“Yes.” She sounds reluctant, but I’m not sure if it’s her memory that’s an issue or her fears.
“I’m having a guy come stand guard outside the door. Do not leave the apartment. Do not open the door for him or anyone. I’m going to tell lobby security to turn off access to the forty-second floor via the elevator. I will text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”
She nods with unsteady, jerking movements.
“Give me your lips, little thief. Show me you’re listening.” I wait for her to rise on her toes and bring her lips to mine, then kiss her back with weeks of pent-up passion. “It’s just a meeting with our team. Everything’s going to be fine, understand?”
She nods, but her fear saturates the air. There’s nothing more I can do, so I head out to face whatever comes next.
A dozenof us sit around a small conference table—everyone is leadership aside from Sante and me. The atmosphere is so severe that a single misstep would be equivalent to a drop of blood in a piranha tank. Figuratively speaking. I’ve taken an oath and am a part of this family as much as any other man sitting at this table, but that won’t stop them from verbally ripping me to shreds if they think I deserve it. The fact that I’m here means I’m already on very thin ice.
Stress will only increase the chances of saying the wrong thing, so I pretend I’m behind my scope preparing to hit a distant target. I clear my mind and slow my breathing.
“As you’ve probably all heard,” Renzo starts once everyone has gathered. “My brother Tommy eloped yesterday with Biba Mikhailov’s daughter.” His accusatory stare bores deep into my skull. “Two of Biba’s men tried to stop him in the process and were killed. Last night, explosives were set off on Pier 49. Two dock workers are missing and presumed dead, and three others were taken to the hospital with extensive injuries. The infrastructure is devastated. It’s going to take months to rebuild, if not a year.”
“We know it was him?” one of the capos asks.
Renzo nods. “A note was left at the entrance gate. Said I won’t stop until I get my daughter.”
Fuck, that’s pretty definitive.
I shut out the glances I feel prodding me from all directions and keep my eyes on Renzo as he continues.
“We have to end this before it’s a full-blown war.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement fill the room.
DiAngelo is the first to ask the big question. “What are we prepared to offer? He’s going to want remuneration for his daughter.”
I want to demand that Danika was never his to sell off, but I know that won’t help. All that matters is how Biba sees it, and to him, he’s been severely wronged. Even though he’s caused untold damages with that explosion, we’ll still be expected to pay up.
“Anyone have insight into something Biba’s been after? Dock access or a break in port fees?”
“We could always try a simple payoff,” another capo suggests.
This is why I’m here, and I can only hope any help I offer will get me back in the good graces of the men sitting around this table. “The whole reason Biba wanted Danika was to marry her off to The Reaper because he’s losing his battle against the guy. He wanted to link the organizations and absorb that outfit into his own. Without his daughter, he’s fighting a losing battle. What Biba needs now more than anything is a solution to his Reaper problem.”
The room processes the information in a blanket of silence.
DiAngelo is the first to speak. “Are you suggesting we pay off The Reaper, or take him out? Those are two very different situations. It’s hard to kill a man who’s practically a ghost already.”
“I’ve already spent some time thinking about it. Biba’s been just as elusive as The Reaper since that guy entered the stage. What if we convince Biba to draw out The Reaper under the guise of a truce. Reaper is bound to show if he knows Biba will be there, and Biba will go if we agree to take out Reaper in exchange for peace.”
My brother’s blue stare is unrelenting. “The only way either would agree to that sort of thing is if the meeting took place somewhere isolated where security could be assured. How do you propose conducting a hit if we can’t get close?”
“I’m suggesting I do it. I don’t need to be close.”
I see the faintest twitch of his eyes as they narrow. “Elaborate.”
“I’ll guarantee my accuracy within a thousand meters.”
Whistles and chuckles of surprise and disbelief erupt around us.
I never take my eyes from my brother, my stare plainly stating that you don’t know anything about me.
His head drops a notch, lips thinning, and maybe it’s more wishful thinking, but I get the sense his nod is more than an acceptance of my plan. Maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to realize I’m more than the kid brother who got upset when his toys weren’t neatly arranged in straight lines.
“There’s only one way to know, and that’s to ask,” Renzo says. “I’ll reach out and see if I can set up a call with him. I suggest everyone keep their eyes open in the meantime and report any concerns.” He raps his knuckles on the table, ending the meeting.
