As I approach The Bishop’s table, a hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, stopping my movement. I reach down and grab the wrist attached to said hand, and twist. Turning my body, I come face to face with its owner.
“What the fuck?” He pulls back his hand, rubbing his wrist. His smile seems friendly, but his eyes are dark and angry.
“You shouldn’t touch people without permission.”
“Do you know who I am? Who I work for?” he snaps.
“No. Nor do I care.”
He’s not like the other men I’ve seen tonight. He’s well dressed in an Italian suit. Gold jewelry adorns both hands. A matching chain with a St. Michael medallion hangs around his neck.Hiswatch, I know, is worth a mint compared to the guy in the next booth over. But he’s still not someone of status. He looks like he has money, but his arrogance is that of a man whowantspeople to think he’s someone of importance, but the truth is he’s someone’s lackey.
I could beat his ass. Break his wrist and embarrass him in front of everyone, but that would only draw more attention to myself, and since I haven’t spoken to The Bishop or gotten the information I need yet, I choose to stand down.
For now.
A deep voice calls out from the next table over. “Let it go, Ephraim. She’s not here for your benefit.”
Ephraimscowls at me but does as he’s told. I move to sit at the booth behind him and hear him mutter, “Uppity bitch.”
In the next booth, an older man with slicked-back silver hair waves me over.
“Miss Drakos. So good of you to join me.” The Bishop nods, gesturing for me to sit. “My apologies. Some of our patrons forget their manners from time to time. They get a little handsy.”
“I can assure you. I know how to remove a man’s hand.” Bishop laughs. I’m not sure if he believes that wasn’t a threat, but it’s not for me to correct him. “I didn’t realize you had a boss. I thought youwerethe boss. Isn’t that why Bash told me to come hear you out? Because you are a man of power and the keeper of secrets?”
“You flatter me, Miss Drako.” He smiles around his glass. “I am more of an intermediary. People come to me with jobs they want done, and I find people willing to get things done for a price.” He shrugs. “If that makes me a man of power, then so be it. But I see myself as more of an opportunist.”
“Sir.” One of the guards approaches the table. “You have a call. Perhaps you’d like to take it in the office?”
Noting the seriousness in the other man’s tone, I’m not surprised when The Bishop agrees. “If you’ll excuse me. Please, order yourself a drink. I’ll only be a minute.” He exits behind the black curtain. Seconds later, a waitress comes by and takes my order, then scurries off to the bar.
I’m watching the woman onstage with long pink hair dancing on a pole with an almost bored expression on her face when I catch a part of the conversation in the booth behind me. The asshole with the grabby hands sounds frustrated as he argues with someone. I assume he’s on the phone since I can only hear one side of the conversation.
“Listen. You promised me I’d be paid handsomely and promoted up the ranks if I pulled this job off for you,” his voicerises slightly. “I don’t care about the cops. They’re the least of my worries. When Nazario finds out I put Santo Venatti in the hospital, they’re going to send that crazy fucker Enzo after me. Do you know what he does to people, man?”
Shit. I need to call Enzo. Maybe The Bishop will tell me who he is, then I can call Enzo.
There’s another moment of silence. The waitress comes back and places my whiskey on the table, asking if I need anything else. I politely dismiss her, and the man behind me shouts, “Just get me on a fucking plane out of here!” He slams something down on the table. I’m guessing his phone. I hear the waitress yelp and look back to see he’s grabbed her arm.
“Bring me another beer, bitch.” I’m about to say something when The Bishop returns.
“My apologies, Miss Drakos. We won’t be interrupted again,” he says. “Now, I understand you wish to know about your brother.” The waitress returns with another drink for Bishop, and a beer, I assume, for the asshole behind me.
“Bash says you know what happened to Annanias.” I watch him carefully as I sip my drink.
“The man who stole your brother was named Gianni Levanesse,” he starts. “Gianni was married to Alessia Venatti, but she was betrothed to another man at the time. Unfortunately, she fell in love with Gianni—and Maurice, having a soft spot for his daughter, canceled the arranged marriage and allowed her to marry Gianni instead.”
“Maurice paid a handsome fine and had to give up some of his territory to secure their marriage wouldn’t bring about backlash. Because of this, Maurice told Gianni he would have to earn his place in the family. Had Alessi married a made man, her husband would have received certain rights and status among the Venatti.”
“It makes sense,” I agreed. “With a marriage alliance comes titles and territories. In some cases, properties and financial benefits.”
“Yes. All benefits Maurice still had to barter because of their union. But since Gianni wasn’t anyone of note when they married, he had to earn his status from the ground up.” Bishop smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No matter what Gianni did, Maurice would not promote him.”
“You see, Gianni had a reputation. One Alessia hid from her father in the beginning.” He sips his glass, sets it down and rings the rim with his finger. “Gianni was a womanizing asshole with a penchant for drinking and cocaine. Those habits inflamed his temper, as did the constant denial of promotion. Eventually, he began to take his anger out on his wife and son.”
“What happened?” I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.
“One night, Gianni devised a plan. He would go to Vegas and strike a deal with Caspien Drakos. He would give Caspien the Venatti’s connections to the cartel. Since Maurice was against running cocaine through the Metroplex, Gianni figured he could give the business to Caspien.”
