I stood with Sloan and grabbed my M16 when he stepped forward. Elio straightened and his feet ate up the floor between us until he was beside Sloan.
“They’re here,” Sloan snapped as he tugged out a Glock from the inside of his suit jacket. “Move.”
We filed out into the hallway, the Italians on one side and us on the other, with Sloan and Elio at the back. This was how we always worked. While Sloan and Elio were here, they were still our bosses, and it was safer for them to take up the rear.
“Be prepared,” Sloan murmured. “As soon as we’re out there, find cover. Shoot sharp and precise. Take these fuckers down.”
Elio said something to his men in Italian, and they murmured in what I assumed was assent. The silence that filled the narrow corridor was insufferable, and someone’s watch ticked as every passing second clicked by. For a moment, I thought it wouldn’t happen, and then the sound of something smashing into the front waiting room filled the air.
Willow yelled and gunfire echoed.
“Now,” Sloan snapped, and we moved, charging through the door and out into the front of Relax Inc., which was filled with at least ten men in black ski masks holding automatic rifles, the same ones who’d probably hit the last two businesses owned by the Folliero family.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!Fermare!Stop!” One of the Giordano men held up his hand at us, and the others lowered their guns, and while it was tempting to blow their heads off, we didn’t move.
The waiting room was a mess with bullet holes in the chairs, carpet, walls, and artwork, but none had been fired in Willow’s direction. She appeared unharmed, holding her shotgun and sneering at the men who’d dared to enter her establishment. It didn’t look like she’d shot any rounds at them, but I presumed it was because of shock they hadn’t aimed their guns at her, either. They’d come here to destroy the place.
“Why?” Elio yelled from behind his men. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you all for destroying my home and other businesses, and coming in here to do the same.”
“Do we have your attention,capo?” The man who’d spoken raised his ski mask. He had a strong chin with a cleft and a mean expression, mouth twisted in disgust. He reminded me of my uncle Conan, if he’d been Italian and not Irish. They had the same kind of face, with cruel brown eyes and a square jaw. Unlike Uncle Conan, though, this man had a small scar that swept across the right side of his bottom lip.
“What you have is my anger, and that’s not something you want to experience, trust me,” Elio said.
Nice. At least the boy knew how to sound tough.
“Come out and say that to our faces.” The Giordano man laughed.
“Do you think he’s stupid?” Sloan asked, shoving aside the men to make his way between us. I waved him off, but he cut his hand through the air, silencing my warnings as he strode past me.
The Giordano man’s smug expression faded. “I know who you are.”
“Of course you do.” Sloan smirked as Cillian, Rowen, and I walled him in from either side. If they wanted to take a shot at him, we’d take the bullet if we had to because it was our job. “You’d be a fool not to know me. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Ghio.”
Sloan nodded. “Fine,Ghio, why are you here? You’ve already destroyed the waiting room. I’m sure the cops will be here soon. What does yourcapowant? He has Chicago, doesn’t he? Why does he want New York as well? He’d be starting a war with the Five Families.”
Laughter boomed from Ghio and the sound worked its way from annoying to downright irritating. I tightened my hold on my gun, imagining shooting his face off. The fact that he looked like my uncle would only make it easier. I hated Conan, he had no sense of loyalty and despised my mother for the color of her skin. He let down Dad and Mom every way he could and barely tolerated me.
“Are you sure the other families don’t want Elio gone as well?” Ghio teased.
Sloan’s spine stiffened. “Why?”
Ghio raised his hand to him. “That’s above my pay grade,capo. Whatdoyour men call you? Boss?”
Sloan stretched his hand against his thigh, a sign of his growing irritation. He hated getting the runaround. “Answer me.”
“I’ll talk to the youngcapoover there.” Ghio waved his hand at Elio in the back. “And only him. This has nothing to do with you leprechauns.”
Sloan chuckled, and I tensed at the sound. It happened fast but was like slow motion to me as he raised his Glock and hit the trigger. A bullet pierced Ghio’s forehead and splattered his brains out onto the clean wall behind him. Ghio’s body flopped to the floor, and the Giordano men raised their guns again.
Cillian, Rowen, and I jumped in front of Sloan, but he shoved at Cillian, knocking him out of the way.
“You are here to deliver a message,” Sloan growled out, earning everyone’s attention. “So, deliver it. Don’t waste our time, or you’ll all end up like Ghio there.” He waved his gloved hand at the limp body on the bloody floor. “Someone step up and be your new leader.”
The men hesitated, glancing at one another, and a new soldier stepped forward and raised his ski mask with a shaking hand. This guy didn’t look like anyone I hated, so I liked him more than Ghio already. He was young, probably midtwenties, and seemed ready to piss himself. Fresh as an hour-old sunflower as far as I was concerned, which worked in our favor.
“I-I’m LaMarca, sir.” He cleared his throat, the grip on his gun so tight his knuckles turned white. “Ourcapi, the Giordano brothers, do not want any more bloodshed. They don’t want to destroy a city they want to control. So, they’re giving Mr. Folliero a chance to retreat with dignity.”
