“Do you think he has info on Cortéz?” asks Knuckles. “The bastard’s been way too fucking quiet lately. That’s never a good sign.”
“More likely he wants to trade or bargain for something,” Bones says. “Remember…Moretti’s a Don. His family is his first and only concern.”
“No different than our main concern,” I add.
Bones nods once. “True. But the big difference is that he’s a mafia crime boss. We frown on hurting innocent people. The mafia uses it as a threat. One they’re not afraid to follow through on.”
Spike leans forward in his chair, elbows on the table.
“The email was short,” he says. “One line.‘Don Moretti requests the presence of the Shadows at his estate. As soon as possible.’”
The room goes still.
“That’s it?” Bones asks.
“That’s it,” Spike confirms. “Formal and to the point.”
“It could be a trap?” Foster says.
“Possible,” Spike nods. “But remember, Moretti’s not an enemy. We have an agreement. He keeps his business out of our territory, and we don’t interfere with his. If he’s calling us in, it’s important.”
Bones nods. “A Don doesn’t waste words. If he wanted a war, we’d already be dead.”
“Exactly,” Spike agrees, “This isn’t a threat. It’s a summons. And ignoring it would be spitting on a handshake deal we’ve kept solid for years.”
He scans the room, then starts assigning positions.
“Bones,” Spike says. “You’re coming with me. You read people better than anyone here.”
Bones grunts his agreement.
“Tank, you’re coming too. I need your size and your presence at my back. Maverick will be meeting us in the morning before we head out. With you, him, and Skip, no one will think twice about fucking with us.”
Tank nods.
Then Spike’s eyes land on me, and he smirks.
“Apart from your size...You’re fucking crazy, and I’m looking forward to seeing your work when we meet our local Don for the very first time.”
“Me, too,” I laugh. Yeah, I do go a bit wild from time to time. Keeps our enemies on their toes and me in their radar.
I like being the center of attention after all.
“Knuckles, you’re staying here.”
“With Foster?” Knuckles asks, making a face like Spike just told him to babysit a pot of soup.
“Yes. With Foster,” Spike says firmly. “We need someone who can spot trouble from a mile away, planted right here in the compound.”
Knuckles huffs. “Feels a hell of a lot like punishment.”
“It’s not,” Spike says. “It’s an assignment. And an important one.”
Foster grins. “I’ll make us snacks.”
Knuckles groans into his palms. “Spike, please. Please don’t do this to me. I’m dying, man…remember? You trying to kill me faster?”
“Consider it an opportunity for character growth,” Spike deadpans.
