“Thank you, Mr. Tamerlane.” Cold rose up from his chair to refill his glass. “Jules is wrong, by the way. I am angry.”
“Boss, I’m real sorry—” Mickey began.
“Stop.” Cold held up his hand. “I’m angry at you… And at myself. I know you’re not sorry you did it. You’re only sorry that you might get caught and that could cause trouble for the rest of us. I know this because that’s how I feel about killing Marco Luchesi.”
Mickey couldn’t deny that.
“I could have waited for a more opportune time. We both could have. But this was personal.” Cold sat back down, pausing to take a drink. “It was also personal for you.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“From here on out, how about we both keep our behavior professional?” Cold smirked.
“Yes, of course, Boss.”
“Kneel.”
Mickey dropped to his knees immediately.
Cold suddenly grabbed his throat and pulled him in close. “Because I am still the Boss. I’m in charge. And I will not hesitate to end you if you disobey me again.” His grip tightened. “Do I make myself clear, Mr. Tamerlane?”
Mickey was having trouble defining the emotion coming over him when Cold squeezed. It was somewhere between enraged and adoring with a splash of humiliation because yes, he knew he’d do anything to make this up to Cold.
Anything.
This man had lifted him up from nothing; clothed him, housed him, fed him. Cold had given him everything when everyone else treated him like absolute scum, and Mickey would gladly do the same in return.
“Yes, Boss.” Mickey closed his eyes. He coughed, trying not to choke. “I understand.”
“Good.” Cold let him go. “We will have a city to rule, after all. I will need you. And I will not be as forgiving in the future as I am now.”
“Of course.” Mickey took Cold’s hand and kissed it reverently. “I’m yours to command.”
“Go.” Cold waved him away.
Mickey got to his feet and turned to head up the stairs, and he paused. There was a lot on his mind, but there was something of immediate concern he wanted to address. “Hey, Boss. Is Alistair… is he a problem now?”
“No.” Cold shook his head.
“Are you sure, Boss?”
“Yes.” Cold was getting impatient.
“’Cause he could mess our shit up if he wanted to.”
“I’m very well aware of what Alistair is capable of.” Cold’s voice was stern now, and any trace of mirth had vanished. “But allow me to make one thing very clear. He left me, not the Gentlemen. He remains a trusted member of our gang, and he will be treated with the utmost respect until I say otherwise. Do you understand me, Mr. Tamerlane?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Cold looked over to the fireplace. “Go.Now.”
Mickey decided he’d done enough damage for one night and his luck was likely fleeting. He headed upstairs to find Roger and Crybaby in the guest room.
Crybaby was in bed with Roger perched on the edge of the mattress beside her. They both smiled when Mickey came in, and Crybaby waved.
“Hey, Crybaby.” Mickey waved back.
“Hey, yourself.” She grimaced. “Alistair left, huh?”
