I know something’s wrong when Raf’s number lights up my phone for the third time in less than ten minutes, and I sigh. “I’m sorry, Signor Lombardi, but can you excuse me for a moment?” I ask, cutting him off mid-sentence.
His expression of appalled shock quickly vanishes as Miko steps forward from where he stands near the door of my office to guide him out of his seat, silently gesturing for him to step into the hall.
“Oh, of–of course,” Signor Lombardi stutters, glancing between me and my brother as his three oldest sons rise to file from the room after him.
“I’m in a meeting,” I state as I answer Raf’s call as soon as the door closes.
“Yeah, well, I just thought you should know the police are here, at the drop point,” Raf says dryly.
“What?” My frustration comes out as a snarl.
“I told you Kenji’s men were late. Turns out, they’re a no-show, and it’s not like I could just turn away the delivery. You know how bad that would look to our allies across the border.”
Though my brother knows better than to use names over the phone, he’s referring to the Sinaloa Cartel. We’ve been doing successful business with them for the last three years and have recently increased the flow of product coming up to us from across the border since the Tanaka-kai were supposed to have some big plan to distribute it. So far, that business proposition has only proven to be a royal pain in my neck.
“We’ve had product sitting in the warehouse for hours, and if you ask me, someone called the cops if they knew to show up this fast.” My younger brother sounds impatient, and I know he’s as enthusiastic about this partnership with the Tanaka-kai as I am.
Kenji’s made us sitting ducks once again with his lax timing—and I’m inclined to agree with Raf. We’ve had too many close calls for it to be a coincidence. He’s messing with us intentionally.
Despite the marriage alliance, Kenji is proving impossible to work with, his behavior growing increasingly reckless and erratic, and tension in the Chiaroscuro ranks is at an all-time high. It only reinforces my belief that the alliance we formed will do little to fix the underlying problem. We might not be violently fighting the Yakuza anymore, but the Tanaka-kai are refusing to play nice. And I’m starting to think my father is willfully blind if he can’t see it.
“I’m on my way,” I state flatly, rising from behind my office conference room table.
“Don’t worry about it. Captain Lowry was the one who answered the dispatch. He and I came to an agreement,” Raf states flatly.
My sharp-tongued younger brother might be a pain sometimes, but he can also be incredibly persuasive when he wants to be, and I’m more than a little thankful that I put the twins in charge of overseeing this exchange after the last two happened by the skin of our teeth. Lucky, too, that Lowry was there to take the call. He’s one of the men who will reliably look the other way if we properly line his pockets.
“I owe you one,” I say, releasing my tension on a breath.
“Sandro wants a free pass in the bare-knuckle fights this week. Give me Friday off for a weekend getaway with my wife, and we’ll call it even,” he jokes.
Not like I would stop them, anyway. One of the perks of working with family is we do what it takes to get the most out of our lots in life. They have my back, and I have theirs.
“Done,” I agree and hang up.
I should finish my meeting with Signor Lombardi. I’ve been putting him off for far too long, but I don’t have the patience for the man who’s always finding ways to ingratiate himself to us in the hopes of earning higher positions in the Family for his sons. Instead, I really need to discuss this rapidly failing Yakuza alliance with my father.
“Something happen?” Miko asks as I close the top button of my suit jacket and head toward the door.
“Yeah, Kenji,” is all I say, and my brother gives a curt nod as he follows me into the hall.
“I’m so sorry, Signor Lombardi, but we’ll have to finish this meeting at a later date. Something urgent came up,” I say, grasping his elbow and giving his hand a quick shake as I pass by.
“But…” he starts, his lips opening and closing in a fish-like expression as he flounders for what to say.
“You can schedule a new time with my secretary if you have more to say,” I call over my shoulder.
The building security has already pressed the call button by the time I reach the bank of elevators, and one set of doors slides smoothly open for me to step inside. I catch one glimpse of the Lombardi sons speeding toward me behind their father as the doors slide closed between us, and I smirk with the satisfying achievement of having put him off a little longer.
“Are we on a clean-up mission?” Miko asks as we ride the elevator down to the lobby of our family’s office building in the Loop.
“The twins took care of it. We’re going to talk some sense into dear old Dad.”
Miko’s silence says just how little faith he has in that plan, and I grind my teeth because, frankly, neither do I. I was beating this dead horse long before the wedding, and the don has grown tired of hearing my point of view. I guess I’m just hoping that one of these close brushes with the law will remind him that a deal gone wrong could hit us harder than just in our pocketbook.
The ride home is tense and wordless, and I’m grateful to my adopted brother for his natural understanding of when it’s time to just shut the hell up and drive. Taking the highway at well over the speed limit, we reach the Chiaroscuro estate, on the outskirtsof town, in record time, and as soon as he pulls up alongside the front steps, my car door is open and I’m leaving him behind.
“Where’s the don?” I ask Alfonzo as soon as the front door swings wide.
