“Don’t let it happen again,” I say, maintaining eye contact with him, clearly threatening that if this situation occurs again, I won’t be so forgiving. He gives me one solemn nod in return. “Give me the burner phone.”
Tony tosses the phone into my waiting palm, and I start scrolling through the call log, seeing the same number displayed over and over again. I decide to hit dial and put it up to my ear as I pace back and forth.
“What?” A deep, low voice answers after three rings, and I recognize it’s Victor by the impatient drawl in his tone.
“You have my attention, but I’m afraid your actions have consequences,” I reply darkly, stepping back in front of his comrade-in-arms and quickly snapping his wrist backwards until you hear the telltale breaking of his bones and the unmistakable sound of pain as he screams.
It’s quiet on the phone for a beat, and then Victor chuckles darkly, “If one of my men screams like a baby over a little bit of broken bones, then you may as well kill him. His weakness is of no use to me,” he replies in a thick Russian accent full of arrogance. I just want to reach through the phone and choke him.
"Consider it done," I respond emotionlessly as I pull out my Glock from behind my belt and shoot point-blank into the huge fucker’s forehead without hesitation. “What do you want, Victor?”
He openly laughs over the phone as I watch the brain matter splat on the floor. Fuckface is slumped back in the chair, his face tilting towards the ceiling so I can see his last facial expression. His eyes wide and disbelief still on his face, his last thoughts were probably thinking his Bratva would get him out of this situation. I can’t blame the guy, but for once I agree with Victor. If your men can’t take pain in this business, why keep them around? Those men usually end up being rats and break easily under pressure.
“I just want to meet. You’ve been avoiding me, Messina. You make deals with the Irishmen but not the Bratva? I’m quite hurt,you know?” He’s messing with me, his tone coming off as cocky, and it grates on my nerves.
“Fine. We meet on neutral ground. I will kill you without a second thought if you dare think to try anything.” I growl out in a deadly tone, meaning every word.
“Ah. Yes. I thought you might—less bloodshed and more witnesses. Are you scared, Don?” He taunts me, clearly enjoying himself.
“Fuck you. I’m fucking busy, and now I have to deal with your shit.” I snap, losing my patience because I don’t have time for these games. “Be at the hightop within an hour,” I demand and hang up before he can open his mouth again.
“Are you sure about this, boss? It could be a trap,” Tony asks, scrubbing a hand down his face before helping Vinny to his feet.
“He won’t try anything at the club. He’ll be dead in seconds if he tries to pull out any hidden guns.” I sigh, pulling my phone out and checking in on the cameras real quick to make sure she’s safe and home.
Seeing her move around the kitchen, carefully pulling out baking ingredients to make peanut butter cookies, tells me it’s been a rough day for her, too. She always makes baked goods for comfort, and it amazes me each time how careful and patient she is when baking. It takes her longer because of the blindness, but it doesn’t stop her drive. I love that about her. My gaze hungrily scans over the phone screen, eating up every second I watch her before I log off to get back to work.
"Call the cleanup crew and tell them to use the vat of acid to dispose of the body," I command, and know Tony will get the job done.
It’s just a precaution. Leave no evidence behind that could get you locked up behind bars, and don’t get caught. That’s another family motto.
“Yes, Don. Already done. They will be here in less than ten minutes,” Tony says and helps Vinny out the door, who is leaning heavily to the right side as he walks but doesn’t complain.
“Let’s get this over with.”
After yearsof going to the club, you think you'd get used to seeing other mob families and gang members, but you don't. It makes my skin itch, my gaze moving constantly around the room without trying to be obvious that I’m watching every little movement someone makes. I trust no one here. I don’t care if the rules state that if you fight or kill anyone while at the club, you get executed right away with one clean shot to the head and then, for extra drama, decapitated to display your head for all to see. No one in this building really follows other people's rules, only their own. That’s why I’m constantly on guard. My cousins follow close behind me, watching my back in case someone decides to try to take out the Messina Don. I wield a great deal of power in this city, and many want that power for themselves. I really don’t blame them. If I didn't have the city's power in my hands, I'd be trying to take out the most powerful family. That’s why Victor is up my ass; he wants what I have… He’ll have to kill me first before that ever happens.
“So this is where all the crime lords gather to smoke and drink with each other. This place resembles a sophisticated social club. You guys are losers,” Gemma mutters under her breath to my right side.
She starts snickering to herself as she gazes around at the mahogany bookshelves, the expensive brown leather couches and matching chairs to relax in while talking shop. The high-end bar in the back features more leather high-top chairs and serves the most expensive liquor from the glass shelves behind the bartender. There are even a few chess tables situated by the floor-to-ceiling windows. She’s right, it’s ridiculous, but it’s neutral ground. Business deals can be discussed and negotiated here without death being involved until you step out of the building; then all bets are off.
“Watch and learn, baby cousin. Let the men do the talking.” Enzo boasts, and I can only roll my eyes when I hear a thunk followed by his yelp behind me.
“Shut your fucking mouth. I eat men like these for breakfast.” She gestures around, licking her bright red lips like a psychopath.
For all I know, she might actually do that. Occasionally, I ponder my connection to these individuals, but then I recall the inherent murderous nature we all possess.
“There he is, Boss. Private room, left-hand corner past the bar,” Tony says quietly for my ears only, and I head in that direction with them following behind me. We stop in front of the open doorway to a room with a fireplace and two brown leather couches facing each other. A coffee table sits in the middle to keep anyone out of reaching distance unless you decide to jump over the table and snap some necks. Easy business.
My eyes scan the room, seeing two of Victor’s henchmen standing behind him as he lounges on the couch while smoking a cigar like he has no worries in this little world of his.
“Please sit. Wine, scotch, or a cigar?” Victor asks with a cocky smile, blowing smoke in my direction as I sit on the other couch across from him.
I unbutton my suit jacket and lean back into the cushions. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I place my arms on the back of the couch as if I’m at ease and don’t give a fuck about anything. Of course, it’s the complete opposite, though; tension fills my body, every muscle tight. I don’t trust him or his men lurking behind him.
“Cut the shit, Victor. You got me here. Now, what the fuck do you want?” I speak in a stoic tone, feigning boredom, knowing that this will irritate him.
I’m right. His jaw tightens and his smile drops as he leans forward to crush out his cigar in the glass bowl on the coffee table. His men shift behind him uneasily, looking at each other out of the corner of their eyes before staring back at Enzo, Tony, and Gemma behind me, standing guard.
