Connor
Damn, that woman infuriates me.
And impresses me. And arouses me.
Mostly infuriates, though.
I seethe, anger bubbling through my veins as I gaze at the door she disappeared through. How dare she imply I have no sway? She doesn’t know a fucking thing.
I need to alert Finn that his prisoner exchange, which is less than four hours out, is likely an ambush.
Cat didn’t know this earlier, but I recognized her tell. No eye contact, and when I touched her face to gauge her thoughts, she didn’t swat my hand away.
That means Eduardo and his gorilla of a son left her out of the loop.
The question is…why?
Also, fuck them. If given the chance, Cat’s mind could run marathons around Nino’s.
I should bring her to LA and show her how we do business there. See if I can persuade her with some alone time to take a walk on the sunny side. I’ll show her what kind of power I wield in the world of perpetual summer.
On our home turf, Declan doesn’t come out to play too often.
These days, he does lots of delegating from behind that mammoth mahogany desk.
The more he hides in his office, the more work he delegates to me.
Barring any orders from the top, I’m practically the boss most days, and my father trusts my instincts.
Since his fallout with my sister Maeve and Brody’s defection to the East Coast, I’m the only kid left on his side.
That’s why I’m here, acting as the liaison between the Gallagher branches. It’s no easy task to serve as the bridge between two families who spent decades at war. Hulking, snot-nosed bullies in a sandbox, all of them.
And I’m managing both sides.
Cat just doesn’t understand. If she ever pulls her head out of that delicious ass of hers and grows a spine, we could rule these cities, coast to coast.
An alliance with a brain like hers would only benefit both Gallagher clans, and regular fuck sessions would be icing on the cake.
For the moment, it’ll be enough for Cat to just realize that she shouldn’t underestimate me.
I’ll show her exactly who she’s dealing with.
Sometime later, after a quick conversation with Finn, I make my way to the ambush, Sal Padovesi at my side.
Because I’m more than just a message boy. Finn trusts me to handle this my way.
As he should.
Sal and I stand across the street from the Island Lawn-Dro-Mat, the meet-up point I agreed to with Eduardo. We’re two hours early, and besides Sal, I came alone.
Surprise, Riccis.
While I don’t know Padovesi personally, I know his type.
He’s the go-between, the guy who handles the dirty money so the boss can deny any involvement if the police get a little too curious.
Padovesi’s older, maybe in his fifties, and plump, even after a year locked in a cell eating crackers and soup.
I don’t have him zip-tied, but he’s not going anywhere.
This guy couldn’t outrun a leaky faucet.
Sal and I popped out of an Uber two minutes ago so I could scout the location. I’m in a Giants bomber jacket, while he’s stuffed like a sausage into a fleece-lined zip-up hoodie. We’re both donning classic fit baseball caps.
No one believes we’re mob. Hell, I don’t think my own brother Brody would look twice if he passed me on the street.
I spy a sniper on top of the drugstore opposite the laundromat. Two goons veer down the alley next to the facility, take another left, and then head inside the back way.
You don’t have to be a genius to work for the mob. They don’t even check your eyes or bother to confirm you’re road-ready like the DMV does for a driver’s license. I’ve taken advantage of this little quirk since I was old enough to hold a gun.
I can handle a couple cronies.
“Let’s go.” I hook my hand around Padovesi’s elbow, crossing the street when the little white man tells us it’s safe to do so.
“We’re early, Gallagher.” Padovesi’s voice is high and accented, marking him as a first-generation Italian American. “Why don’t you buy me a cup of coffee while we wait? Maybe a cannoli?”
This guy’s awfully ballsy. “This is an exchange, not a coffee klatch.” And he’s a fool. If this is an ambush for the Gallaghers, he won’t survive. He just hasn’t realized yet that the Riccis consider him expendable.
On the other side of the road, we walk a block and cut into the alley. We’ll enter through the back, the same way the two Ricci enforcers did. I’m guessing another three or four wait inside.
I’ve got my Glock 26 in a holster, my 9mm Luger in the pocket of the bomber jacket, and if all else fails, my dagger strapped to my ankle inside my boot.
I grab the Glock. Sal eyes me, so I spell out the truth for him. “They set a trap. Did you see the sniper? Or the two other enforcers that went through this door?”
He scoffs. “The Riccis wouldn’t do that. I’ve kept my lips zipped for a year.”
“That right?” I wave at the laundromat’s back door. “Then be my guest.”
Like a dutiful jackass, he waltzes straight in. “Yo, Franco!”
They open fire as soon as the door closes, and a body hits the wall with a heavy whump.
Their own guy.
I’m taking every one of you fuckers down.
The mantra pumps me up as I kick the door open.
The two goons who entered last swivel the barrel of their guns my way.
Too slow, though.
They get one bullet each, dead center, and drop.
I find Sal in the corner, bleeding but alive. One shot in his shoulder—a flesh wound—and one low in the thigh. They missed his femoral artery, but I still don’t predict any walking in his near future.
Lucky for him, he’ll survive.
I shake my head and prowl through the hallway, past an open bathroom door—smells worse than it appears—and into the main laundromat. An abandoned table covered with cards sits in the middle of the floor as four men scatter, ducking behind counters and washing machines.
I’ve got this.
“Texas Hold’em?” I stalk toward the table, pulling my Luger from the pocket of the bomber jacket with my left hand. “Deal me in.”
I kick the table over and aim point-black at the man who was crouching behind it. A red circle materializes between his eyes, and with a press of my finger, he collapses with barely a sound.
A bullet whizzes past my head, the air cool against my ear.
I whip toward the man who fired the shot, dropping him as he runs for the door.
A smart guy would’ve stayed hidden. Instead, he gave me a bigger target.
Four down, two to go.
The iron scent of blood invades my nose and clogs my throat. The buzz of adrenaline churns through me, sharpening my senses and tingling in my skin.
I love a good fight.
One of the men who rolled behind a row of washers pops up and fires off a round.
The shots go wide, ricocheting off the wall behind me. Pocketing my Luger, I launch myself on top of a line of frontload dryers, using their slick surface, my satin bomber jacket, and good old-fashioned physics to slide down the row.
When Enforcer Number Three raises his gun again, I shoot the weapon out of his hand.
He cries out, clutching it to his chest as he stumbles and falls on his ass.
Yeah, bet that stings a bit.
I hop down from the machines and put him out of his misery. Blood splatters against cheap linoleum, the squelch familiar to my ears.
Enforcer Number Four darts through the front door. He turns and fires blindly inside, murdering a ceiling fan while I kill Number Three with a flawless head shot.
I’m not going to fire back at his big bald head and lay out a man in the street. We don’t need that kind of attention.
He’s not coming back, so I don’t bother pursuing him.
Spinning to get the hell out of here before the cops show, I stop short and smirk
“Oh? Et tu, Sal?”
Shaking like a pooch fresh out of the bath, Padovesi braces against the wall to steady himself and trains a gun on me.
Guess he wasn’t fully incapacitated after all.
I hold my hands out wide. He has a perfect target. If he aims for the Giants scrawled across my left pec, I’m as good as dead.
Except, I see him waver. He’s not sure.
So I’m not worried.
Why didn’t this guy limp out the back door? Shot by friendly fire, and now, he’s holding a gun on the one guy who saved his ass? “Sal, put down the weapon. I’m not the one you want to kill.”
He spits on the tile floor. “Fuck you, Gallagher. You set me up.”
“I’m not the one who shot you.”
He doesn’t care. His trigger finger performs as trained, but he’s rusty and misses. The bullet flies so wide, I’m not even sure where it landed.
He’s got more ammunition, though, so no second chances for him.
I put a round straight between his eyes.
Sal collapses.
I might not care about the Giants, but why ruin that nice warm hoodie if I don’t have to? We just bought this gear, and it wasn’t cheap.
I spin in a slow circle, listening for any other signs of life.
For now, it’s quiet, my only companions the scent of gunpowder and blood. More Ricci enforcers will appear any minute now that Baldie’s on the loose.
If the cops don’t show up first, that is.
Even though I won, I’m still beyond pissed. There was no reason for this. I gave Eduardo my word.
I’m here representing both Declan and Finn. While I came in expecting this, double-crossing me will only screw them over.
Eduardo and Nino will regret this.
An office sits across from that shithole of a restroom, and I sift through the center drawer until I find a Sharpie.
I drag Padovesi to the center of the room, leaving a trail of brain matter as breadcrumbs. I unzip his hoodie and rip his shirt down the middle, exposing his soft, pasty chest.
This one’s for you, Cat.
After I scribble my message, I toss the marker and leave through the rear, retracing my steps down the alley.
At the corner, I re-cross the street, scale the drugstore from the rear, and eliminate the sniper.
Once I prop him back up, I set up shop to enjoy the fireworks.
This is what happens to people who think they can insult me.
Betray me.
Lie to my fucking face.