Little fucking bastard.
“Chale, Giatno,” I called out, forcing myself to smile. “I’m glad you both showed up.”
Erick hung back. I walked into the middle of the two groups. “Please, both of you, join me. There’s no need for this standoff bullshit.”
Chale moved first. He would—he was the braver man. Giatno came a moment later, Manzi glaring at me with a passionate fury.
The three of us stood in a small circle, surrounded by angry, armed men, and I felt alive, so alive.
Sliding my cock down Cassie’s gorgeous throat was the only thing better than dominating the powerful heads of sprawling crime organizations.
“Now, we don’t need to stare at each other like it’s war. Chale, you’re prepared to let this drop?”
Chale grunted. He was smart and ruthless, the kind of man that ripped off fingers and feet and tongues instead questioning. The cartels were vicious and excessively violent.
Giatno was a little baby minnow in comparison.
Except the Italians had more territory in the United States and were much richer. Chale had the brute strength and the cunning, but not the resources to compete.
He hoped to walk away from this meeting with a distinct advantage.
“For what was promised, yes.”
Giatno made a face. “Territory in Chicago and ten million dollars is a lot for the life of one bitch.”
Chale’s hand drifted to the ridiculously enormous gun he had tucked into his waistband. “Say that shit again, pendejo, and I blow your fucking head off here.”
“Enough, both of you. Giatno, you’ll follow through with this deal. Do you understand?”
Giatno nodded. “Money and territory. We’ll pay. We always do.”
“Chale?”
“Fine, yeah, we can avoid war. Real shame though. I like to kill Italians. I like the way their language sounds when they beg for their pathetic life.”
“You little—“
I held a hand up to silence Giatno. “Bring your son over here now. Let’s get this over with. I have business back home.”
Giatno scowled but gestured at Manzi. His son hesitated, glancing around, wringing his hands together—the little fuck was on something. He walked out toward the small circle.
“Manzi, come here.” Giatno was impatient. “Say what I told you to say.”
Manzi stared at the ground like a scolded child, unable to meet Chale’s eye. “I apologize for killing Dia. It was not my place to do something like that. The entire Liberto family will pay for my mistake.”
Chale chuckled and looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “The little bitch knows how to say sorry. Maybe he’ll suck my dick too.”
Manzi’s jaw clenched. He looked up, eyes raging. “You fucking little—“ He came forward, hands balled into fists.
I pulled my gun and pressed it against Manzi’s head.
Everything froze.
The deal was done. Chale would get this money and territory, and the Ramos Cartel could move into the States without much resistance. Meanwhile, Giatno would avoid a war he could not win on his own. And I knew for a fact that Kir wouldn’t drag the Drozdov into this mess.
But I didn’t care about any of that.
None of this mattered. Giatno, Chale, Kir. Their crime syndicates were worthless so long as they couldn’t serve my greater purpose.
Revenge.
Manzi looked at me with genuine fear in his eyes. I almost felt sorry for him. If he hadn’t killed Dia, none of this would have happened this way.
Unfortunately for him, I needed a war.
So I pulled the trigger and blew his brains out.
Giatno stared, his mouth hanging open. Manzi’s corpse fell to the ground, leaking blood, skull fragmets scattered across the concrete.
Chale released a shocked and blood-thirsty laugh as he drew his gun.
Giatno stepped toward his dead son with his hands outstretched, his face pale and horrified, reaching out like he might bring the boy back from the dead, and took two bullets in the chest before he went down. The Liberto men opened fire moments before the Ramos soldiers did the same.
I sprinted away, head down low. Gunshots screamed out in the tight space, their sounds magnified by the echoing concrete. Men shouted in pain, blood splattered the walls, and chunks of stone were ripped from the walls and floor.
I didn’t know if Chale was still alive or not—I found it hard to imagine he’d survive that, considering he stood there shooting like an idiot. I threw myself behind a pillar and waited for Erick to give me the all clear before I sprinted toward him, up the ramp, and down a set of boxes we’d stacked earlier that day.
Erick slapped my shoulder and looked back into the blackness of the parking garage. Gunshots still rang out. Sirens blared in the distance.
“Good work in there,” he said, grinning. “I’ll be honest though. Part of me thought you’d end up with a bullet in the brain.”
“That was always a risk.” I wiped my hands on my pants. I had flecks of Manzi’s blood on my shirt. “I need fresh clothes.”