“Nothing, Vico. The Yakuza are quiet. We’ve heard nothing from them,” he murmurs back, eyes shifting around me. His top lip snarls up, though. It rides up his face as if he’s trying to find a goddamn comeback for his mistake or lie his way out of the problem. “I’ve had my men scouring. All intel suggests nothing.”
Nothing is a good fucking word for what he’s got.
He fucked up, and Tony’s life is over because of it.
I wait, though. I wait and try to search for calm in this mind of mine, hoping he gives me something more than nothing before I have to show this parade of useless fucks what happens when enemies come knocking at my door.
Too long I wait.
And patience isn’t a goddamn virtue.
I’ve pulled my piece out and shot the fucker before I wait any longer. One straight shot, aimed at the heart of one of my problems.
He collapses to the floor, white shirt oozing red stains. Quinn moves sideways, eyes like slits at me as he brushes off his suit and grunts. I keep looking at the near dead fuck bleeding out all over the carpet, and lie my gun on the table, ready to use it on any one of them who dares to protest. Not one of them deserves my respect or patience. Not one.
I glare at the rest of the room, barely holding onto my sanity. Tony’s eyes. That’s it. That’s all I see or feel at the moment. It was the same with Sergio. And now, because of every goddamn person in this room, it’s happened again.
“Sit,” I say to Quinn, nodding at the chair over from me. “Your brother, too.”
They do, but not without a certain amount of hesitation and looks at each other. Good. They’re seeing the pissed off me. This is me reverting to type to make damn sure this city comes under my control again. Fucking posturing means shit to me anymore, especially from these two until I can trust them.
My eyes focus in on Quinn, no interest in talking to the other brother regardless of his ability to work computers efficiently.
“You know anything about this shit?” He looks at me, dice rolling in that hand. I listen to them clunking around his palm, listen to the steady rhythm. No falter in their turn, no hesitation.
“The hell kind of question is that?” he mutters.
I don’t answer. He knows exactly what I’m asking, and if his next words don’t comply with sense, he’ll be joining the already-dead dick on the floor. Not in my house. Not anymore. They came here asking me for help, offering terms to get those fucks out of their territory, and the moment they do, all hell breaks loose in my world? I don’t like coincidences.
“If I’d wanted you dead, Vico, or any of your businesses, Nate would have taken them, and I’d have killed you already.” His hands stop the dice turning, the pair of them thrown across the table at me. “Pick a fucking number. You wanna play this shit with me, you take your odds like the rest of them do and I’ll walk.”
I don’t watch his dice or pick numbers. I’m not playing odds. That isn’t what this is now. I swipe them from the table instead and pocket them, eyes fixed on his. “Either that, or you get over your goddamn paranoia and enjoy the ride I’m bringing.” He glances at Gianni on the floor, a wry smirk on his face. “You’re a twisted fuck, Vico, or you used to be when provoked. That’s why I came to you. I want them gone, and now you do, too.”
Those last words have me standing and tilting my head, because if he means he instigated something…
“See? Fucking paranoid.”
He stands with me, his scowl of irritation dropping. “Fuck you. The reason shit went south for you is because you’ve been concentrating on the wrong things. You stopped getting your hands dirty.”
My own fingers crush his dice in my hand, fucking disturbed at the accuracy of his words. “If I could see it, Yakuza certainly could. You’ve weakened, Vico.” He looks around the room at all the others. “As have this bunch of slobs. Get your shit together and start acting like the man I thought you were. There’s a war coming, and this shit—” he looks me over real hard, a snarl on his lip “—isn’t worth my goddamn time. You either trust me, or you get out of my way and I’ll do your fucking job for you.”
He leaves without another word, eyes glaring at every member of my team as he goes, with Nathan following.
Everything damn well explodes inside me. I can feel it tearing up my guts and driving blood through my veins, forcing it harder and faster. My fingers grab onto the back of the chair, nails chewing into the wood until I throw it into the room and yell out my frustration. It crashes against the back wall, fragments splintering into the air as I glower at each and every one of them. “Fuck you!” I bellow. Not at him, at the situation. At them, too. All of them.
My feet pace around them. Nico. Ferdinand. Old Gorgio. I don’t give a fuck anymore, and that cunt who just left is right. My business. Mine. If I hadn’t gone fucking soft, been less than I was before suits and politicians, none of this would have happened. I stare each one down, part wanting to pull the guts out of them so I can feast on their inadequacies.
“Cunt,” I spit at one of them, eyes focused on him alone. “You did this to Tony.” He didn’t. Not truly, but that’s how it damn well feels.
Truth of it is, I did. I did this to Tony.
He backs off a step, so I get close up again, barely stopping myself from killing him, and watch the fear white his face out. “Better get your game heads on,” I grumble out, still staring at this one alone. “By the time I get back I want information. A fuck load of it.”
I do. I want it all. I want each one of these dicks so far up Yakuza ass that they feel me in their dreams.
A long breath comes out of me as I walk backwards towards my gun and the fucking door. I’m done here for now. Threats have been issued and one life taken for Tony’s death. I’ve got plans to make now. Revenge and order need putting in place, and that involves the only men who dared to stand here and face me off.
Cane.
