“Have a seat.” Sage gestured at one of the chairs in the middle of the room. He looked to me, and I tipped my chin toward the desk. I was fine by the window and if he wanted this to be his show, who was I to stop him? I still had Marcos’s ridiculous fucking gun with me, reassembled with a bullet in the chamber…just in case.
Anthony Molinaro Jr. was, for lack of a better term, a runt. Greasy, slicked-back hair and beady eyes, he reminded me immensely of Marcos Rosetti. Miles of bravado and not an ounce of follow-through. There was no way he was the one behind the hits. He didn’t have it in him.
I didn’t know if it was his dad or one of his brothers or someone else entirely, but with shots taken at both of us, time was running short on figuring it out. Last time I’d talked to Sharp, he hadn’t been much help, but had promised he would make some calls. I hadn’t heard back from him, and I didn’t expect to.
“What’s this?” Molinaro asked when Sage took the chair behind the desk.
I bit my tongue.
“There’s been a change of management,” Sage said, giving Molinaro a grin that had me tenting my pants.
Jesus fuck, would I ever have a limp cock again?
Molinarofinallysaw me. His attention flickered toward the window, eyes widening when he saw me leaning against the frame, watching him.
“What’s he doing here?” he asked, stare shifting to Sage, but not quite willing to let me out of his sight yet.
Maybe he was smarter than I thought. I grinned at him.
“We aren’t here to talk about him. Well, that’s a lie.” Sage steepled his fingers together, flashing the signet ring on his right hand. “We’re here to talk about why you tried to solicit my father to kill him.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he protested.
“It was just like that,” Marcos interrupted. “You told me he wanted to kill my son. You gave me his picture, his location.”
I closed my eyes, fighting back the groan that threatened to leave my mouth. He’d known my location, which wasn’t my house. I had been far from home, in the valley at a house Sharp was barely even at. I would have known if I’d picked up a tail, which meant someone had put a tracker on my car.
But who?
And when?
Fuck.
I had a feeling this went a lot deeper than a power-hungry middle child trying to raise himself up through the ranks of a ruling family by taking out someone he thought was an easy target. I counted back through everything I knew about Molinaro, about his father, his brothers, their business. Back through everything I knew about Sharp and the people he worked for, which was far less.
“And you drove to the valley and took a shot.” Molinaro looked at Sage. “I didn’t shoot him, but maybe I should if you care so much.”
“Watch your mouth,” Sage warned.
“I’d like to see you try,” I baited, crossing my legs at the ankle and giving him an unamused look. “I’d have you down before you were out of that chair.”
“Golden,” Sage hissed.
I frowned, and Molinaro’s mouth twisted into something smarmy that was maybe supposed to be a smile, but looked completely out of place on his face.
“I don’t need to get up,” he said. “I just need to make a call.”
Sage lunged over the desk, taking Molinaro by the collar and hauling him up. The kid’s chair clattered onto the floor and his shoes dragged as Sage bodily moved him onto the desk. He had such a hold that Molinaro’s face turned red as a beet and he sputtered, trying to brace himself and take some of the weight off his throat. For as short as he was, Sage was a fucking powerhouse. I knew from experience what it was like to have that hand at my throat. It was a sensation Molinaro wouldn’t soon forget.
Sage leaned in close, pressing the end of his nose against Molinaro’s. His expression telegraphed pure, unrestrained power and rage, and when he spoke, his voice sent a chill up the back of my neck.
“Fucking make it then.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sage
Molinaro made a call, set a date, then I sent him to fuck off back to his daddy. The mood in the office after he left was tense, and Golden hadn’t moved from his perch against the window. My dad, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin. I imagined it was probably disconcerting for him to be on the receiving side of his office and not the side that gave him cover.
