“It is.” I pulled the helmet down but flipped the visor up. “Clean this shit up. Can’t have any of your civilian workforce seeing this tomorrow when they come to dig and hammer and crap.”
Liam snorted at my description of the construction company. “The Black Stags will retaliate.”
“No, they won’t, not if you broker a peace deal.” I started the engine. “When I said we won the day, I meant it.”
And now the McDonagh Clan owed us.
“Oh! And why don’t I ask the wee folk where they’ve hidden the treasure of the Dromo Cairn?”
I had no patience for his frustration. “The leaders of the Black Stag Organization are dead. The lower officers won’t want to fight if they fear they’ll be next for a Morelli bullet. They’ll come to the table. Be ready with terms.”
The green devil whistled. Finally, something that came out of his mouth that didn’t make me want to shoot him. It was good to be the powerful one on the streets. Having an assassin at our beck and call was already proving very useful.
“We’ll be seeing you soon,” I promised.
With that, I slapped the visor down and darted away. My work here was done. Liam stared after me, and in my peripheral, I caught sight of a gnarled, twisted visage. Those scars would never heal well. There was no plastic surgeon on earth who could perform a miracle on that face, even if the green blooded fucker wanted to go under the knife. My money was on the fact that he would prefer to embrace his brutal new image, wearing the scars as a badge of pride.
I just hoped his bride could stomach it. I truly felt bad for whichever Deluca girl walked down the aisle to that. But I wasn’t their father, and the alliance hadn’t been my idea.
Speeding down the street, only good feelings surged through me. Amanda was safe. We had a half-formed plan to neutralize the threat against her, and with a little more time, no more foreigners would come clamoring for her hand. Her father’s businesses were crumbling, piece by piece. The parts I wasn’t actively taking down would fall because of his deals with slimy scum like Varga. The Morelli Famiglia thrived. This new alliance with the Irish would solidify our position in Boston for several generations—so long as the bride didn’t kill the ugly green mutt.
I was a king in the night, powerful, wealthy, and everything a woman like my wife deserved.
The engine purred, ready to rev and accelerate.
But a pair of headlights at the next corner had me easing up. A cold sweat broke over my skin. My heartrate quickened, and time slowed. The Ford Explorer was clearly on the prowl.
I wasn’t speeding.
There was no reason for him to pull me over.
Still, it took what felt like an eternity for me to travel the two blocks past where the cop lurked. My body shook badly enough to make the bike tremble.
The seconds ticked.
There was no moisture on my tongue.
The headlights brushed over me, reminding me that the law was waiting. One screw up, and I would fall.
The bike rolled down the street, and I took the next left. A block over, and I went right. Cars passed on the road, but I pulled off, parking at the mouth of an alley. My legs could barely hold me. The bike tipped, balance threatened.
I ripped off the helmet and gulped air. It burned my throat. But it was the only thing to keep the writhing, putrid fear away.
This—this was a principal reason why I built my empire. I could have been a successful mobster. The Morelli Famiglia would need a new don one day, and most of the soldiers probably assumed the crown would be passed to me.
But I wanted to walk away. I wanted to be free of the constant threat of detection. Only a man like that could claim a queen like Amanda.
It didn’t mean I was forsaking the morally questionable business tactics. Far from it! My empire was built off underworld principles. And I would still happily deal with kingpins, make deals with sharks, and partner with crime bosses.
I just didn’t want to be seen as one. I didn’t want to carry the risk of being caught by the law in an illegal venture. Being a villainous businessman was better than being a Made Man destined for prison.
“I won’t go back,” I rasped.I would rather die.
***
Since Guglielmo had been out ending the war with the Irish with his assassin’s stealth and cunning, I had Golia standing guard in my condo. There were few men I trusted to watch over such precious cargo, but Golia was wired like a dog. When I said to stay and guard, he might have moved to the windows to assess for threats, but as I opened the door, it was hard to tell. His feet were planted in the same place as when I’d left.
I should have been clearer in my instructions. “All good?”
