Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Fine. She’s yours. Marry her, fuck her, I don’t care.” I couldn’t deny that I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted her begging and needy first. I shifted in the seat as my dick stirred at the thought. “Under one condition.”
“You’re in no position to make demands, Sergio.”
“If and when you are done with her, you return her.”
“Why?”
“She’s still a Donato. I have another who petitioned for her hand before we struck our deal. If you do not want her…”
Then he’d sell her off like some broken broodmare to be used and bred. The thought made me want to burn the entire Outfit to the ground.
I would not be giving her back. Ever. “Done.”
“Good. I would like my nephew returned to me as well.”
Of course, he would. Who knew what kind of information we might extract from the boy.
“No. The guns will be with you tomorrow.” I hung up. I didn’t give a shit what he would like.
Sergio thought himself my equal, but he was a puppet to do my dirty work, his men foot soldiers in my war. The second he stepped out of line, I would crush him. It might be next week. It might be in a year. No amount of pretty little virgin pussy would protect him.
By the time I made it to the house, the sun had fully risen, and sweat dotted the back of my neck as I approached the front door. The house came with the job, and it was ostentatious as fuck, a brick mansion that spoke of old money. Tommy and some of my men stayed here, handling most of my business from within these walls.
A shiny black SUV sat in the middle of the driveway, and leaning against it, waiting for me, was Nero. He looked like a billboard advertising the damn car with his expensive suit and side swept dark hair.
I approached him, gravel crunching beneath my shoes. “You waiting on that call from Vogue?”
He snorted. “Don’t be jealous, just because your fiancée ran away from your ugly ass.”
I flipped him off, and he laughed as we walked into the house. The second we were inside, his demeanor changed. Nero was my best friend. We’d grown up together along with Tommy and Jackson. But in front of our men, he was simply the ruthless King of New York. His currency was blood, and his conscience was non-existent.
My shoes clicked over the polished hardwoods as we made our way into the kitchen, the scent of coffee and bacon greeting us. Tommy leaned against the breakfast bar, a mug of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten croissant in the other. The housekeeper, Louisa, was cooking eggs and bacon, feeding the guys sitting at the huge kitchen table. There was something soothing in the low buzz of conversation amongst my men, a sense of family, the only kind I’d known in the last decade. It made what I had to do so much worse.
A hush fell over the room, but not because of me. My power was absolute, except when Nero was in a room because fear trumped respect. They respected me, but even our men feared him as though he were the devil himself.
I’d invited all my capos here for a breakfast meeting because our situation was reaching a crisis point. It had been ten days and I was no closer to finding my rat. I’d stopped sending shipments because if you had a leak, you didn’t keep sailing into open water.
Jackson sat at the head of the table and gave me an imperceptible nod of support. He was just as blood-thirsty to find this fucker as I was. All I knew was that it had to be one of the men in this room, and that pissed me off just as much as it hurt. Tommy followed me over to the table and took a seat. Nero and I remained standing.
I cleared my throat and waited as, one by one, the men at the table all fell silent and turned their attention toward me.
“We have a rat.”
The silence that followed my statement was so profound, I could have heard a pin drop. I scanned each face for a reaction and knew the guys were, too.
“As you know, we’ve lost several shipments in Chicago. Some of which the details were known only to the people in this room.”
Andrea, one of the older capos before Nero and I ever held power, shifted in his seat. “There’s only one person here with Irish ties.”
Tommy laughed, but I did not. “If you have something to say, Andrea, by all means, come out and say it.”
The man swallowed heavily, his nervous gaze shifting to Nero before dropping to the table. Not so brave now.
“I didn’t think so. The underbosses are not here because we suspect them.” Tommy and Jackson were loyal to a fault. They were family. Brothers. I’d trust them with my life.