Well, I guess that’s something to go on, which is more than I had before we got here. I smile brightly at Stan.
“Awesome, thanks for your help.”
He visibly relaxes. “So, you’ll leave now and won’t shoot me?” he asks hopefully.
“No, you stupid motherfucker, you killed my dad.” I lift my gun and shoot, watching the round hole in the middle of his forehead ooze blood as he falls to the ground, dead as a doornail. Satisfaction rolls through me as I turn and head for the door. One down, at least one more to go.
Dean and Sam follow me out of the building. I see Sam on the phone, calling in the cleanup crew, as I pick up my own cell and dial my brother.
“Yeah?” he answers, sounding distracted.
“Now is that any way to greet your favorite sister?” I ask him.
“I’m in the middle of something,” he growls at me, and my eyebrows rise in surprise. Gio always makes time for me.
“Well, I have a name. I’ll be picking him up and taking him to the warehouse if you want in on this,” I tell him, not hiding my annoyance.
“Yes, I do, but I can’t get away at the moment,” he replies.
“Whatever, nothing is more important than finding out who killed Dad, but you do you, bro.” With that last cutting remark, I hang up on him.
“Shady motherfucker,” I growl. “Have we worked out where he’s been going?” I snap at Dean, who shakes his head.
“No, he’s managed to lose every tail we have put on him and found every bug we’ve tried to put on his phone. He’s clever. He’s a Russo.”
I growl in annoyance. “Once we find out who put a hit on Dad, we are making Gio a priority, even if I have to drug him to get it out of him. I just hope he’s not doing the family dirty. I don’t want to run the organization, and I don’t want to put a bullet in the only family I have left.”
ChapterTwenty-Six
Purgatory is in a seedier side of the city down on the docks. It’s rough and run-down and stereotypically screams MC clubhouse. It’s late afternoon, and it already has quite a crowd if the cars and bikes parked out front are anything to go by. I left the limo behind and took my own car this time, thinking it would fit in better. The Hellcat is the nicest car in the lot by far, and I’m hoping I still have my hubcaps when I get back. I’m also hoping the custom license plate that says “Azrael” is enough to scare anyone off. Down here, I have a little bit of a reputation for being batshit crazy. Even though my henchmen won’t play the game, the strippers have been very good at spreading rumors.
The inside of the bar is smoky and smells like beer and piss, and I wrinkle my nose slightly as I look down at my shoes. My poor Louboutins are going to end up scuffed and damaged in this place. Gio better buy me a new pair. The noise dims a little as I walk from the door to the bar with my head held high, not intimidated one bit. I learned early on to fake it until I make it, but to be honest, I’m not scared. I hope someone underestimates me. I’m almost begging for some unrestrained violence. Knowing I’m one step closer to the person who killed my dad brings me some relief, but I won’t be completely happy until whoever is responsible is drowning in their own blood.
The noise behind me returns as I step up to the bar, flanked by Sam and Dean, and the grizzly-looking bartender stares down his nose at me.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, little missy?” He raises a condescending eyebrow, and I just smirk.
“Is Franz here?” I ask politely. There’s no point in starting off on the wrong foot right away.
The bartender narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Now what could a pretty young thing like you need with a crusty old coot like Franz Three Fingers?”
“Just tell Ms. Russo where he is, and we’ll grab him quietly and get out of your hair. If not, the Horsemen may find themselves having their contract renegotiated, if you get what I mean,” Dean growls ominously, and it’s all I can do to hide my grin. He’s so cute when he gets all growly, but it works because the bartender pales and points toward a side door.
“He’s in the back with a girl. Room two.”
“Oh, are you running whores through here?” I ask him, and he shakes his head hurriedly.
“No, just some bitch he picked up.”
“I hope so, because that was not part of our agreement. All the whores in the city go through us. I’d hate to think you were cheating us out of a cut if you were. Please give Slasher my regards, and if anything gets messed up as we bring Franz out, please send us the bill.” I lean against the bar, and Sam and Dean go to get Franz. Within seconds, a high-pitched scream cuts through the air, and everyone turns to look at the now open door leading to the rooms. A naked, semi-attractive woman comes running out holding her clothes with a terrified look on her face. She runs into what I’m assuming are the bathrooms. Not long after, Sam and Dean drag out a struggling man.
“Sorry, we had to make him get dressed,” Sam apologizes, and I pat him on the cheek.
“Much appreciated.” I look Franz up and down, and there is absolutely nothing remarkable about him. He is just plain and average, like Stan said, except for his right hand and his missing fingers.
He spews a whole heap of threats. “Who are you? What the fuck do you want? Get your hands off me. You’ll be sorry. I’ll find out where you live.”
“Well, hello there. I’m Victoria Russo, but you can just call me Azrael, since we’re about to become well acquainted.” The noise in the bar disappears so suddenly you could almost hear a pin drop. Ah-ha, vindicated, the name does have an impact. “Come along, we don’t have any time to waste.”
