Chapter 10 #3
“I would be disappointed if they weren’t,” he replied. He exhaled, then nodded once. “You have my word. No Giorlando soldier moves on Aces or Vipers behind my back. Not unless you turn that ledger on us. Then all bets are off.”
“Fair,” I said.
His cigar was nearly burned down.
“Remember the code and the seven rules. Whoever’s broken that?” He shrugged, a small, lethal motion. “We cut them out. We salt the earth where they stood.”
“I remember,” I said. “You broke a man’s hand in front of me once because he talked out of turn. I was sixteen.”
“You needed to see what happened to disloyalty,” he said. “Looks like the lesson stayed.”
“It did,” I said. “That’s why I’m here instead of selling this ledger to the highest bidder and moving to Tahiti.”
Roman wasn’t a man who laughed often, but he let one out and placed a hand on my shoulder. A second later his seriousness returned and he nodded once.
With that we went back inside. All eyes shifted to us as we returned to our seats.
Vladimir drifted closer, his drink refreshed, his interest obvious. Curiosity over outside discussions were in his eyes. Mirage and Snake Eyes were listening too, their eyes flicking between every face like they were watching a particularly slow bar fight.
“So,” Roman said. “We have a problematic route. A certain little backdoor someone may be trying to use a second time. Docks on…” He named a pier that was real, but the warehouse number he tied it to was wrong. Off by just enough that anyone making a move on it would show their hand.
I followed his lead, adding a detail here, twisting one there. A company name that didn’t exist, but sounded like it could. A shipping schedule that would be easy to watch from a distance without tipping our hand.
To a man like Vladimir, it would sound like two professionals trading specifics. To men like mine, it sounded like bait.
Vladimir nodded slowly, as if filing it away. “We can put extra eyes there,” he offered.
“I’m sure we can,” Roman said. His tone was mild. His eyes were not.
We talked Vincinos after that. Openly. About their reputation for them trying to insert themselves into more East Coast routes than usual. How they hate Roman and his family. How their rivalry dates back decades, long before Roman was even an inkling of his current self.
“It’s bold of them,” Vladimir mused when we mentioned how they seem to be getting desperate. “But boldness has a cost.”
Everyone fell silent then until Roman nodded and snuffed the remainder of his cigar out in the ash tray. That was the signal that the meeting was over.
He glanced at me with a look in his eyes.
I could hear him saying “Then we have an understanding.” I nodded once.
I knew what was coming next. He was going to want me to handle the shit on my end with Liberty, Jersey Boy and that ledger.
Meanwhile, he was going to start investigating his inner circle.
The penthouse doors opened then.
“Heads up,” Mirage murmured under his breath.
Donatella Giorlando swept into the room like she owned the light. Designer sunglasses pushed up into her hair, lips painted a dangerous red. Bags hung from her wrists—brands that cost more than most bikes.
Beside her, Gianna moved with that effortlessly expensive kind of grace only girls born on top of money ever really learn. Dark hair loose around her shoulders. New shoes. New dress. New something in every store bag.
“Papà,” Gianna said, crossing the room over to Roman. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. You spoil us.”
“You spoil yourself,” he said. “I only provide you the opportunity.”
Her laughter rang bright. Then she turned her focus to us.
Her gaze slid past my men, over our patches, licked the road dust on our boots, and paused on me for a heartbeat longer than casual.
Not suspicious. Curious. Measuring the difference between the stories she’d heard about Devil’s Aces and the actual faces in her living room over the years.
It had been years since I’d seen her last.
Roman saw her curious look.
“You’re too good for bikers,” he told her, dry.
I huffed. “He’s right,” I said. “I’ve known you since diapers. I wouldn’t let any of my men within ten feet of you.”
Gianna arched a brow. “Maybe I wouldn’t let any of your men within ten feet of me,” she shot back.
Mirage made a strangled sound behind me. Snake Eyes coughed to hide a laugh.
Donatella stepped in then, smooth. “Alice,” she said, turning her attention fully on me. “Been a while. To what pleasure do we owe this visit?”
“Just some business,” I said. “Nothing more.”
“Mhmm.” Her smile said she didn’t believe that for a second, but knew better than to push here. “Well. Try not to bleed on the furniture. It’s new.”
Gianna snorted and drifted off toward the hallway, phone already in hand, bags swinging. Donatella moved to Roman’s side, low-voicing with him in a way that said this part of their conversation was no longer for us.
Roman gave a glance and a nod to me before returning his attention to Donatella.
With that, we were escorted back toward the elevator. The guards’ guns were holstered now, but their eyes remained the same. Waiting. Watching. Ready.
Vespiano appeared at my side with the gun case then.
“Your toys,” he said.
He popped it open. Our pistols lay in the foam, every barrel still pointed away from us. We each took ours back, checked chambers out of habit more than suspicion, and holstered them.
“Thank your boss for not making us feel naked,” I said.
Vespiano smirked. “He likes you dressed. Naked men bleed too loud.”
We shared no more words as the elevator arrived and we each stepped in.
As the elevator doors slid shut, I glanced back one last time.
Roman stood with Donatella at his shoulder, face half turned toward Vladimir at the bar. It wasn’t a long look. Not overt. Just a sideways cut of his gaze that slid over Vladimir like the edge of a knife.
Vladimir caught it. His smile didn’t change. But I could see, even from here, that he’d noticed being weighed.
The doors closed.
As we started down, Mirage let out a breath he’d been holding.
“Well,” he said. “We’re not dead.”
“Yet,” Spade added.
I rolled my shoulders. They ached like I’d been carrying something all day.
We had walked into another man’s den disarmed and outnumbered and walked back out with our hearts still beating. That felt like a win.
It didn’t feel like safety.
We hadn’t dodged the bullet. We’d just agreed to carry it a little while longer.
Now I had to get back on my bike, call Liberty and 8-Ball and Jersey, and tell them the truth.
Roman wasn’t our enemy.
At least not today.
But someone under his roof was. Someone who’d used his docks and our roads and Miami’s blood to move a ledger that could set the whole coast on fire.
And until we found them, every step we took was going to be taken with that same invisible trigger pressed against the back of our skulls.