“It’s those God damned Italians again ain’t it?” Mo grunts and folds his arms across his chest. “Those assholes don’t know the meaning of covered turf.”
Every ethnicity seems to have their own agenda or organization. The Italians and Irish have had a turf war in these parts for decades. We try to regulate when we get the Italians trying to sell their shitty blow to our customers, but sometimes we lose a few customers. One customer lost is one too many in Connie’s eyes.
“Sadly,” Connie says. “The Italians are the least of our problems.” He pauses briefly to clear his throat. “We’ve been outed gentlemen. There’s a rat among us.” Every man in the room eyes one another suspiciously. Then Big Sam speaks up, “How can you be sure?”
“The feds are back in town. We’ve seen em around.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Kyle adds. “They could be here for the Italians for all we know.”
“True,” Connie notes. “Good point, boy-o, but I do know that the only times the feds come sniffing around is when they’ve been given a tip off. So if I weed out the Italians that means someone in this organization is responsible for that tip off.”
My eyes sweep over each face in the room one more time and I think about what’s going to happen to that rat when Connie catches him.
When the sit down concludes Connie strolls over to me and pulls me aside, “Boy-o, can I speak with you for a minute?”
“Sure Uncle Connie.” I only call him Uncle Connie when the rest of the guys aren’t around. He has this thing about me calling him that in front of everyone. He thinks it’s disrespectful, and undermines his authority as the king-pin of the brotherhood.
He walks to the right corner of the room and I follow. When I’m at his side he faces me, his bright green eyes burn into mine. “Something going on with you, boy-o? You’ve been acting distant lately.”
He studies me closely and it makes me nervous. Even though this man says he considers me family, I’ve come to learn that he considers no one to be his real family and we’re all just pawns in his deadly game of let’s see who can make Connor Doyle the most money. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” I say quickly. “You know, with my upcoming fight and everything.” On top of that I got this press thing at the mall in a few hours that I completely forgot about.
He’s quiet for a moment and when Connie is quiet it puts me on edge. When I’ve seen him like this in the past it’s usually right before he puts a bullet into someone’s head. But he only pats my shoulder, “I see.” He’s quiet again. Then he grips my shoulder hard.
Too hard for it to be friendly.
Not hard enough for it to be threatening.
Just enough to send a message.
“I just want to remind you that you took an oath boy-o and that your loyalties with this brotherhood should be a priority.”
In other words, this is you first and only warning.
Fuck with me again or fuck up again…
And I’ll end you.
Chapter Fourteen
~Hadlee~
I stand outside my place of employment with Lara.
The mall is busy today and several crowds of people pass us. Noisy chatter fills up the wide corridor along with the sound of plastic shopping bags crinkling. “So I'm finished before you tonight how is that going to work?” My car has been in the shop for what feels like decades and on top of that I don't like to go outside at night by myself. I feel bad that Lara has been my chauffeur for the last month, but every time I ask her she seems to be okay about it.
Lara purses her lips. “I'm closing by myself tonight, so just come down when you're finished.”
“All right. See you in about four hours,” I groan as I look over my shoulder at the people in line for their caffeine fix.
Lara laughs and starts backing away. “I'm not jealous of you right now at all.”
“Ha.Ha.”
“Hey!” she shouts before turning in the opposite direction. “The sports store across from me is having some kind of sale or something, so it might be a little crazy.”
“Thanks for the warning!” I shout. Lara turns her back to me and waves before disappearing into the sea of shoppers. I stare down the line of customers and think about running the opposite direction. Damn it. I wish I didn't need the extra money so much.
I enter the break room at work to find my manager, Ryan, mumbling incoherently, hands on his hips, pacing back and forth. He catches sight of me and dashes toward me, taking me by the hands. “Oh thank God you're early,” he says. “Have you seen it out there? It’s a damn war zone!”