“Fuck you, Quinn.”
He sneers and downs his drink, a smile coming. “Yeah, we can do that, but after this. How much weight and muscle do you actually have?”
How much? I’ve got all of it.
All of the east coast.
“The men at Gorgio’s are the leads. They’ve each got around twenty under them.” Both their eyes widen. Yeah, screw them and their attitude. I take another sip of drink, still distracted by the thought of Christmas trees. Who fucking knows why? I swing back to look for her but see her back disappearing into the lounge.
“All armed and useful?” Quinn asks. I look at him. What the hell does he think? I’ve got a bunch of accountants running around? It makes me look at Nathan, still not sure how handy he is with that gun under his suit.
“Problem?” he asks, tone full of that Cane attitude again. I chuckle and look back for Hope again, bored with him trying so hard.
“Sit,” Quinn snaps. “You’re thinking with your dick. Stop. I need you here.”
“This Andreas,” I muse. Nathan looks sharply at me. “How can we use him? Send your woman in to lure him out? What if we hurt her?” The brother turns apocalyptic and stands, cheeks fuming about something I don’t give one fuck for.
“Good fucking luck with that,” Quinn says.
Interesting. I look between the pair of them. “So, your women aren’t on board?”
“Look, we don’t need that. All we need at the moment is to get this fentanyl running clean and then we can—”
I glare at Quinn, eyes like fucking daggers. “I haven’t brought you boys here about drugs. I want that threat dead as much as you do. Revenge. I don’t give a fuck about the drugs now.”
“But. . .” Nathan starts.
“No. I’ll run them with or without you. What I need from you boys is our in. What is it?”
He throws his hands up and backs off his laptop. “There isn’t one,” he says.
I smirk. There’s always an in. I look at where Hope was, wondering how I could use her to my advantage. “The only thing we’ve got is all guns blazing, or we run your fentanyl through the Columbians, but set it up to fail knowing that the Yakuza will come. We could triple the normal amounts, have some of ours go through, too, and then be ready when they come. I’ve run the numbers already.” He turns his laptop to me, all my accounts open and on fucking show.
“That’s you not getting up in my ass?”
“Give me some leeway. This is for both our benefit.” I might have to fucking kill him after this shit is done. “Look, we can run yours out through the ports on the nineteenth of this month, out of Philly. We’ll have ours come through on the same run, increasing the yield threefold, and then it can go out safely to show it’s being sent the right way.” I shake my head. Screw that.
“I need it on home turf.”
Quinn smiles, fingers turning those damn dice I’ve given him back.
“Why? You can fly your guys anywhere,” Nathan asks. “Why would you take the risk? Out of the country is safer all round and—”
“Because this is my fucking city,” I snap. Fuck him and running. Goddamn safety. “If I’m fighting, I’m fighting here.”
“All right. Say we do that, though. That’s Feds all over our asses.”
“You scared, Cane?” I taunt.
“What?”
“You boys not got them pocketed yet?” Quinn looks confused for once in his fucking life. Finally. “Maybe those pockets aren’t deep enough, huh? Balance sheets not so good then.” He blanches at me, annoyance written all over him. “We’re going in big or we’re not going at all. I thought more of you than this.”
“Ballsy.”
“Yeah. Well, Tony’s dead and I’m pissed. You turn the supply round. Have it coming from Chicago into New York. You’ll have to send it for cutting in Philly with my team there.”
“Cross hatches? The warehouse you run out there?” Nathan asks.
