Chapter 5 #2
The door opened behind me, and I felt the controlled presence of my brother before he came to a stop beside me with Dario and two soldiers next to him.
Lorenzo shook his head, his expression a wild toss-up between anger, frustration and probably pride.
I knew he’d follow me, he was just too late to the party.
“Like the décor, brother?” I grinned rubbing my jaw.
“Unfuckinghinged,” he muttered then sighed. “Christ, Remo, you’re the underboss now, try a little restraint once in a while.” His gaze snapped back to the men lying cheek flat in pools of blood.
“They stole from us, Renz.”
“And I’m assuming talking was a no go?”
“They talked and now they’re done talking.”
“Fuck.” He shook his head again, looking at Gian. “You’re supposed to keep him in line.”
The fuck had the decency to drop his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”
“By the looks of things, I’d say you enjoyed yourself too,” Lorenzo muttered then glanced at Dario. “I thought you said he was teachable?”
Dario smacked the back of his brother’s head. “I’ll sort it out, boss.”
“Good luck with that.” I winked at Dario, catching Gian’s smirk.
“Get this shit cleaned up,” Lorenzo instructed the two soldiers then headed out with me on his tail.
No matter how often I annoyed my brother, went against his wishes or, like he said, displayed bouts of irrationality, he never gave into anger, never turned his back on me and never put anyone before me.
Well, except for his pretty boy other half.
That little shit might steal my brother’s affection but I’d protect the two of them with my life.
Rayden made Lorenzo smile unknowingly, laugh without restraint and if I dared to say it, soft-hearted at times, yet he never strayed from his role as a well-respected Don. Something I hoped to be one day.
Not anytime soon, though, because I wasn’t done fucking up shit, killing motherfuckers who stole from us and be an all-round bad boy.
Only, I did it in a three-piece suit, neatly styled dark hair and translucent blue-eyes that apparently charmed the panties off women.
No-one saw the unbalanced bastard beneath, the so-called beauty unless I smiled.
Like the three fuckers I’d just offed. As our money managers, they considered themselves rich successful men, achieved in large parts through the Rossi name.
A week ago, Lorenzo needed access to our money.
Their stalling tactics made me suspicious and sure enough when I pulled the bank statements, they didn’t match the fake shit those fuckers were sending us every month.
Lorenzo might be a little more accepting of their behavior, wanting to talk and discuss strategies.
Me, I lived by the blade, dressed in the metallic scent of blood and could probably come from watching a man on his knees, begging for his life.
Yep, unhinged.
“Did you actually get anything out of them or was it just a pretty massacre for you?” Lorenzo’s sarcasm pulled me out of musings as we climbed into the back seat of the blacked-out SUV.
“Admittedly, the bloodbath was a treat.” I chuckled, earning my brother’s usual ‘I give up’ look.
“Fuckers were skimming money off our accounts, Renz,” I added, his disbelief was quickly replaced by anger.
“They filled it up every now and then with other client’s funds they were cleaning, just to keep the accounts open. ”
“Like a fucking Ponzi scheme?” Lorenzo offered a tight-lipped growl.
I nodded. “Michael figured by the time we caught on, we’d either be dead or rotting in prison while they enjoyed our money.”
“He cleaned us out,” he muttered.
“On the contrary.” I retrieved my phone from my inside jacket pocket, tapped the screen and handed it to him.
He stared at it for a minute, frowned and looked up. “That’s a lot more fucking zeros we didn’t have.”
“And now we do.” I shrugged. “I had them transfer every dime from all their accounts into several of our offshore accounts.”
“Leverage?”
“While they were on their knees, pissing their pants to get away from my weapon was fun, I offered his men a chance to redeem Michael’s mistake. They were dead, either way, so they chose the lesser of two evils.”
“You’re the lesser of two evils?” Lorenzo barked out a laugh.
“I can be nice, brother. You just give me far too little credit.”
“Fuck, Remo, your nice sits at the end of a barrel, knife or whatever takes your fucking fancy.” He glanced at the screen again. “Can’t say I’m not impressed, though. There’s hope for you after all.”
His compliment widened my smile because his approval kept me sane.
Thumb under his chin, the back of his forefinger rubbing his bottom lip, he looked contemplative. “We need to return this money to their clients.”
“No, we don’t.” At his frown, I added. “Those fuckers are dead and their clients have no money. We do. When they need it, they’ll seek you out. You can give it to them with minimal interest. Win, win situation.”
Lorenzo’s smile was slow to form but I could read the subtle agreement in his expression. “That’s stealing.”
“So?” I chuckled. “You’re a morally gray don, who’s gone a tad softer after a billionaire prince stole your cock and carries it in his back pocket while I’m a fucking darker than night bastard. Regardless, we both get what we want.”
He handed back my phone and leaned his head against the backrest with a soft laugh. “One of these days, you’re going to find a beautiful woman who’ll shackle you by the balls.”
“Shoot me dead, if that ever happens,” I snorted.
“Or maybe it’s time you made me an uncle,” he taunted.
“Old age making you senile, brother?”
“Probably because I forget you don’t commit, just fuck.” His tone laced with unhidden sarcasm; he leveled me with one of those intense looks that literally had some men piss their pants when they attempted to meet it. “Nothing wrong with a little love, Remo. Might change your perspective on life.”
“Love—” I grunted, glancing out the window, my tongue playing with the ring pierced into my bottom lip. “—makes men spineless and women mindless.”
He leaned forward in his seat and I looked at him.
His expression now filled with the usual care; he slowly shook his head.
“Love never dies, fratello, it just gets stronger with time. Dario once told me that while serendipity might be a fucked-up notion to some, it will bring you the one you’re destined to be with.
At first, I didn’t believe it and now I do. ”
“No such thing, brother, for me at least.”
The look on my face must’ve given him pause.
He sat back and fished his phone out of his jacket pocket leaving me with my thoughts.
The ones that haunted me when I allowed them to.
Usually I handled them well, the times I couldn’t, someone’s blood would spill.
I’d had my fix today which meant the lust was pacified.
For now.
“What the fuck,” Lorenzo’s harsh growl sliced through the hum of the engine as we pulled up outside the club.
My head snapped toward him. Eyes locked on his phone, his jaw worked slow grind that meant something had already gone very wrong.
“Inside,” he ordered, climbing out.
I followed without hesitation. Gian scrambled out behind us, almost jogging to keep pace with Lorenzo. Neon lights bleeding across the pavement, the music inside pulsed low as we cut through the main floor, staff straightening instinctively at our entrance.
“What now,” I muttered, watching the way his thumb hovered over his screen.
He didn’t answer until we were inside his office and the door shut with a heavy thud behind us. Only then did he lift his gaze to me, and the look in his eyes was equal parts fury and suspicion. “Christ, Remo, what the fuck happened at The Den?”
I frowned, trying to catch up with the accusation in his tone. “What are you talking about?”
His disbelief sharpening, he crossed the room in two strides, turned at his desk and tossed his phone at me. “It’s a fucking bloodbath they’re trying to keep under wraps and clearly failed.”
Curious, I scanned several pics sent by Scott, the detective on our payroll.
The underground casino from three nights ago was unrecognizable.
Bodies scattered between overturned tables, blood-streaked marble and floors, familiar faces of several mafia heads and their men frozen in fear and some, anger. Uncontrolled chaos.
I lifted my eyes. “I’m not sure…” Insult twisted my stomach. “Wait. You think I did this?”
“You were there that night, and you’re alive—”
“Fuck, Renz.” I dropped his phone on the table harder than necessary and dragged both hands through my hair, forcing air into my lungs before anger turned reckless. “Gian,” I yelled.
The door flew open, the kid almost tripping in his hurry to enter. “Boss.”
“How many people were alive when we left The Den the other night?”
He blinked, glancing between me and my brother like we’d just asked him a fucking math question. “Except for Tony, all of them.”
I looked at Lorenzo. “I deserve a little more credit, brother,” I grunted, my barely controlled restraint nipping at my tendons.
He looked unconvinced for a moment, his cold gaze drifting from me to Gian and back again, calculating. He cursed under his breath. “Where’s Dario?”
As if summoned just by his boss’s temper, the big man walked in. “Renz?”
Lorenzo pointed to the phone screen still lit with the carnage. “Call Scott. I want everything. Who was there, who walked out, who’s missing, who’s talking. Heads are going to roll, and I want to be the one holding the blade.”
“Sure thing.” Dario walked out taking Gian with him, closing the door with a soft click.
Lorenzo crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a brandy neat, downed it in one swallow before pouring a refill, adding a second glass. He walked back toward me, holding out the drink.
I took it and knocked it back in a single toss, the burn sliding down my throat and settling low in my chest. “I don’t know what the fucks going on, Renz but you know I’d never lie to you.
” I might be as fucked-up as they come. Unstable.
Too quick with my hands. My brother’s trust, however, was not something I’d gamble with.
His expression shifted then, the tension easing just enough to remind me we were still on the same side. “Always.” He exhaled slowly, staring at nothing for a moment before looking back at me. “I have a feeling someone’s trying to send a message. And they want it to look like you.”
“What else is new?” I muttered; aware my enemies increased daily.
“Elio?”
The name hung in the air between us, a fuse already lit and enflamed and I let it burn for a second before I answered, turning the possibilities over in my head with more patience than I was known for.
I shook my head slowly and relayed what I’d learned about Elio’s plan to use Michael to bleed us dry, to siphon funds in increments so small we might not notice until the damage was done.
“Death by bankruptcy,” I said, amused. “They’re brutal fuckers, no doubt about that, but I don’t think the cartel would want to draw this kind of attention. A massacre like that puts heat on everyone. They prefer rot. Slow and quiet.”
Lorenzo listened without interrupting, his gold ring tapping once against the side of his glass before he set it down, untouched.
His mind worked differently from mine, less instinct, more pattern, and I could see him sketching lines between motives and outcomes the way I traced throats with a blade.
“Let’s try to stay on top of this,” he said finally, his tone measured, already shifting into strategy.
“Easier said than done, brother.” I dragged my hand down my face, the skin still tight from dried blood I hadn’t bothered to wash off and rolled my neck until it cracked.
The tension had nowhere to go and I hated that more than open conflict. Give me a target and I’d end it. Give me smoke and I had to wait.
I moved toward the door, needing air. “Enjoy Arturo’s party,” I added over my shoulder, referring to a don who expected miracles from his enemies.
Over the last year he’d tried in vain to get us to sell him the main port in Italy, offering us numbers that insulted us both, pretending it was business when it was really ego and now, he’d invited my brother to his fortieth birthday celebration.
“You should come.”
I paused, hand resting on the handle, and glanced back at him “I have better things to do than party with a monkey.”
Arturo’s voice alone could sour a room. He mistook patience for weakness and restraint for fear, and every time we sat across from each other, he tried to needle me, to provoke a reaction he could use later. I’d never given him the satisfaction. It bothered him more than if I’d broken his nose.
“Besides, I doubt he invited me.”
“Keep your enemies closer, Fratello.” It was more brotherly advice than an order.
I held his gaze for a moment, weighing it. He wasn’t wrong. Men like Arturo thrived in rooms full of witnesses, in laughter and champagne and false alliances. If someone was orchestrating something larger, a party of that magnitude was fertile ground, too many egos in one place.
“Maybe I should attend just to fuck with him.” I grinned, the idea settling in my chest with a familiar edge. If I walked into that room, Arturo wouldn’t know whether to smile or reach for his gun. Either way, I’d enjoy it.
Lorenzo’s chuckle followed me out the door.