Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
He nods slowly, staring at me hard, and licks his lips. Fuck, he’s so sexy it drives me absolutely insane. “All business,” he repeats. “That’s fine with me.”
“Good. Great. Wonderful.” I point at the door. “See you at the wedding.”
He looks at me a moment longer like he’s trying to decide what to say next, but only shakes his head and walks off.
Once he’s gone, it’s like I can breathe again. I deflate and lean against my car, groaning to myself, much too aware of the other men in the garage though none are looking at me.
This should be easy. He’s just some guy, and it’s not like I’m going to stick around with him for long. It’s one year of making sure he keeps his hands to himself, and then Elisa and I are out of here. No more mafia politics. No more danger. No more men trying to kill us.
Just safety. A normal life. Happiness. Real love.
I turn back to the car, hating myself for being so damn attracted to that man, but vowing that I won’t be so weak around him ever again.
Chapter 7
Luca
“Bug says his car’s parked outside of a bar called Iron Horse Saloon.” Davide’s voice comes through the tiny earpiece, tinged by static. “It’s a couple blocks north of your position.”
“You hear that, Stefano?” I ask, calling into the radio as I slowly move my truck into position. “You sure you can identify the guy?”
“Show him to me and I’ll make him out,” Stefano rumbles back.
“How are we doing this, chief?” Leo asks.
I consider for a moment. “Davide keeps an eye out from his command post back in the depot. Stefano and I go inside. He IDs the guy. You and Enzo wait out by his car. When he leaves, we corner him and ask some hard questions. Should be simple.”
“It’s never simple,” Enzo murmurs.
“Sounds like a great plan, chief.” Leo’s way too chipper, but I appreciate his enthusiasm. “I’m two minutes away.”
“Quiet on the line from here on out,” I order, and the others call back with an affirmative, and then the channel goes dead.
Iron Horse Saloon is a shitty little dive out in West Philly. The building’s square and gray with a black door and ancient signage out front for beers that probably aren’t even made anymore. I spot the car Leo bugged earlier—a simple gray Nissan Altima—and pull my truck over half a block further down from it.
The rest of my crew shows up over the next few minutes. Young Leo is first, ever eager to prove himself. He’s another Marino cousin, but only twenty-two. The guy’s ambitious, but he takes too many risks. That’s why he’s not going in with me.
Next comes Stefano. He appears outside my window like a phantom. For such a big, monstrous man, he sure can move quietly. He’s my main enforcer and one vicious motherfucker. His nose is hooked like it’s been broken before, and his dark eyes are piercing and intense.
I push open the truck door and climb out.
“Where’s Enzo?” He’s my second-in-command and my most trusted lieutenant.
“Keeping an eye on the new kid.” Stefano’s all business now. “You ready?”
I gesture for him to lead the way.
Iron Horse is surprisingly crowded for such a dump. The place is supposed to be Western themed, but mostly it just looks like a cowboy costume shop vomited all over the walls. There are a lot of young people, probably the Drexel crowd, bodies jammed into booths and two deep at the bar. It’s ten at night on a Saturday, and this place must be popular with college kids.
We elbow our way through the crowd. People part out of Stefano’s way like he’s a shark and they’re a bunch of tasty-looking tunas. He takes us to the corner of the room near the bar, and he spends a minute looking out over the crowd before he nods at a little group packed by an unused dart board.
“That’s him. Right there. Skinny, bleached hair, black button-down shirt.”
“How many people are with him?”
“Looks like two or three. I don’t know any of them.”
I nod to myself grimly, thinking it over. Our target is Mario Lopez, a minor member of a Latino gang called OperationSixty running out of North Philly. We don’t have beef with that particular crew, at least not yet. I have no idea why they’d want to attack a Serrano garage considering they’re not enemies and aren’t even competing in the same business. OperationSixty mostly deals meth, while the Serranos do cars. Makes no fucking sense.
That’s why we’re here though. For some answers.
“Took us too long to track him down,” I say, making my way back through the crowd. “We’ll wait him out. We take him tonight.”
“Works for me,” Stefano mumbles, sounding a little too pleased.
Back out into the night, Leo and Enzo are sitting together in Enzo’s car with a good view of the Altima. I nod at the pair and they nod back. I get into my truck and Stefano joins me. The big man has to slide the seat back to fit.