Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
So we got into the good cop/bad cop portion of the night. Yay fucking me.
“You killed the head of Bratva,” he surmised, voice shredded by cigarettes. “We have good business with them. Drugs, weapons, recycling routes. You’re costing me money, Callaghan. And I like money. You know what I don’t like?”
“A clean pair of fucking lungs?” My gaze halted on the cigarette in his hand.
“People who stand in the way to my money. I always find creative ways to get rid of them.”
“Send me the bill,” I drawled.
“It’s not just monetary.” Luca kicked the pakhan’s skull sideways. “New York belongs to us. When you go around killing people in our zip code, it makes us look like we don’t have a grip on our own ground.”
“Where’s the lie?” My voice was distant and disinterested. “What the fuck was a Bratva boss doing deep in Camorra territory?”
“Family function,” Enzo ground out. “His nephew’s graduation. Igor asked for permission, which I personally granted. You made me look like an idiot.”
He didn’t need me to look like an idiot. He was doing a fine job by himself.
“I found him exiting your club,” I reminded him.
“It was a very emotional ceremony, okay?” Enzo said earnestly. “He took the nephew to have his first drink there. Adorable, if you ask me.”
“My beef with the Rasputins extends beyond geography and politics. I won’t stop until I kill the entire family.” I spoke around the cigarette. I didn’t smoke. Not very often, anyway. Here and there, and mostly weed. I was far too committed to my other vices—violence and greed—to pick up a third one. “And if they dare set foot in this city, I sure as fuck am going to take advantage.”
“Let’s hope your beef with them extends into the afterlife, too.” Achilles slapped my back, nearly making me cough out a lung. “Because next time you take liberties in Camorra territory, I’ll smoke your ass like a pork’s butt.”
“Considering they’ve been eyeing New York for years now, you’d be a fool to intervene.” Talking sense into the Ferrantes was the equivalent of fucking a roadkill into resurrection, but just like a wayward squirrel, something compelled me to try.
“New York’s ours,” Luca snarled.
“Is it?” I marveled. “I own the Bronx, and the Russians have been buying Manhattan land for years now. What you have with them isn’t business, it’s a hostile takeover.” I spat out the cigarette. “You’ve been losing prestige for a solid decade. Once you lose the Upper East Side, the empire falls. It’s already decomposing. Why do you think your father hasn’t picked any of your sorry asses to replace him yet? You reek of weakness.” I managed to keep my irritation out of my tone. Just. “Give me a blank check to finish the Russians off.”
“You want us to think you have our best interests in mind?” Luca took a drag of his cigarette, wafting the smoke sideways. “After all this time?”
I’d known these fuckers since I was fourteen. They aged like a fine corpse.
“I’m killing them because of my own personal vendetta.” I cracked my neck. “Our interests happen to align, that’s all.”
“What business do you have with them?” Luca propped his winged boot on Igor’s skull.
A locked jaw and a jaded stare were my official response.
“You’ll have to kill a shit ton of soldiers before you get to Alex Rasputin.” Enzo tapped his lips.
Igor’s son. Bratva’s second-highest rank. The next pakhan.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“That’s a big-ass operation you got there.” Achilles scrubbed his knuckles over his cheekbone. “Even if we let you go on your deranged quest, you don’t have the manpower.”
“I could use a helping hand.” I arched a meaningful eyebrow.
“No way are we getting ourselves into a full-blown Mafia war.” Luca shook his head. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
“Fine. Stay out of my way, then.”
Achilles mulled my words over, the menacing glint in his eyes sharpening. “My problem with your proposition is twofold.”
I stared at him impassively, knowing another fucking TED Talk was about to ensue. Goddamn Italians and their love for words.
Achilles didn’t disappoint.
“One, we’re the ones who’ll get the brunt of it when Alex gets fished out of the Hudson River,” he said.
That was an easy fix. I could kill him anywhere on the map. “And the second?”
Achilles pushed off the wall, stalking over to me and crouching down so our faces were an inch apart. He was one gruesome motherfucker, with a face even a blind mother couldn’t love. Rumor had it every inch of his flesh was scarred, burned, or both; every part of his body from the chin below was covered in elaborate ink.
“I still haven’t punished you for killing Filippo,” he rasped.
Not this shit again.
Ten months ago, I offed one of the Ferrante soldiers when I kidnapped a woman he was watching over. Pure collateral damage. Nothing personal.