“I don’t have proof yet,” Mario starts, pouring and refilling without looking at me. “But Smiley’s up to something. New car, new clothes, girls he’s parading like trophies. Says he’s winning at the track.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Smiley wouldn’t know a horse from a dog if it bit him on the ass.”
“So you want me to find out what he’s up to?” I ask. The stitches tug when I move my mouth.
“Keep it quiet,” Mario warns. “I don’t need this in Carlos’s ears.”
Good advice. Carlos doesn’t forgive. The side of my face is a reminder he doesn’t forget either. Fingers get nipped off for less. Men disappear for cheaper. Mario’s smart to want to keep it hushed up; he hired the rat; he’s on the hook if that rat squeals. I don’t blame him for wanting the problem buried and tidy.
“Whatever he’s doing, I’ll find it,” I say, then toss the bourbon down like it’s a dare. Mario refills the glass and watches me drink.
Forty-eight hours later, I’m back at his place with what I need.
“You were right,” I tell him. “Smiley was talking to the Venezuelans.”
Mario’s brow knots. “What the hell do the Venezuelans want with a lowlife rat like Smiley?”
I shrug, I've asked myself the same question, and relayed it to Smiley; unfortunately, he didn't have any answers. I had to keep my torture clean, so as not to leave any marks. But I'm certain he told the truth about that.
Mario stares like I handed him a scalpel. “You sure he was talking to them?”
“He was.” I keep it short. No one needs to know I tasted the metal of his fear while I worked. No one needs to know how clean I learned to make violence, so it looks like it never happened.
He stares at me in a way that isn’t the usual: not a check being cashed, not a favor being traded. He’s sizing up apartner. "Let me be honest here," he says, setting his glass of cheap bourbon on the table in front of him. "I'm not going to stay in this dump forever," he indicates the living room.
I wouldn't call it a dump. It's a nice apartment in Manhattan, and it costs more than I can afford. But I'm not one to begrudge a man who wants to better himself. I look at Mario in a new light. If he has the same aspirations as I do, we might be able to work together. As long as he understands he might outrank me here in Carlos's organization, but not in the one I'm about to build.
“I’ve been watching you,” he says. “You’re sharp. Times are changing—Carlos runs extortion the old way. But data? Money in the dark? That’s where the Contis live. When the old ways collide with the new, someone dies. I don’t want it to be me.”
I nod. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Carlos is a dinosaur with a bat. The Contis are ghosts with servers. When they clash, the one with code wins.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, rubbing my jaw where the skin catches. “I tried to get out from under Carlos—look where that left me.” I tap the stitches with my thumb.
“You did it the stupid way,” Mario says, flat. His words land like a slap—the wrong eyebrow lifts. I don’t flinch at the pain. I’m learning to listen.
“If you want in with Stephano’s crew, he needs to ask for you,” Mario continues. “He needs to want you on histeam. You don’t walk in and take a slot. You become the problem someone else wants to own.”
It’s logic. Old men trade pieces. A capo buys talent sometimes. It’s rare, but it happens. More importantly, if Stephano wants me, Carlos can’t just cut my head off without making a headache for himself. Being wanted by someone else is protection—sometimes.
Five months before the wedding…
Mario gets me out of the house security detail I thought I would be stuck in for the rest of my career, especially after pissing Carlos off. He told Carlos that he had better use for me and that this way he could keep an eye on me. Carlos agreed, hating the sight of me in his house even more now than before.
For all appearances, I'm Mario's new protégé. Maybe even Mario thinks that way, I'm not sure. But I'm nobody's anything. I'm here to listen, learn, and figure out how to build my empire that will give me the means to get a woman like Sophia—if not her.
My next assignment is Kevin Jasper, the new state attorney. Carlos wants him in his pocket. I get to work.
I don't stop with the usual routine background pulls. Mario wants dirt—something to push on, something to make the State Attorney keep his mouth shut. I start with DMV and court records and then let curiosity do its work.
What looks like dead paper isn’t. There are settlements and quiet payoffs tucked behind a law-firm letterhead Jasper used to work for. There’s a DUI that never sees trial because a donor puts down a check and closes mouths. There are texts from a burner to a lobbyist that mean nothing on paper, but everything in practice.
I spent two nights with a laptop and terrible coffee. I pull a file the size of a brick: bank transfers, location data, photos. I stitch them together and print the last two years of a man’s compromises.
When I hand Mario the file, I watch him open it like a man opening a safe. He lets the facts land. “You sure this is all real?” he says finally, incredulous.
“You’ll find out when you use it,” I tell him.
He grins then—the first real grin he’s shown since I’ve known him. It changes something in both of us. That file buys leverage, buys trust. It buys me the right to be more than muscle.
Three months before the wedding…
