“The name of your supplier,” I growled. “Now.”
“I don’t know the guy’s name, but he’s Russian.”
“You better give me a hell of a lot more than that,” I said.
“I meet him at Wild Bill’s every Thursday at ten p.m. for the exchange.”
“Describe him.”
“About five-ten, maybe early forties, dark hair with a little silver on the sides, broad-chested. Calls himself something crazy… Xoak. Xaoc. Some shit like that. Always has two guards with him. That’s all I know, I swear.”
I looked to Angel to make sure he didn’t have any questions for Matt. Angel shook his head, so I pulled out my Glock, screwed on the silencer from my pocket (we were out in the middle of nowhere, but I didn’t take unnecessary risks), and delivered two shots to Matt’s head before he even knew it was coming. His body crumpled, and life left his eyes.
I stared at him, knowing I should feel some sort of regret for taking his life, but all I felt was relief. He was just one more box checked off my to-do list. Next task… bury the bastard. I went to the back of the Hummer and rifled through the camping gear until I pulled out our shovels, handing one to Angel.
We methodically went to work. After we dug Matt’s grave, we tossed his body in, then used bleach wipes to scrub the Hummer for prints, tossing them in with the body. We covered everything up, loaded up the shovels and headed back to town.
We drove for about ten minutes before Angel broke the silence. “Do you think any of that shit Matt said was true?” Angel asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. A sister? Seems a bit far-fetched.” Was it, though? Did I really know anything about Pops?
Angel nodded. “Still, I think it’s time we do some research on your old man and see what we can find.”
He knew what Matt had said was eating me up inside, and he’d help me fix it. People always claimed that blood was thicker than water, but I knew the truth. I’d known it from the day Angel and I had cut open our fingers and become blood brothers. Blood is thicker than milk. He was my blood now, and our bond was thicker than the two brothers I’d shared my mother’s milk with.
Angel was the brother I’d chosen.
“Thanks, man,” I said as we drove back into Vegas.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bones
“BONES, WE’RE RELATED,” Angel said, staring at his computer screen. “Well, kind of. Distantly, through marriage.”
“What?” I asked, leaning over his shoulder to see what he’d found.
We were back in the condo, sitting at the kitchen table as we competed to see who could find information on Pops the fastest. Predictably, Angel had won. Not-so-predictable, were the results.
“Related how?” I asked.
“Your grandfather on your dad’s side married Nonna’s cousin, Elena. Elena isn’t your grandmother, though. Your grandmother died shortly after your father was born. Elena was his second wife.”
I shook my head, confused. “There must be some sort of a mistake. Pops told me he was an orphan.”
“I’m sorry, Bones, but he wasn’t. He grew up with his parents. Your grandfather didn’t die until two-thousand-three, and your dad is listed as ‘surviving family’ in his eulogy. Look.”
I scanned the article, and sure enough, Gino Leone was listed. “You’re sure that’s him?” I asked.
Angel gave me a flat stare. Of course, he was sure. He was a technical genius, so little things like internet identity searches were nothing to him. Still, this new information made it feel like my identity was crumbling.
“Pops lied,” I acknowledged. “He told me he never knew his parents. Said he grew up in the system. Why would he lie?”
“No clue.” Angel’s gaze returned to his screen. “Your grandfather lived inClaycomo, Missouri of all places. I don’t think he and Nonna’s cousin had anything to do with the family business.”
When I was first brought into the family, and became familiar with the way things worked, I used to wonder if Pops had been a mobster. He wore suits, worked strange hours, and his bizarre disappearance all shouted mafia. Somewhere along the line, I’d convinced myself that I was just projecting—searching for some sort of connection to him—so I pretended we were alike. That he was a bodyguard like me and had gotten killed protecting his charge.
But what if I hadn’t been projecting? What if Pops really was a mobster? Surely Carlo would have told me if Pops had worked for the Mariani family.
