CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Achilles
How did the saying go? If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.
I was going to the fucking mountain, and if I had to move it, so be it.
Tristan Hale had bailed last night at the Forbidden Fruit Club.
But he was still in New York—my home, my playground, my turf.
He wasn’t getting out of here without a little chat.
My first step? Shut down New York’s airspace. Well, sort of. Every private airport in the tristate area reported to me about incoming and outgoing flights, and all commercial flights were monitored by Jeremie, who was once again at my disposal.
My second? Fermanagh’s, Tiernan’s pub.
Alex was still in the city, conducting business with his Irish bestie. I hated to interrupt their little makeup-and-gossip sesh, or whatever the fuck they were doing, but I had pressing matters to discuss.
Parking my Ducati in front of Fermanagh’s, I popped my helmet off, tucking it under my arm, and sauntered right in. I strode past the drunken crow, and into Tiernan’s back office, where two Irish soldiers greeted me with a stern look. They blocked my path to the ajar door.
“If you don’t move right this second, I’m smoking your ass like you’re a fine Cuban.”
Tiernan’s husky chuckle sounded from the office. “Liam, Tadhg, let him through.”
They parted ways, and I bulldozed inside, finding Alex and Tiernan enjoying a joint and a drink together. Two peas in a shitty-ass pod.
“Hello, brother-in-law.” Tiernan puffed smoke in my direction.
“Hello, asshat.”
“The fuck you pouting about now?” Alex elevated a brow. “Problem with the missus?”
“Almost.” I grabbed a seat and joined them. “Problem with a certain bitch-ass boy who promised me Tristan Hale and didn’t deliver.”
There was zero awkwardness between us.
Yeah, he’d fucked Tierney as a favor to me. But that was where it ended.
I’d chosen well—a Rasputin man, a last name Tierney wouldn’t take if she had to die a thousand deaths.
A good-looking motherfucker whom she trusted and had shared history with but one who’d never occupied her thoughts or left her craving more. She’d had plenty of opportunities to meet him again over the years and had chosen not to.
All in all, it was a good deal, and one I didn’t regret.
Sure, it killed me. I threw up multiple times before and after the act. And yes, a part of me died last night.
But a part of her resurrected, too. I saw it in her eyes. In the way she looked at me afterward, with real trust. With ease.
It was worth it.
Tiernan drummed his fingers on his desk, tilting his head. “Actually, Hale arrived. Couldn’t find your ass anywhere, though.”
Alex and I exchanged a quick look before I spoke. “Was he wearing a mask?”
“Naturally,” Tiernan said. “Where were you?”
“With Tierney.”
“You went with my sister?” His green eyes turned impatient.
“Uh-huh.”
“You blew off a meeting with the most elusive contract killer on planet Earth for a…for your fiancée, who you live with?” he asked again.
I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I speaking to the same motherfucker who stood in the middle of a goddamn birthday meal at my parents’ house to screw his bride after she ground all over him at the dinner table?”
His jaw flexed in annoyance at the mention of that debacle.
“And you?” Tiernan turned to Alex.
“Important phone call.” Not a muscle in his face moved. He lied well and often. “I’ll call him now. I bet he’s still around.”
“You do that, while I go check on Lila.” Tiernan stood and grabbed his phone.
“Check on her?” I glanced up. “Is she okay?”
“Fine. Just a little nauseous.”
“You knocked her up already?” My voice tightened. “Nero’s not even a year old, for fuck’s sake.”
“Mind your own business, asshole.” Tiernan flashed me a cheerful smile, exiting the room.
Alex reached for his phone, punching in a number, then a few sequences of numbers to connect to Hale. Eyes on his screen, he asked, “Tierney okay?”
“None of your fucking business,” I hissed out. So much for keeping my shit in check. One more look from this fucker and I was going to wipe Vegas off the fucking map.
An indulgent smirk tipped the corner of Alex’s mouth. “I was glad to help yesterday.”
Scratch my earlier comment about shit not being awkward. It was about to get pretty damn weird when he lost all of his teeth.
“Aren’t you in the market for a bride as well?” I shot back. “A single pakhan is a weak pakhan. Time’s a wastin’. You need an heir.”
He snorted. “Got anyone in mind for me?”
“What’s your taste?”
If he answered Tierney, I was going to kill him. I didn’t care that Tiernan liked him. He could find himself another pet. I’d get him a fish or something.
“My taste for women tends to run toward hellions with the potential to ruin my life.”
“Sounds healthy.”
The line connected, and a deep voice grumbled, “Hale.”
“Tristan, this is Alex.”
No answer from the other line. Conceited, little shit. He was waiting for more.
“Achilles Ferrante is ready for your meeting.”
“Is he, now?” He sounded amused.
“Yes. He is right here with me.”
“And where are you?”
“Fermanagh’s. Need the address?”
“I got it.” He sounded American, but that didn’t mean jack shit. Conflicting reports had surfaced about him throughout the years. Some said he was Italian, some from Scandinavia, and some insisted he was from an undisclosed country in Africa. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.
Interesting that he didn’t ask for any guarantees on his life. Then again, if he couldn’t keep himself alive, he was a shit assassin to begin with.
Tiernan returned, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. I didn’t ask him if Lila was pregnant. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s good news.
“Hale’s on his way.” Alex stood and collected his gun and phone.
“Leaving already?” I drawled. “I thought you and Tiernan had a slumber party scheduled.”
“No sense of humor, no looks.” Alex stopped midstride on his way to the door to clap my shoulder. “Hold on to Tierney as hard as you can because you’re punching way out of your league.”
I was fully prepared to stand up and go after him, but Tiernan stopped me when he rounded his desk and turned his screen to face me. “There’s something you need to see.”
Fermanagh’s CCTV footage was on display. In the grainy alleyway, I spotted a tall figure donning their mask.
Tristan Hale.
He was getting ready, putting on elastic, fake finger pads to disguise his prints. The little shit was good.
“You can probably catch him if you hurry up,” Tiernan said.
“Which way?” I grumbled.
“Take the back door from the kitchen and break right. He’s locked in. A mountain of trash blocks the exit from the other side.”
I stood up and charged in the kitchen’s direction.
Cooks and waiters bustled across the small space, and I shouldered through them, the heat and scent of deep-fried bar food assaulting my nostrils.
I elbowed the door open, slamming it so hard against the wall it rattled.
Tristan twisted his head in the direction of the noise, but I had the element of surprise working for me.
That and my alluring personality.
And by alluring personality, I mean, of course, the cocked and ready gun I pushed straight to his forehead with a smile. “Thanks so much for coming.” I walked him back to the opposite wall of the alleyway. “Very nice of you, Mr. Hale.”
If he was surprised or rattled, he didn’t let it show. His posture was relaxed, his breathing even. “Your charitable greeting doesn’t go unnoticed,” he drawled back. “But if you’re looking to hire someone, you’re out of luck. You can’t afford me.”
“One thing you should know about me, Hale.” I gave him a pat down with my free hand, my gun still shoved to his forehead. As expected, whatever weapon he carried was well concealed. Not in his pockets, waistband, or shoulder holsters. “I enjoy the killing requirement of my job.”
“And yet, here I am.” I could hear the smile on his face. “Why?”
“You shot my woman.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t personal. Your father gave me a job, and I took it.”
“You missed.”
A beat of silence reigned before he spoke. “So I heard.” He trained his gaze on mine. He had the cynical, steely eyes of a man who had seen everything and loved nothing. “Those things happen from time to time.”
“Maybe. Not to you, though.”
I wanted to rip the mask off his face, but I also knew that every fiber in his body was alert and ready for this. One wrong movement, and he could break my wrist. We were both trained enough to know the risks and consequences of every move we made.
“Thank you for the compliment, but I assure you—”
“Why’d you miss, Tristan?” I cut him off. “It was a clear, easy shot. You wanted her to survive. What do you have with Tierney Callaghan?”
He said nothing. I wanted to strangle him. I couldn’t. Any sudden movement could be the end of both of us. I’d shoot. He’d snap my neck. And we’d both lose.
One of us needed to make a mistake.
That someone wasn’t going to be me.
I had too much riding on this.
I decided to switch gears. “You came to the Forbidden Fruit Club yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Why, if you weren’t going to take any potential job from me?”
He said nothing. I pushed.
“It’s a long way from Africa, and I hear that’s where you live these days.”
Again, he didn’t answer.
He was curious. About the club. About our family. About the Ferrante legacy. Something drew him to us, and it wasn’t money. He accepted our father’s business but not ours. Money was money, though. And mine was just as green as Don Vello’s. It made me wonder if maybe he had a soft spot for the don.
“Have you heard from my father recently?”
He gave out a low chuckle. “I do not discuss my clients’ business. Ask him yourself.”
“Oh, I would…” I slowly ran the gun from his forehead down his nose, all the way until I reached the base of his throat. “But he is…shall we say, indisposed these days.”
Tristan didn’t say anything, but I’d known I caught his attention. I kept twisting that screw, knowing he would snap sooner or later. I always managed to find people’s pressure points.
“He’s on his deathbed currently. Sad, really.”
“That so?” His voice was scratchy. Bingo.
“Hmm.” I nodded. “I did it to him myself. Well, Tiernan Callaghan and me. For sending you to kill her. We were…less than impressed with the both of you.”
If I needed to guess, I’d say he was licking his lips behind this mask.
“What’s the damage?”
“He’s not lucid anymore. Eats through a straw. Shits into tubes. Mercy killing is the humane option. Too bad he’s surrounded by coldhearted bastards.”
“And you kept this mum all this time?” he hissed out. “I don’t believe you.”
Anger. This was good. He was close to snapping.
“Told the Organization he’s abroad for medical treatment,” I said. “But for all intents and purposes, he’s dead, and we’ve taken over.”
“With what authority?”
“Our own.”
Tristan pounced on me, but I sensed it seconds before he’d even moved.
He was acting out of pure rage. I had the time to step sideways and watch him tumble through his own momentum, and that was when I pushed him to the floor and straddled him, leaning my entire weight against his arms, which were pinned between our bodies.
Making sure he was neutralized, I snapped my elbow against his collarbone, fracturing it for good measure.
A soft groan sounded from behind the mask.
“You’re a big boy. You’ll manage.” The level of sympathy in my voice was minus a fucking thousand.
I ripped the mask from his face, not knowing what I expected to see.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t…this.
He was about Luca’s age—perhaps a little older, around thirty-two or thirty-three—with dark brown hair—shaggy and unkempt—and baby blue eyes.
A handsome, ordinary-looking man, for all intents and fucking purposes.
One with a chiseled jaw and bedroom eyes.
All he needed was a pair of goddamn Calvin Klein briefs and a horse.
He had olive skin but his features were European.
I couldn’t place him anywhere on the map.
I shook my head, grabbing him by the head and jaw, ready to snap his spine.
It didn’t really matter why he’d spared Tierney.
If he wasn’t going to talk, I wasn’t taking any chances.
“You don’t want to do this,” he croaked, voice flat and even, as though we were discussing the weather. Danger crackled in the air. I could feel it. Taste it, even. We were both on the edge of chaos.
“Oh yeah? Why not?”
“Because I’m your blood, your brother.” A taunting snarl found his lips. “I’m Vello’s Il prediletto.”