“We have an arrangement with them,” Lorenzo protested. “We can’t just walk away.”
“You do not need to. They already have, and they will not come back. That avenue of income is closed to you now. They will not take your call and I will not take kindly to you seeking a new partner.”
“What about the coke shipments? We owe them a percentage.”
“That goes to the Kings to repay the damage you have caused here.”
Lorenzo’s brows rose and I realised how young he was—too young, perhaps, to know how a conversation like this worked. “How do we know Aldea won’t come after us for payment?”
“You do not. But your uncle will by now.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“I know.”
Lorenzo glanced around. “How will they launder it?”
“That ain’t your business.”
The growl came from behind me. I didn’t have to look to know Cam was on his feet, and I suppressed a smile, an easy enough feat given how badly I knew he was hurt.
“They will figure it out,” I said. “I have it on good authority that they have an excellent financial advisor.”
Lorenzo didn’t get the joke. His frown deepened as he scrambled to gather loose ends. “What about construction? The Kings still owe us an order of cement.”
“We cancelled it,” Cam said. “Sent your money back. If you ain’t got it, that’s on you.”
“And your labour force?”
“Give them honest jobs. We don’t want no part of dodgy work that gets people killed.”
My noble biker boy. This time I did smile, but it wasn’t pleasant, and Lorenzo Sambini shivered. “We’ll need to meet again to iron out the details.”
“You will,” I agreed.
“Wait for our call.” Cam appeared at my side, tension and heat radiating from him like an incoming firestorm. “And be patient. We’ve got a shitshow here to clear up.”
His rage made my cock twitch.
Oblivious, Lorenzo nodded and turned back to me. “Will you be there too?”
I leered at him, then spoke in Italian. “Maybe. Or perhaps you will never see me again. But nothing will change. Do you understand, Lorenzo?”
“I don’t understand how the Kings crossed your radar. There’s nothing they can do that we can’t do better.”
“You are mistaken,” I told him truthfully, then switched back to English. “The Kings do not work for me. I work for them. That should be enough for you.”
It was. But I had one more thing up my sleeve. I looked over my shoulder, past where Saint had hauled his VP to his feet and to the boundary that I had breached, again, to enter the Kings’ compound undetected.
I whistled. “Come out.”
Gianni Sambini stumbled out of the shadows. He was hungry, tired, and terrified, but otherwise unharmed.
He came to my side, fear making him tremble, and Lorenzo’s mouth fell open.
I smiled again. “What? You thought he was dead?”
Lorenzo shook his head, stunned. “The Crows told us Malone killed him and incinerated his body.”
