come up with a name. I momentarily forget that I’m planning to bring holy hell to Dario in a matter of minutes. And the fact that our organization has been infiltrated by Christ only knows who has shifted to the back burner.
All because Marchella just entered my fucking orbit.
Something about this girl makes my brain cells fizzle out. It’s been that way since we were teenagers. It’s dangerous. Very fucking dangerous. She has me completely off my game right now. For all I know, this whole Dario meeting might be a setup. I mean, I could get into the car with my ‘trusted’ driver Tony, and all of a sudden, I become Joe Pesci in Goodfellas , driven out to the middle of the cornfields and beaten with a baseball bat before I’m thrown into a goddamn ditch and buried alive.
Not ideal for a guy who’s the interim ruler of this savage kingdom.
I should be focused, for fuck’s sake!
Anyone could be plotting my death in this very second.
But all my mind allows are looping, X-rated thoughts of this sexy vixen.
Chella lifts an eyebrow and holds up a glass, clinking the ice cubes around. “Was I right? Are you…thirsty? I pride myself on reading my customers and tending to their needs.”
Ray and Bobby just stare at her, their jaws practically hitting the table.
But they don’t hit the floor until she jerks forward and tips the glass so that the liquor pours right into my lap, joined by one single ice cube.
Fuck me.
That cooled me off.
And made me even hotter for her, if that’s possible.
“I’d say the drink’s on me, but…” She shrugs her shoulders with a challenging smile on her face. “Oops. I guess it’s really on you.” She grabs a linen napkin from a nearby table and dabs at the liquid in my lap. It takes me a second to rebound from the sudden shock of cold in my crotch, and when I do, I close my fingers around her wrist to stop her from tending to my groin. When the daggers shoot from her eyes, she hisses into my ear, “I hear you requested me, but they really should have told you how clumsy I am. And how I’m always spilling drinks and plates on my customers.”
“Is that how you think this works? You dump a drink on me, thinking I’ll ask for someone else? You think I’m gonna let you get away that easily?” A mischievous smirk lifts my lips because she has no fucking idea how patient I can be when it comes to her.
“I think that looks like a really expensive outfit, and I’d hate to see it ruined,” she whispers.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“I don’t have time for threats. I’m here to work. This job is important to me. So if this is your way of getting me back for yelling at you before, let’s just say we’re even and I’ll get you someone else?—”
“No,” I say. “There won’t be anyone else.”
She furrows her brow. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly,” I reply. “It’s you and only you.”
Her nostrils flare and she folds her arms over her chest. I can tell she has plenty more to say, but like she told me, this job is important to her. She won’t risk it. “Are you a glutton for punishment?”
“We both know you’re not gonna rock the boat with this job. You just told me so yourself. Never show all your cards, babe.”
A flash of annoyance shadows her face when she realizes her bluff is total bullshit.
“If you even try to proposition me, I’ll have the bouncer kick you and your friends out on your asses,” she snips.
“My friends are just enjoying the show. They didn’t do anything,” I reply, goading her. “Don’t project your anger at me on them.”
“Oh, so now you’re a shrink?”
“Trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing small about me,” I say with a chuckle.
Chella rolls her eyes, and even though she tries hard not to, her lips turn upward in the slightest hint of a smile.
“See? You do like me. Don’t fight it. Just accept that we’re friends.” And I want to say to her that it would be so much better if there were benefits involved.
“I don’t know. The jury’s still out on you,” she quips with a quirked brow, folding her arms over her chest.
I sneak a glance at the guys. They don’t know what to do right now. I can see them fighting against the smirks that threaten to tug at their lips. They think if they laugh I might kill them.
They may be right. I’ve certainly killed for less.
But right now, I’m feeling generous, so I keep the banter going.
“The jury says I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare,” I say, leaning back against the wooden chair.
“Mm. Tempting, but no,” she replies. “I’ve got enough friends, thank you.” She forces a smile and looks at Ray and Bobby for the first time. “Why don’t you spend a few minutes looking at your menus, and I’ll be back in a bit to take your orders?”
The guys nod their heads, still silent.
She walks away and my eyes fall on her shapely ass as it gently swings from left to right, accentuated by her tight black pants. It isn’t until Ray clears his throat that I drag my gaze away from her bent over the bar, whispering into the bartender’s ear.
Hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I can feel my mouth twist into a grimace.
“Boss?” Ray asks.
I turn my head away from her backside and look at him. “You were saying that there’s something I need to hear while I wait for Dario to show up?” I say in a curt voice. “Well, let’s fucking have it.”
“The thing is,” Bobby starts. “Zoe caught a name when they were wrestling to get her into a van. The guys were all wearing ski masks.”
I furrow my brow. “Did she catch a name?”
“No,” Bobby says. “But she saw something, a tattoo of a black viper that wound around the guy’s wrist.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, balling my hands into fists under the table. “So all we have is ink. And how much blow did they escape with?”
Ray sighs. “At least four kilos.”
“That’s like five-hundred fucking grand.” I shake my head. “I want to talk to Salvatore,” I seethe, leaning in close. “As soon as possible, do you understand?”
“Yeah, boss. We’ll find him and make the arrangements.” Ray looks down at his phone. His eye meet mine, his jaw tight. “And, uh, Dario is outside. Black Range Rover. Tony is driving.”
Tony. I always liked Tony. He was hired by Matteo before he and Heaven left for Vegas and he’s reliable, respectful, and grateful for every penny he earns, for any bone thrown at him. He’s old school, which is why Matteo liked him so much and decided to take him on. He’s become a confidante by default because he has this annoying habit of seeing right through me. It’s like he can sense what I’m thinking. He’s kind of become a weird type of father-figure over the past months, and he’s the guy I trust most.
But everyone has a price. And I’m a big bone.
It’d be nice to not have to shoot him in the head if he’s stupid enough to make a move against me. I shove back the chair, standing up abruptly, adjusting my jacket over the gun stuffed in the waistband of my jeans. I back away from the table, thanking God I wore black ones so that the spill is camouflaged by the dark fabric. “Eat. Drink. And then get me Salvatore on a fucking spit,” I seethe. “I want him alive.” I pull five hundred-dollar bills out of my pocket and toss them onto the table. “For the waitress.” Then I stalk away from the table, not bothering to say another word.
A chill slips down my spine as the gravity of the situation hits me. I’ve been in charge for a grand total of six months, and I’ve lost five-hundred grand worth of blow that I know about. We fired Salvatore, but who knows how long he and his guys have been stealing from us? A little here, a little there, just to see if they can get away with it, to see if anyone notices.
Nobody did.
Until they went after the big payout.
And that’s one-hundred percent on me.
I storm toward the front of the restaurant, not seeing anything but flashes of red.
A chill settles deep in my bones, the feeling of being watched…hunted…grabbing hold.
This could be a bigger ambush than I ever imagined. They were able to get access to the club, they snatched one of our girls, they got away with the drugs…
And they weren’t even careful.
Could it be because they had a bigger objective, one I wouldn’t be able to prevent?
Like a fucking coup to take over our empire while Matty is away?
Or like my death?
Thoughts pop between my ears like bullets, and I almost miss Chella as she brushes past me.
“You still look pretty hot,” she says with a teasing smile, jolting me from the mind fuck they’ve assaulted me with. “Can I get you another drink?”
I force a tight smile. “Thanks, but I think I’m done for the night.”
She nods her head toward the table where Ray and Bobby have their heads bent together, whispering. “Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice your quick exit. Lemme guess, it’s a case of worst enemies?”
I let out a dry chuckle. “You have no idea. But please take good care of them anyway.”
“Always,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips.
Full. Glossy. Pouty.
God, I want to take a bite out of them so badly, and she has no idea.
“Have a good night,” she adds. “ Joe .”
I wink at her, letting my eyes drink her in for one more long minute before turning away and grasping the brass door handle. “You too, Chella .”
For a second, I feel strange. Different. Normal .
Sharing snarky banter with a beautiful girl who doesn’t know who I am, what I do, or for that matter, what I’m about to do. It was easy, flirty, and…fun.
Shit. I can’t remember the last time I considered an encounter with a woman any of those things.
And I liked it. A lot, not that I can ever have it for longer than that fleeting moment.
Let’s face it, there’s nothing about my life that’s easy, flirty, or fun.
I can think of a lot of adjectives to describe it, but none of those come into play. Ever.
Much as I might want them to.
A whoosh of air blows against my face as I push open the door of the pub, and instead of walking over to the Range Rover waiting for me at the curb, I do an about-face and head back inside. I sweep a hand through my hair as my eyes scan the restaurant, not really thinking clearly with the head sitting on my shoulders. I’m being led exclusively by the one between my legs right now. I see Ray and Bobby huddled together at the corner table I just left, but Chella is nowhere to be seen.
I let out a defeated sigh and turn back to the door. It was stupid to come back in here when I have so much shit to deal with on the outside. Who knows? I might have my gun stuck down Salvatore’s throat in a couple of hours. My life isn’t exactly conducive to romance. Besides, what did I expect to happen between us anyway? I tell her who I am and then what? Our families are enemies. I’m sure she must hate me because it was my family who sent hers packing. Sure, I fantasized about getting her naked every chance I got, but it was a long time ago.
A fucking lifetime ago. A lot of water under a very long bridge.
And we just weren’t meant to be anything more than?—
“Hey, you forget something?”
My breath hitches as I find myself staring into her twinkling, blue-green eyes. They’re smiling just as big as she is and fuck, as much as I want to convince myself otherwise, I’m hooked.
Still, after all of these years.
“Maybe,” I say. “Depends on how you answer.”
She tilts her head to the side, dots of bright pink appearing in her cheeks. “Okay, so then there’s an actual question.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well, ask away.” She nods over her shoulder toward the crowded dining room. “I’ve got a lot of tables.”
A quick look confirms that Ray and Bobby haven’t looked up once since I strolled back in here, which is a good thing…for a lot of reasons.
“What would happen if I came back here tonight after your shift was over?” I take a step closer to her just so I can breathe in her sweet citrusy scent as she considers her answer. “And asked if I could take you out for a drink?”
A flicker of shock mixed with excitement settles into her features, and her entire face lights up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. “So, like…a date?” A smile spreads across her face, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. “I’d say sure.”
I grin at her. “Good. That’s good to know.”
“Just so I’m clear, was that a hypothetical? Or something else?”
“Definitely a something else.” I wink at her. “See you around…?”
“Eleven o’clock,” Chella says.
“I’ll be here.”
“Me too.” She claps a hand against her forehead and rolls her eyes. “That was stupid. I mean, obviously, I’ll be here.”
“Until eleven.”
“Until eleven,” she repeats, backing toward the dining room with a dazed look on her face. She lets out a soft chuckle and turns her back, practically skipping toward one of her tables.
Crazy, sexy, and fucking adorable at the same time.
A fucking trifecta.
I know it’s not the best timing, considering I have a bunch of people to maim in the meantime, but hey, I need to find some kind of work-life balance.
May as well start tonight.
I take a deep breath and head back outside, jogging over to the Range Rover. With blacked-out windows, I won’t be able to tell who’s inside until I am.
And that should worry the fuck out of me.
Suddenly, the saying ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ has a fuck-ton more meaning to me.
And I now have a date that I’d very much like to make it to alive.
I grip the door handle, pulling it open and finding Tony behind the wheel as expected. “Where’s Dario?” I ask.
Tony nods his head toward the backseat.
“Okay, pop the trunk.”
Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”
“If you had the week I did, you’d understand why I’m asking.”
“And you really think I’d let someone hide back there?” he asks. “I could just as easily make sure they’re at the warehouse when we get there. That’d be easier and way less messy than in a vehicle,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for painting that picture.” Did I mention he’s a sarcastic fuck, too?
Tony snickers and I walk around to the back of the car. I’m the behind-the-scenes guy, the one who orchestrates this kind of shit. Of course I’d ask him to pop the goddamn trunk! It opens slowly, revealing absolutely nothing. I close it quickly after catching a glimpse of Dario wiggling around in the backseat, gagged with duct tape. I jump into the front seat and close the door behind me.
“Happy?” Tony asks.
“Satisfied,” I say. “For the time being.”
“It’s not easy being the boss, is it?” he asks.
“I have a fucking permanent crick in my neck and a chip on my shoulder,” I grumble.
That’s all we say for the rest of the short ride. There’s a deserted warehouse in the Meatpacking District we use off West Street to handle situations like Dario.
That kind of damage control is my specialty.
He whines and cries through the duct tape because, while he may be stupid in most situations, he knows exactly what awaits him at that warehouse.
Well, at least, he thinks he does.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m not going to kill him…right away.
Tony drives down the desolate street, finding parking right behind the old, dilapidated building. There are a few in this area, close to Pier 26 and the Hudson River.
But that won’t be his final resting place.
I crack my knuckles before getting out of the car, a rush of adrenaline coursing through me as Tony drags Dario out of the backseat and toward the large metal door. The whole area is unlit, making it that much more ominous. I’m sure Dario is shitting bricks right now, and rightly so.
He just contributed to one of the biggest heists in our organization’s short history here in Manhattan. Whether or not he knew he was being duped is irrelevant. He humiliated me by letting himself get lured away from his responsibilities.
Obligation and loyalty always trumps pussy.
Always!
And because of that, he will pay the very steep price of his negligence.
I get out of the truck and jog over to where Tony wrestles Dario just outside of the door. I pull it open and shove Dario inside. He stumbles, face-planting on the cold, hard cement. I kneel down next to him and yank his hair, pulling his head backward. “Get up,” I hiss into his ear.
He staggers to his feet, his eyes red and wet with tears. They plead with me to untie him, to pull off the tape covering his mouth, to let him beg for my forgiveness.
He’s gonna be begging for a whole lot more than that.
I look around, my trust in Tony creeping up a few more notches. No cartel ambush, no indication of an impending coup.
A couple of shadows appear at the end of the corridor and my spine stiffens.
Motherfucker…
My hand goes directly to the gun in my waistband, my palm wrapped around the handle. “Who the hell…?” I mumble.
“You’re gonna need transport once Dario is handled,” Tony says in a low voice. “To the site in East New York. I didn’t think you’d want to be the one to take him there.”
“Obviously,” I reply quickly. See, this is one of the reasons why I like Tony so much. He thinks of shit I don’t. I can’t be the one dragging a body to East New York.
I need to stop thinking like an enforcer.
I need to think like the fucking king.
Not that I need to admit any of that to him.
A couple of guys from the club appear once we get closer. They don’t say much, just a few grunts are exchanged. I really don’t need them to speak. Not now, anyway. I just need them to watch and take this very colorful story back to the others under my rule.
By now, everyone already knows how splintered our organization is and how easy it was to infiltrate under my control.
I need to grab back some of that control, making Dario a pawn in the process.
One of the guys drags over a rotting, wooden chair and I push Dario into it. He shudders, his eyes wide as I hover over him. My fingers tug at the corners of the tape and I peel it off with one quick tug. He screams, and I slap him across the face, holding up a finger to my lips.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl. “You know nobody can hear you, and if you have any hope of walking out of here, you’ll listen real good and then speak when I tell you to. Not fucking before.” I close my hand around his throat. It’s not too tight that he can’t breathe, just tight enough that he knows I can choke him if he doesn’t cooperate.
And I have other tools in my arsenal if the hand doesn’t do enough to scare him.
“I want to know exactly what happened tonight. Who was the girl who came for you?”
“Camille or Camilla,” he sobs. “I don’t know. She had nice tits and a great ass so, you know, I just?—”
I squeeze his throat and he sputters, floundering in the chair. His hands are still tied behind his back, so it’s not like he can do anything to stop me. “You just ignored your responsibilities and dipped your wick into a pool that was off limits, that about right?”
He nods. “Y-yeah, boss.”
I straighten up, releasing his neck. “Boss,” I repeat, pacing around him like a lion about to pounce on his prey. “That’s a really important word, do you know why, Dario?”
“B-because…because…” Another sob explodes from his chest and he whimpers before finishing his thought.
I crouch in front of him. “The answer is because I am the fucking boss! Do you understand that, Dario? I am the boss, and I gave you an order, which you ignored so you could get sucked off by some slut bitch who was working with one of our enemies!”
He is in full-blown hysterics right now.
Poor fucking Dario.
It’s about to get a whole lot worse for you.
I pull out my gun and smack him on the side of the head with it. “Shut the hell up!”
“Boss, I swear, I d-didn’t know she was working with an enemy. I just figured?—”
“You just figured that you must have won the fucking lottery because a hot piece of ass actually wanted you, right?” I shake my head. “And you thought getting off was worth the risk of exposing my drugs, yeah?”
“It wasn’t long,” he whispers. “Maybe half an hour. I didn’t think anyone would notice?—”
“Well, because of your needy cock, we’re out a lot of cash. Do you know how much?” I seethe into his face.
“No,” he whimpers again.
“Five-hundred-thousand dollars, give or take,” I say, pulling away and crossing my arms over my chest. “So how do you think I should punish you for this gross negligence? Hm? Should I shoot you five-hundred-thousand times? Pound five-hundred-thousand nails into your flesh? Slice off your skin and pour five-hundred-thousand fire ants onto you?” I walk around, tapping my finger against my chin. “So many options. I could even mix shit up, you know? Do a little of each?”
The guys waiting to haul a dead body away exchange a look.
Good.
I want them to know how fucking sick I can be.
I want them to take that back to the rest of the crew so they know who they’re dealing with if anyone gets any ideas about crossing me ever again.
Slap me once, shame on me.
Try to slap me twice, and I’ll cut off your goddamn arm before you have the chance to swing it in my direction.
I stop circling Dario and narrow my eyes at him. “Nah,” I say in response to my own questions. “I have a better idea.” I look at the guys standing behind him. “Take off his pants.”
One of them holds Dario down, and the other pulls off his pants. I stick my gun back into the rear waistband of my jeans and pull out a knife from its hiding place, wrapped tight around my ankle.
I press the button to extend the stainless steel blade, resting the tip against my cheek.
“It’s only right that you are punished in the same way as you committed your indiscretion.”
Another scream pierces the air and I shake my head. “Dario, I sure hope you got fucked real good, since you’re never gonna feel the inside of a pussy again.”
The next few minutes are a blur. Perspiration drizzles down the column of my spine as my hand slashes and slices, white noise between my temples muting the earsplitting sounds expelled from Dario’s mouth as I morph into my vengeful and vicious alter ego. My pulse throbs against my neck as my insides flood with a rush of heat.
The once-spotless blade is stained with the sins of deceit and betrayal when I’m finished with Dario.
Seeing red is a gross understatement.
My line of sight—along with my clothes—is completely drenched in it.
Occupational hazard.
When I said I wanted the guys to relay a colorful picture, I wasn’t kidding.
I hope they take pictures.
I want everyone to know exactly what will happen to them if they abandon their responsibilities under my rule.
I want them to fear the consequences of their deception.
I want them to understand that no amount of money is large enough, no pussy is tight or sweet enough, to warrant the kind of torture and torment that I will bring to them.
I step away from my masterpiece, my shoulders quaking, my breaths coming in heavy pants.
Dario is barely conscious at this point, which is actually too bad.
I grit my teeth. He needs to realize that the misery I just caused him isn’t the end.
His head rolls back and forth after a few minutes, his eyes open a crack.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out, silencing a groan when I see Matteo’s name flash on the screen.
Anxiety consumes me as I regard Dario.
I made the right move.
Fuck, I had to do this! I had to prove to everyone who and what I am, dammit!
A nagging voice in my head reminds me that the king doesn’t carry out the executions.
He only orders them.
I hate this second-guessing shit! I did what I had to do to protect the family and our interests!
Whether or not Matteo will agree is another story, but I don’t have time to relay the grotesque tale right now. I decline the call and stuff my phone back into my jeans.
I look up at the expectant faces of the men standing in front of me.
They’re looking for direction, for strength, for leadership.
So I give it to them.
“Finish him,” I say through clenched teeth, abruptly turning around and storming out of the warehouse. My phone buzzes again and I stab the Accept button when I see Bobby’s name flash on the screen.
“Boss,” he says. “We’ve got Salvatore. And the name of his partner.”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Tell me,” I growl.”
“It’s one you know well from back home,” Bobby says with a deep sigh. “Frankie Amante.”
My throat tightens.
My ex-best friend.
Here in fucking Manhattan.
Screwing me years later, just like his father did to mine back in Sicily.
And the brother of my date at eleven tonight.