Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
MASSIO
“What are we doing here again?” I turn toward Miko, and the deranged look in his eyes tells me I’m about to find out the answer to my question.
“Follow me,” he says, opening his car door to step out.
I take a deep breath and follow his lead. Then I glance up at the building that looks like it needs condemned. Just what the hell are we doing here?
Miko’s gaze bounces over the building, then he tilts his head toward the alleyway at the side of it. “Miko?” I groan, and his eyebrows dance with glee.
The fucker looks deranged at the best of times, so throw in some excitement, and he appears a bona fide lunatic.
Still, I follow my brother.
I take note of the lack of cameras and security, and when he pounds on the metal door, I register the lone set of footsteps heading our way.
The door is thrown open, and a man vaguely familiar fills the space. It’s been so long since I’ve been home, and everyone has changed and aged, so I struggle to pinpoint his name.
“Crest.” He holds out his thick hand as I step inside the dank space.
Ahh, Crest Neilson. Last I knew, he was a foot soldier working his way through the ranks of La Familia. A keen sniper in the forces, if I remember right, before he was summoned home, career over and Mafia life determined. I give him a chin lift and take in the building.
A familiar cage sits in the center of the space. Not just any cage, but a fighting cage, otherwise known as a pit. One in the shape of an octagon to keep fighters from becoming trapped in the corners.
Excitement rushes through me.
“New business venture.” Miko grins, and I swear it’s enough to give nightmares.
Miko and Crest talk while I take a look around, noting the potential of the building.
There’s enough space for a bar, a dance floor, and a DJ booth; for spectators to stand and sit. I open one of the doors, a locker room, and maybe beyond that, we could install shower stalls too.
“What’s the history of the place?” I shout over my shoulder as I move on to the next room, one that could be used for meetings or as a VIP area.
“Small-time gang lost the place in a fight.” Crest chuckles.
Brow furrowed, I poke my head out the door. “To who?”
“To us.” Miko’s grin widens, reminding me of the Joker, and I shake my head.
“And who’s going to manage this place?” We’re already thin on the ground with Jensen being away, though he is coming back soon and does have experience with underground fight clubs.
Along with auction houses, human trafficking …
I grimace at the thought of some of my brother’s experiences and knowledge.
It’s far darker than my own, and for that, I’m thankful Vinny was never as notorious for his brutality on innocents.
“You,” Miko tacks on, as if it’s nothing, and I turn to face him. He gives me a shrug. “Sal seems to think you’ll be sticking around.” He lifts an eyebrow.
How can I argue? As of yet, my only plan is to fuck up Veronica’s life.
“Hmm …” I turn back toward the open space behind the cage.
A bar would look perfect over there, and add some mirrored tiles above the bar and lasers to the beams, it would look impressive.
We could turn this place around in a couple of months, I’m sure of it.
“We have a fight here next month,” Miko says, and I rear back, eyes wide.
What the fuck? “Next month?” Is he serious? The place needs a hell of a lot of work. There’s no way in hell it can be ready by next month. “Do we even have any fighters?”
“Yes, and the bets are already rolling in.”
This time, it’s me who chuckles. Leave it to Miko to make sure the money is coming in.
He steps up beside me while Crest disappears up the rickety stairs toward what appears to be offices. “I’ve made connections with a street gang. One that came highly recommended.”
I stare at the cage, imagining the chairs surrounding the outer arena. “We backing them?”
By backing them, I mean paying for them—their training, their games, etc.
“I purchased their warehouse, but the stipulation of them staying open is that they had to sign a contract with us.” He lifts a shoulder. “They were happy to do that once they calmed down.”
I throw my head back, laughing. “Jesus, Miko. Don’t go pissing more people off.” He already has a reputation for being ruthless. The last thing we want is to overstep and have Raf breathing down our necks. The man tends to unleash his fury at the smallest of things.
He nods. “I have a habit of doing that, it appears.”
I finally turn and give him my attention. “Can’t Zane deal with this?”
He blinks, then jolts. “Between him running the casinos, strip clubs, night club, being a right-hand man to the empire, and let’s not forget a father to two? Why don’t you ask him?” he snarls.
“The kids are almost adults. They’ll probably be married off soon if Zane decides it.”
Miko’s jaw tightens and his shoulders become rigid. “If …”
I narrow my eyes on him.
Zane has always been the one out of the four of us to show more of an interest in the Mafia culture; he’s never shied away from expectations, and when he married his now-deceased wife, she was a business arrangement that followed Mafia traditions.
Though Sal has never pushed us into pursuing this route, it’s always been something he’s openly encouraged.
However, seeing how disastrously wrong Zane’s marriage went was enough to discourage us to follow.
“You don’t think Fen will follow suit?” I ask, suddenly intrigued by my nephew, who I haven’t seen in a long while. “He’s always been so keen to please his father.”
“His tastes lie in a rather forbidden location.”
Well, that’s vague. I open my mouth to ask more, but Crest appears. “Beer?” He shoves a beer into my hand, and I glance around, looking for where the hell he got it from.
Miko taps away on his tablet. “We have Storm Enterprises coming in at the weekend to enable a security system,” Miko adds.
I grimace as the warm beer slides down my throat. “Fucking needs it.”
“The bar is being fitted next week. Followed by staff interviews on Friday.”
I slice my gaze to his. “You have this all fucking planned, huh?”
“Of course.” He nods, and his lip twitches at the side. “I’ll expect you to be here for those.”
Scoffing, I down the rest of the beer, then I turn and shove the empty bottle into his chest. “Just make sure the beer isn’t fucking warm.”