“Give me a fucking break, Vico,” Quinn says, his hands still crunching those goddamn dice as he laughs. I’m not laughing. What the fuck does he think is funny? I wipe my mouth and focus in on the other man again.
“You two do as he says and then you get paid.” That’s the deal as far as I’m concerned. There will be no deviation from it. I don’t trust them for shit, especially this one.
The slight snarl that comes from the dick I’m looking at has me up and flipping the fucking table in his face before he knows what’s hit him. He reels back, feet scrabbling the floor to get away from me. Ricardo backs off, his hands in the air while this dick pulls a gun from somewhere. Quinn’s up and at my side before I’ve climbed over the upturned table to get to the cunt. He draws out a Berretta, aiming it down at whoever the fuck this dick is, but it doesn’t stop the shot that goes off at him.
I turn and pull my own piece out, watching as blood sprays from Quinn’s shoulder and sends him reeling backwards. Another shot comes through the window before I get the damn thing aimed, firing into the back of the fucker on the floor. The body slumps down to flat, blood coming from his abdomen as he drops his gun.
I haul in a breath as I point my own piece down at him, aiming at his fucking head.
“No, I will finish this,” Ricardo snaps from the left. I snarl at him, kicking the other dick’s gun behind me, getting blood all over my goddamn shoes in the process. “This was not Denago, Vico.” The hell it wasn’t. I aim the gun at him instead, ready to kill this one, too, if his mouth keeps moving. “Please, Vico,” he says, hands up in the air. “This wasn’t about you. It was about Cane.”
Three Consettis crash through the door, their guns aimed. My hand lifts to them as my head snaps back to Quinn. He’s clutching his left shoulder, crimson dripping through his fingers and his ass on the bench behind me. “You brought this shit into my home?” I snap out.
“You think I knew he was gonna fucking shoot me?” He should have. I growl at this turn of events and back off to watch the fucker bleed out, a smile developing on my face.
“Alano has never forgiven Cane for the death of Rohas Denago,” Ricardo says. He moves slowly in my eye-line, his body coming closer to us. “I take full responsibility for this, Vico. It should not impact the deal.” My brows rise. Deal? There is no deal. Never will be now.
“So,youbrought this shit into my home?” I ask.
“No. I… I didn’t know.” Sweat begins to drip from his brow, fear travelling through that face of his, as I keep aiming at his head. “The family didn’t know this would happen. We wouldn’t have brought him if—” I snarl and wave his mouth closed, lowering the gun a little. They should have known, too, but his eyes focused on mine seem genuine enough. Fucking families.
Quinn chuckles and I spin back to find him looking at me, his head nodding at my gun. “Haven’t seen one of those in your hands for a while.” I frown at him, not sure what that fucking means. “Wasn’t sure you even knew how to use one still with your prissy suits and politics.” Brave fucking words. I smile and aim it towards the one bleeding out on the floor, not bothering to look, then fire.
“Fuck you, Cane.”
I chuckle. Fuck knows why. Perhaps it’s these old streets again, winding up the old me who lived here and learnt his craft. Quinn gets up and looks at the mess on the floor, still gurgling breaths out, a huff coming from his mouth as he looks at Ricardo and offers him his gun.
“At least we know you don’t mind getting your hands dirty if needed,” he mutters back at me. He’s a dick, one I’m damn well smiling at for some reason. I pick up a napkin and wipe some blood from my shoes, unsure what the hell I’m smiling about. “Prove yourself, Ricardo. I’m not having this shit in my house again.”
He does. One straight shot into the fucker’s head, regardless of family connections. Interesting. That’s a big ask when family’s involved, not that I’d know anymore. I chuckle again and look at him, reading the snarl that seems genuine.
Perhaps this one is on side.
Still,there's no deal as far as I'm concerned.
“I’m amused,” I say as I stand. I’m not amused by much these days. “This has been… entertaining.” I look at the Consettis and holster my gun, ready to leave this place behind for a while. “Get this dirt out of here and clean up. Make sure Mama’s all right.” I glance at Quinn. “That bad?” I ask, nodding at his shoulder.
“No. A few stitches should do it.”
I pull out my phone to call Daniel Redman. “You’re a dick, Cane.” A dick who's going to meet my personal doctor.
“So I’ve been told.”
I snort and open the door, wondering what the hell this family is gonna bring into my world. Death presumably, and violence I haven’t been part of for a while. I smirk and button my coat, one last breath taking in the sweet smell of Mama’s place behind me. These are the types of streets where the Canes still live their lives, in their own city at least. They show their power in those back alleys and dirty corners. And for now, regardless of this being my New York, I’m happy to be indulging the same kinds of thoughts.
Six
Benjamin has spent the last couple of days out of the apartment, working with the brothers. Since the first night and the shopping trip there has been little chance to associate with anyone related to the Canes, and that is both a blessing and a curse.
On any other day, Benjamin being distracted with business wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve grown accustomed to my routine, my boundaries and where I sit within his world. But now I’ve tasted my goal, and it’s made me restless. It’s stirred unwanted memories and reminders about why I am here and what my life has been building to these last eight years.
“Where’s Hope?”
I hear voices drift through the lobby into the living area, Torino’s voice alongside his. Benjamin’s bark forewarns me of the mood he’ll be in when he reaches me. Twelve strides through the entrance and he’s standing before me. The air charges as soon as he enters, as if he’s emitting his own energy force. Power circles him, and it’s intoxicating.
Part of my role is to anticipate everything he might need or want, and I know enough about him to know that he needs me now. He needs to show his power—take it back—in the one way he can count on.
The gentle click of a door tells me that the apartment has cleared. One look at his brooding face tells me that whatever Benjamin has planned, neither of us will want an audience.
