Page 41 of Rebels & Rejects
He sears me with a scathing look, dropping into the chair Red just vacated with a sigh and staring absently at the floor.
I sip on my own drink, needing the sharp burn as it slides down my throat to distract me from the flaming anger and raging disappointment fighting for dominance within me. I knew it was a long shot, going after the Reaper, but when I realized he’d been in Python’s room that night, that Red might have seen him—I just had to give it a shot. We’re making next to no progress on our own, and the Reaper has an uncanny ability to sneak on and off gang property unnoticed. I thought he might be able to help us find a way to get close to Giovanni and his family.
I hadn’t quite worked out the specifics. It’s not like I was going to let the Reaper claim Giovanni’s death for himself. As the head of his Family, Giovanni is the one who ordered his men to come tomyhouse that day to kidnapmysister, so the least he deserves is a death atmyhands. And my men are more than capable of taking on his underlings. All I really need the Reaper for is to gather intel—something,anythingthat can give us an advantage and enable us to sneak up on Antonelli and his men unawares. He’s so good at stalking around this city unseen, that he must know or be able to find out the Antonellis’ dark and hidden family secrets.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts as I stare down at the amber liquid in my tumbler that I’d forgotten Oliver was even in the room until he leans forward, the movement catching my eye as he places his elbows on his knees, folding his hands under his chin. His lips are pressed tightly together, and it’s clear he’s deep in thought as he mulls something over.
After a moment, he speaks up. “Get Mac or Ian to tell us whenever Giovanni or one of his higher-ups next go into the casino or the club.”
My eyes narrow as I frown at him, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. Mac and Ian are the two men we have planted in the Antonellis’ organization, and they’ve been able to pass along some scraps of information, but nothing actionable.
“I’ll take a small team of men and trail whoever it is.”
“What good will that do?” I ask, dubious.
He shrugs. “We might find something useful. Hell, we could uncover where Giovanni and his top men live and maybe take them all out in one, quick, surprise attack.”
My ears perk up at that idea, liking the sound of it. No one knows for sure where any of the Antonelli Family live. There are plenty of rumors, of course, but only those at the top of the Antonelli hierarchy are privy to that information.
“If we can find out where they live, we can place twenty-four-hour surveillance on them while we come up with a plan,” Oliver presses, incentivized.
Evie was as much a sister to him as she was to me. The two of them were as thick as thieves when we were growing up. Sometimes, I wondered if he even had a crush on her. I’d thought about asking him, but then that day happened, and what was the point? Nothing mattered anymore.
Regardless of the feelings he has—had—for my sister, he’s just as driven as I am, and I know the lack of progress we’ve been making infuriates him as much as it does me.
This plan makes sense. We have to be stealthy when it comes to the Antonellis. Being unable to match their manpower, we can’t afford to start an all-out war with them. If they suspected for one second that we were gunning for them, they’d come for us, and we’d be slaughtered like animals, our bodies thrown into the docks and forgotten about.
No, we have to be clever and cunning with the Antonellis. We need to slip under their radar and catch them off guard. It’s a complete contrast to the brute force with which we have overthrown every other group of thugs so far, but the Famiglia is no disorganized street gang. They’re a fucking dynasty, the crux of the Italian Mafia, and the Tideside Docks is their impenetrable fortress.
I down the last of my whiskey before I meet Oliver’s eye. I can see the determination flickering in his gaze. He wants to do this. Needs to. “You’re right,” I agree, a malicious smirk curling at my lips, and hope swells in my chest, quickly displacing the suffocating disappointment that was beginning to brew. “I’ll message Mac and Ian.”
Oliver grins, this dark, vitriolic slice across his face that’s so out of character it would concern me if I didn’t fully understand the pain behind it.
Changing the subject, I ask, “What about the stripper? You told her our plans, didn’t you?”
As soon as he chased after her, I knew damn well he’d give her more than I wanted her to know. He frowns at my name-calling, but doesn’t say anything about it.
“She won’t talk.”
He sounds so confident, but how the fuck can he be so sure? He doesn’t even know this girl. I lean back in my chair and scrutinize him for a second. “I thought it was just sex.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his short, dark hair as a frown mars his features. “I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I can’t stop thinking about her.”
It’s my turn to shake my head as I snort. “That’s because you haven’t had pussy in like, three years. I told you to fuck one of those hangarounds, man. You should have listened to me and gotten it out of your system. That girl is trouble.”
She’s already caused us such a headache, and we don’t even fucking know her. Now she knows information that could annihilate us if it fell into the wrong hands. Even if the Reaper isn’t willing to meet with us, we can’t let Red walk around with the information she has. Not without keeping tabs on her. She’s not loyal to us and has absolutely no reason to keep that information to herself. Not to mention the fact she’s fucking messing with Oliver’s head. I can’t afford to have him distracted by some cheap ass pussy.
I tap my fingers against the glass as I contemplate what to do about this new problem. I’ll have to put Jon back on the job of tailing her ass to make sure she’s not talking to anyone she shouldn’t be. But something tells me that isn’t enough. I’ll give it a couple of days, see if the Reaper reaches out to us, and go from there.
***
It’s been a week. One long, slow week, and we haven’t heard anything from either Red or the Reaper. Nor have Mac or Ian been in touch with any updates. I feel like I’m constantly on edge, waiting for the phone to ring with an update of some sort. It’s driving me fucking nuts. I’ve turned into a growling bear. Even my men avoid me when they see me coming their way. The only thing that helps is fighting and drinking. I’ve been in the pit every night this week and followed up each victory with enough alcohol to leave me unconscious.
Tonight’s looking much the same as I throw back my third—or is it my fourth?—shot of whiskey. Whatever number it is, it goes down smoothly, warming the pit of my stomach. Oliver and I got in a fight earlier—only one of many that have broken out this week as shit has spiraled further out of control—and he’s fucked off to god knows where. His absence only adds fuel to the fire of anger and hatred burning brightly in my chest.
I hate how optimistic I got about this Reaper guy. It was foolish of me, but I seriously thought he could be the key to it all. Our secret weapon that would enable us to best the Antonellis.
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I take another long gulp of whiskey, hissing as it burns my throat. This is all that fucking stripper’s fault. I bet she didn’t even talk to the Reaper. Just decided on her own that she didn’t want him helping us. She decided from the very beginning that she didn’t like us—why? Because we overthrew her precious Satan’s? I get that her first impression of us wasn’t exactly favorable, but Razor said she was in shock when he found her in that room, so Iknowhe will have treated her with kid gloves. Although, I’m beginning to wonder if she even was in shock or if all of it was an act designed to throw us off.
