I was surprised when my Uncle Lorenzo asked if I wanted to manage this club instead of the casino, but I’ve come to prefer it. Three dozen employees instead of hundreds. Clear rules. Clean business, relatively speaking. I look out for my people and run a tight ship.
Matteo slides into the booth across from me like a shadow made flesh. The man’s built like a linebacker and twice as mean, which makes him one of our best enforcers. Ink covers both arms, and his buzz cut makes his skull look like a weapon. He doesn’t even glance at the stage. When Matteo’s on business, nothing else exists.
“Lewis is five minutes out,” he says, cutting straight to the point.
I nod and take another sip of scotch. Lewis is what you’d call an independent contractor—a drug dealer who works our streets but isn’t officially part of the family. Sometimes these bottom-feeders hear things that never make it up the chain to us. Tonight, hopefully, he’s got answers about the new shit that’s been killing people in our territory.
“Lorenzo’s back from Mexico,” I tell Matteo. My uncle, the don of the Andretti family, got married a few months ago to a cartel leader’s daughter, and he’s been playing diplomat with his new in-laws ever since, solidifying the alliance that’s supposed to give us the muscle we need in our war against the Bratva.
Time to crush those Russian bastards once and for all.
“Good timing. The hotel renovation’s nearly done.” Matteo’s referring to our legitimate front, a four-star hotel that makes Lorenzo look like a respectable businessman when the cameras are rolling.
The club door opens, and I spot our guy immediately. Lewis looks exactly like what he is: a twitchy junkie who deals to pay for his own habit. His hands shake as he weaves through the tables, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
As long as he’s not stealing from us, he can pickle his brain however he wants.
He drops into the chair next to Matteo and immediately starts fishing around in his jacket pockets. The man can’t sit still for two seconds without looking like he’s having some kind of seizure.
“There it is,” Lewis says, producing a small baggie filled with white powder and sliding it across the table.
I pick up the baggie and examine it. Lightning, they’re calling it. Supposed to be a new kind of ecstasy, but four people have diedfrom this shit in the past month. Their bodies overheated until their organs shut down.
Not the kind of high most people are looking for.
“Where’d you get it?” Matteo’s voice is hard.
Lewis drums his fingers against the table. “College kid at some club. That’s how most of it moves. Parties, clubs, young crowd.”
“Yeah, but who’s dealing?” I lean forward, letting an edge creep into my voice.
The junkie shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Changes hands too fast to track, you know? Everyone’s selling to everyone.”
Christ. This is why I hate working with bottom-feeders. They see the trees but miss the forest every damn time.
I wave Lewis off, and he scrambles away like his chair’s on fire. I stare at the baggie. Four people dead from this shit already.
“Take this to The Chemist,” I tell Matteo, sliding the drugs across to him. “I want to know exactly what cocktail some asshole is cooking up.”
Matteo pockets the baggie and disappears into the crowd. I’m alone again, watching Cherry take the stage. She’s one of my most popular girls, and tonight she’s wearing a leather number that shows why she draws such crowds. She knows how to work a room, I’ll give her that.
But my mind’s not on the show.
Someone’s manufacturing death in our territory, and if the cops start paying attention to the body count, it’s going to complicate all our lives. I need to find the source, which means I need someone who can blend in with the college crowd.
At thirty-five, I’d stick out like a sore thumb at some freshman kegger.
I scan the room until I spot Joey Barone laughing with some of the other soldiers near the bar. Twenty-two years old, born into this life just like me. His father’s an enforcer, which means the kid’s got something to prove.
Perfect.
I catch his eye and gesture him over. He’s all business by the time he reaches my table, the laughter gone from his face.
“What can I do for you, boss?”
I explain the Lightning situation, what little I know anyway. Joey listens intently, nodding at all the right places. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“I need you to get close to that scene,” I tell him. “University parties, clubs, wherever these kids are getting high. Make friends. Find someone who knows something. I want the source, but I’ll settle for a dealer I can squeeze information out of.”
