5. Dominic
Chapter 5
Dominic
The black SUV crawls to a stop in front of Senator dumbfuck's cookie-cutter mansion.
"Would ya look at this place?" Isaac snorts from the passenger seat. "Bet the grass is imported from fuckin' Netherlands or some shit."
Connor leans forward between the seats. "Ten bucks says he's got a room just for his ties."
"Twenty says his pretty little wife picked 'em all out," Sylvia chimes in from the back.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, taking in the top-of-the-line sprinkler system and the stark white columns. "Hard to believe this fuck is in bed with Esteban."
"Speaking of," Isaac adjusts his holster, "you think he knows exactly who he's dealing with? Like, really knows?"
"Nah." I shake my head. "Cope's too far up his own ass to see past the money. Probably thinks Esteban's just some fellow businessman with shady connections."
"If he knew half the shit that goes down at the docks..." Connor trails off with a low whistle.
"Remember last month?" Sylvia leans forward. "When that reporter got too close and Esteban had you guys?—"
"Enough." I cut her off with a sharp look in the rearview. "We don't talk about jobs."
Sylvia isn't usually in tow with us when we do this kind of shit. I prefer to roll with Connor and Isaac or no one at all. But let's just say that her 'ass' is an asset in this particular mission.
"Right, right. My apologies." She settles back. "Still funny though. Mr. Clean-Cut Senator's about to invite Brooklyn's biggest crime family into his Martha Stewart living room."
"Let's just get this shit over with." I kill the engine. "And remember - we're 'diplomats' tonight."
The crew erupts in laughter as we exit the vehicle, the absurdity of our cover story not lost on any of us.
I lead them up the perfectly paved walkway, my boots heavy against the concrete. Thomas Cope opens the door before we reach it, his politician smile plastered across his face.
"Gentlemen... and lady." He adjusts his tie, stepping aside. "Please, come in."
The interior reeks of money and privilege – all gleaming hardwood and pretentious artwork. Sylvia brushes past Thomas, her hand lingering on his chest just a second too long. I catch Connor's eye roll.
"Nice place you got here, Senator," I say, scanning the room for exits out of habit. "Very... clean."
"Speaking of clean," Connor pipes up, shaking his hair from his eyes. "Where's the missus? Haven't had the pleasure."
Thomas's smile tightens at the corners. "Ah, I sent her on some errands. Can't have any... distractions during our meeting."
"I see." Isaac's tone drips with sarcasm as he sprawls onto an expensive-looking leather chair.
"You must know how it is, somethings are better left in the dark." Thomas straightens his already straight tie. "So, shall we get down to business? I've prepared some light refreshments in my office."
"Lead the way," I gesture, noting how Sylvia's hand brushes Thomas's back as she follows him up the stairs. The wire hidden under her bra better pick up something useful tonight.
This whole damn scene makes my skin crawl – the fake smiles, the house straight out of a better homes and garden magazine, the way he just dismissed his wife like she's nothing more than an inconvenience. But business is business, and Esteban needs his damn money, like yesterday.
Upstairs, Thomas's office matches the rest of his house – all show, no substance. The mahogany desk probably costs more than most people make in a year. I lean against it, purposely scuffing the pristine surface with my belt.
Connor positions himself by the window, looking out to the street, scouting for any eyes I’m sure. Isaac sprawls in a leather chair while Sylvia perches on the desk, crossing her legs just so.
"The west side deal," I say, cutting through Thomas's rambling about polling numbers. "What's the hold up?"
He tugs at his collar. "These things take time. Delicate negotiations?—"
"Bullshit." I straighten to my full height, watching him shrink back slightly. "You've been 'negotiating' for three months. Esteban's getting impatient."
"It's… it's complicated?—"
"I don't give a fuck." My voice drops low. "You promised him his money by now. He's got shipments coming in next month he needs the cash for."
Connor's lip twitches. "Tick tock, Senator."
"Listen." Thomas spreads his hands. "I have to be careful. If anyone catches wind?—"
I slam my palm on his desk, making him jump. "Let me be real clear. Either you get the money by the end of the week, or Esteban's gonna serve your ass up on a silver platter. And trust me—" I lean in close enough to smell his overpriced cologne "—that's the best-case scenario."
"I-I'll make some calls tomorrow." He says, trying far too hard to remain stoic.
"Today." I straighten his tie, just a bit too tight. "As in right now."
His hands shake as he reaches for his phone.
I watch his trembling fingers dial numbers on his phone, sweat beading at his hairline. Connor catches my eye and taps his watch – we've been here too long already.
"It's been a pleasure Thomas, but other duty calls. There are other debts to collect, bodies to dispose of. Remember," I say, straightening to my full height. "End of the week."
"Yes, yes, of course." Thomas tugs at his collar. "I'll have everything sorted."
"Sylvia." I nod toward her. "Stay behind, make sure the Senator follows through on those calls."
She slides off the desk, her hand trailing across Thomas's shoulder. "My pleasure."
"Don't fuck this up," I warn Thomas one last time before heading for the door, Connor and Isaac falling in step behind me.
The night air hits my face as we exit the house. Isaac lets out a low whistle. "That guy's about to shit himself."
"Good." I pull my hair loose from its tie. "Fear makes people efficient."
Connor checks his phone. "Sylvia's got thirty minutes to get the intel Esteban wants. You sure leaving her in there alone was the right call?"
"She knows what she's doing." I unlock the SUV. "Besides, did you see how he was looking at her? Guarantee you his guard's already down."
"Sleazy bastard," Isaac mutters, climbing into the passenger seat. "Got a lady at home and still can't keep it in his pants."
"That's the thing with these rich pricks," I mutter, shaking my head. "Got everything handed to them and they don't even appreciate what they've got."
Connor glances up from his phone. "You good, boss?"
"Just thinking how guys like him got it all backward." I turn around in my seat to face him. "Nice house, a wife, and what's he do? Sends her out running errands while he entertains his side piece."
Isaac snorts. "Since when do you care about some politician's marriage?"
"It ain't about that." My jaw tightens. "It's about respect. Having someone to come home to, someone who's got your back – that shit's worth more than all these fancy houses combined."
"Sounds like someone's getting soft," Connor teases, but there's no bite to it.
"Nah." I adjust the rearview mirror, catching my reflection. The scar above my eyebrow stands out in the streetlight. "Just know what matters. Guys like us? We understand the value of loyalty. These trust fund babies think everything's disposable – their word, their marriages, their integrity."
"Deep thoughts for a Thursday night, eh?" Isaac quips, but I catch him nodding in agreement.
The SUV falls silent as my mind wanders to my empty apartment in Brooklyn – all concrete and steel, nothing soft about it. No one waiting up, no one to share the quiet moments between the chaos.
"At least we're honest about who we are," I say finally. "Can't say the same for these suburban hypocrites."