Chapter 8
Rome started with the money, Money was always honest. People lied, Phones disappeared. Loyalty changed depending on who was holding the gun.
Money left a trail. He sat in the back of the Maybach with his laptop balanced against his thigh while Sofia watched the city slide past the tinted glass. Rome had been staring at the same three transactions for almost twenty minutes.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Sofia said.
Rome turned the screen toward her. Three deposits, Three different accounts. Same originating bank.
All three recipients had one thing in common.
“They worked for Demario,” Sofia said.
“Used to.”
She studied the names. “And now?”
“One drives trucks out of Newark. One owns a tire shop and The third disappeared six months ago.”
Sofia looked at him. “Rico?”
“Maybe.”
That was the problem, Everything connected to Rico was a maybe. There were no dramatic deposits. No mansion payments. No flashy purchases. No offshore account with millions sitting in it.
Just little things, A thousand here, Two thousand there. Payments too small to make anybody nervous, Rome clicked into another file.
The same names appeared again. Except this time they were next to phone numbers registered in Jersey. His eyes narrowed.
“Antonio.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take us to Mercer.”
Sofia looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see who Rico knows when nobody thinks anybody’s watching.”
The first number belonged to a closed-down auto shop, The second belonged to a barbershop that had been empty for almost a year. The third led them to a two-story brick building behind a liquor store.
Rome didn’t get out, He watched. Two men came through the side door and Neither looked like soldiers.
That was what bothered him, No colors. No flashy chains and No obvious weapons. Just two regular-looking men in work jackets that got into a black Tahoe and drove away.
Rome took a picture of the plate as Sofia leaned over his shoulder.
“You know them?”
“No.”
“But you recognize something.”
Rome zoomed in on the picture, A small sticker in the lower corner of the rear windshield. He’d seen it before In Demario’s old files. A company that had once handled armored transport for Demario’s organization.
The company had gone under after Demario was arrested. Rome sat back.
“That’s impossible.”
Sofia looked at him.
“What?”
“That company shut down five years ago when D went to the feds.”
“And?”
“And it looks like somebody brought it back.”
Rome had the brighter idea to have Antonio bring them to the club, one more stop before they called it a night. He had heard It was the kind of place Russo men used when they wanted to conduct business without calling it business.
Dark enough to hide faces. Loud enough to swallow conversations, Rome and Sofia took a booth in the back.
Sofia ordered whiskey, but Rome didn’t touch his. He was watching the room.
“Who are we looking for?” she asked.
“A man named Leon.”
Her expression changed, Just slightly and time caught it.
“You know him.”
“My father knew him.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Sofia looked toward the bar.
“Leon drove for my father.”
“When?”
“Before Michael died.”
Rome went still, That name had weight. Michael, The dead Russo son whose death had apparently started the blood feud between two families.
“What happened to him?”
“After the warehouse fire, he disappeared.”
“Dead?”
“No body.”
Rome looked at her.
“That’s becoming a habit around here.”
Sofia didn’t smile.
“He wasn’t important enough for my father to keep looking, but I heard this are is his stomping ground.”
She summoned security and paid for the largest VIP room without blinking.
Two dancers followed them in tall, dark-skinned, with professional smiles that never reached their eyes.
Sofia didn’t waste time, She sat on the low leather couch, legs spread, and crooked a finger.
One girl dropped to her knees between Sofia’s thighs and pushed the green dress higher.
The other climbed onto the couch and freed Sofia’s tits, mouth already working over one tight nipple while her hand cupped the other.
Sofia’s head tipped back against the cushions.
Her free hand found Rome’s dick through his slacks, stroked him slow and filthy while the first girl’s tongue parted her folds and started eating her like she was being paid extra for it.
Rome watched, one hand resting on the back of the couch, the other scrolling through the last set of files on his phone. The wet sounds of the girl’s mouth on Sofia’s pussy mixed with the distant bass. Sofia’s hips rolled. She kept her eyes on Rome the entire time.
“The guy we’re looking for,” Sofia said, voice husky but clear. “Older. Gray at the temples. Used to drive for the Jersey side before he went quiet. Name’s Leon. Tell me what you know.”
The girl between her legs lifted her head just long enough to nod, mouth shiny. “He’s here tonight, Came in twenty minutes ago. Corner booth, black hoodie, nursing the same drink.”
Sofia’s hand tightened on Rome’s dick. “Good girl. Keep going.”
She came with a soft, controlled shudder while the second girl’s mouth stayed locked on her tit and the first one sucked her clit through the aftershocks. Sofia pushed both girls back gently, fixed her dress, and stood.
Leon was exactly where the ladies said he’d be. Rome spotted him through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“That’s him.”
Sofia nodded.
“Don’t let him see me.”
Rome slipped from the booth and didn’t approach Leon directly. He took the long way around the room, stopped at the bar, ordered a drink, then moved into the booth beside him.
Leon glanced over.
“Wrong table.”
“I know.”
Leon looked at him again, Something changed in his face.Recognition.
“King,” Leon murmured.
Rome sat down.
“That’s not my name.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
Rome placed his phone on the table and a photograph appeared on the screen. Michael Russo. Leon stared at it.
“You remember him?”
Leon swallowed.
“Everybody remembers Michael.”
“You drove for him.”
“I drove for his father.”
“Before the warehouse.”
Leon looked toward the bar, Then toward the exit.
“You shouldn’t be asking me about that.”
“Why?”
“Because people who asked questions about that night stopped asking them.”
Rome leaned closer.
“Who?”
Leon shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
Leon finally looked directly at him.
“Michael wasn’t supposed to be at that meeting.”
Inside, something dropped.
“What meeting?”
“The sit-down.”
“The one where Demario killed him?”
Leon looked away.
“You’ve got the story backwards.”
Rome’s jaw tightened.
“Then give me the right one.”
Leon rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.” Leon’s eyes flicked toward the door again. “Because I don’t know who was watching me.”
Rome followed his gaze, Nobody obvious.
Just a room full of people drinking, laughing, pretending not to listen. Then Leon said something so quietly Rome almost missed it.
“Ask your brother what was on the truck.”
Rome froze.
“What truck?”
Leon stood and the chair scraped against the floor.
“The last one.”
“Leon.”
But the man was already walking away, Rome followed but by the time he reached the door, Leon was gone.
Sofia however was already waiting outside.
“What happened?”
Rome stared down the street.
“He knew Michael.”
“I told you.”
“No. He knew something about Michael.”
“What?”
Rome looked at her.
“He said Michael wasn’t supposed to be at the sit-down.”
Sofia’s face went blank, Then pale.
“What did he say about my father?”
“Nothing.”
“Rome.”
“He told me to ask Demario what was on the last truck.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Rome saw fear cross her face without being covered by attitude.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“My brother used to ask about a shipment.”
“What shipment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Michael was looking into something before he died.”
Sofia shook her head.
“My father said Michael was looking for a way to hurt Demario.”
“And you believed him?”
“Let’s just leave, I don’t think it’s safe to be outside like this.” She replied “plus I’m craving you right now “
They hopped in the car and her voice came cracked over the intercom. “Antonio take me somewhere private, not home.”
5 minutes later, The Maybach nosed into the black throat of the alley on 72nd, right behind the shuttered florist. Dumpsters crouched like rusted animals against wet brick.
The air reeked of crushed stems. Rain-slick asphalt glittered under the single flickering streetlight at the alley mouth.
Engine stayed running, low and steady, a soft vibration that traveled up through the chassis.
Sofia was already in Rome’s lap, dress rucked to her waist, bare cunt grinding down on the thick ridge of his dick.
The heat of her was immediate, slick and scorching through the fine wool of his trousers.
She yanked him free, hot, heavy, already leaking lined him up, and dropped.
Her walls fluttered and clamped, velvet-slick and greedy.
Rome’s hands locked on her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into soft flesh that would purple by morning.
Three strokes. Deep, filthy, the wet slap of her ass against his thighs loud in the confined dark, echoing off the brick like applause.
The smell of her arousal rose sharp and musky, mixing with the alley’s.
Then he shoved her off, and motioned for them get out the car and head to the back.
Rome bent her over the open trunk, Cool metal kissed the soft underside of her tits.
One leg hooked high over his shoulder, the other planted on the filthy asphalt, grit biting into the sole of her heel.
Body twisted so he could drive into her at a vicious angle.
He slammed home. Hard. Deep. Punishing. Fist in her hair, yanking her head back until her throat arched, other hand clamped around the thigh over his shoulder, yanking her onto every inch like he was trying to rearrange her guts.