Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“You’re right. Bobcats don’t have a long record of jumpin’ on people and attacking all willy nilly, unless they’re defending their young or feel threatened. Like I said, Persia knows who I am. The gun ain’t for her, baby.”
“Then who’s it for? The meth heads you warned me about?” she asked with a smirk as she stood to her feet.
He walked over into his living room, opened the closet door, and yanked a lightweight jacket off a hanger, then slipped it on. “It’s for whoever needs it.”
“I’d hate for you to have to need it. I imagine there may be some snakes ’nd such. Never heard of someone shooting a snake, it seems that the knife would be enough, but I figure you want to be safe rather than sorry.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and slipped into her flats.
“The forest respects me because I respect it. Sometimes though, there are uninvited guests, and they have to be taught a lesson…”
Grandpa sat in his parlor with six men dressed in army fatigues to his left, and seven men, dressed the same, to his right. The door swung open as Jasper led Francesco Sivero, of the Sivero Dynasty, inside. The man was accompanied by three men; all dressed in black designer suits and shoes. He was a tall, stately man. His skin was snow white, and his eyes jet black, edged with faint crow’s feet. His hair was pitched in the same darkness, with the exception of silver, silky sideburns that framed his high cheekbones. He was clean shaven, brandishing a deep, cleft chin and a thick scar that crept past his collar, hiding partially beneath his jawbone. A light blue tie practically sparkled as he made his way into the room, jewels covering his fingers, and a chain with the Mother Mary dangling from it.
He had a long nose, and an air about him that could get under one’s skin. He was cocky, in that city slicker sort of way, despite being steeped in Southern comforts. The man had made billions of dollars, but as his family was establishing itself in Houston so many years ago, wolves came out of the woodwork. Houston didn’t take kindly to outsiders trying to set up shop. Especially Italian mafia motherfuckers. Grandpa, seeing their powerful influence in New York and New Jersey, realized he’d found a golden opportunity here. A potential for an alliance. He sent some of his men to help them plant roots… vouched for them, and lent them a hand.
Nevertheless, despite their unproblematic relationship, Francesco Sivero wasn’t someone you wished to become a target of. He was known to hold grudges, and was a stickler about oaths, as well as an odd and archaic set of Italian rules that no one abided by anymore, except him. Despite their differences, they respected one another. They went way back, and Grandpa hoped that Francesco would understand that Kage alone was to blame for the recent fiasco.
“Mr. Sivero,” Grandpa greeted with a smile. “Please, have a seat.”
The man sniffed, then ran his fingers beneath his flared nostrils and groaned, as if smelling something putrid.
“I don’t want to sit with you, Cyrus. I want my nephew back.”
Despite the topic, the man’s voice was rather flat and nonchalant, still coated with a thick East Coast accent and huskiness from years of smoking.
Grandpa leaned back in his chair and signaled for one of his men to offer drinks.
Sivero waved the tray of wine and liquor away before Reynold was even able to walk more than a few feet in his direction.
“Cyrus, I’m so, so disappointed in you.”
Grandpa boldly met his gaze. “Seein’ as how I’m not a fortune teller, I don’t see why, Sivero.”
“You’re not a foolish man, Cyrus. You know exactly why. My family owed you a favor. A big favor.” He tossed up his hands as he began to pace. “We sent my brother’s son, Salvador, who takes care of some very important business of ours. As a favor to the Wilde family, we asked him to help you handle a domestic situation, as you called it.” Grandpa nodded in agreement as he lit a cigar. “You stated you needed professional help. That you’d lost several men at the hands of this particular person. A tricky person. Explained that he needed to be blindsided, and it made clear that he must sign a document that you presented to him. You insisted he was dangerous… we’re used to dangerous.”
Sivero offered a smile, but it was dark and stiff. Like a rotting leg, rigid with rigor mortis and early decay. He moved closer to Grandpa, then stood right before him, glaring down at him. The man’s nostrils splayed as he breathed loudly, his hands clasped at his crotch. A look of pure hatred simmered in his black eyes.