I froze. “You’re say who, now?”
“You heard my name, O’Brian. I’m exactly who you think I am.”
“I ain’t got no clue who you are except that you’re some mafia cunt who wants to fight me.”
“We don’t want to fight.”
“We?”
“My uncle is the head of our organisation. He sent his son and I to represent him.”
“And where’s his son now?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
Nothing about this conversation made sense. I stepped back, ignoring Rocco who’d collapsed to his knees. “Why would I know where your boss’s son is?”
Sambini held my gaze. “After you hijacked our merchandise, we left Gianni behind with Frank Crow and a brother to clean the scene. They’re missing now and I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”
“Hoping?” I stared him down. “Dude, the only place any of those dickfuckers are headed next time I see them is six feet under, so unless you’re about to switch sides, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“The Crows tell me you always send your righthand man to clean a scene. Maybe if I spoke to him, he could tell me what he saw when he got there.”
“Nash is my VP and he’s right here. Have at him.”
I inclined my head to where Nash stood, his surfer good looks belying the beast I knew him to be when provoked.
“Not him,” Sambini said. “The other one.”
“My enforcer? I think you’ve already met.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Rocco growled from the ground. “He means Malone. We know he’d have gone back to clean up your mess. That he’d fuck up anyone that got in his way. Get him out here so he can tell us what happened.”
Real fear for Saint crept into my heart. The timings didn’t add up. If the Crows were already claiming their president was missing, they’d been expecting him back before Saint had even left. But if they had Sambini soldiers lying in wait, there was every chance Saint would ride straight into their trap.
The truth was our only weapon. “He didn’t ride out until an hour ago. Whatever happened before he got there has nothing to do with us.”
“Bullshit,” Rocco spat. “He’s made Crows disappear before. You all have.”
“With good fucking reason.” I moved on him again, backhanding him, snapping his head back. “And we’d have good reason this time too, but I’m telling you, it wasn’t us. It wasn’thim. Maybe you have more enemies than you know about. And you—” I pointed at Sambini. “You’re the fuckers who’ve been trying to put a bullet in my skull. You think I give a fuck that you’ve misplaced your prince?”
“You should.” Sambini’s expression darkened. “Business is what it is, but if you’ve hurt Gianni, my uncle will kill everyone you care about before he ends you.”
“He’s been trying to end me for months and now he needs a reason?”
“Hear what I’m saying, O’Brian. You don’t understand who you’re fighting.”
“So tell me.”
“Not until you give up the brother who took Gianni.”
Never. Even if Saint was guilty, I’d take that fucking bullet before I betrayed him. “It’s you that needs to listen. We haven’t touched your prince, and if I wanted Frank Crow dead, I’d have done it myself in front of his whole damn brotherhood. Now get the fuck off my property before your uncle really does have someone to avenge.”
Head spinning, I was done with the conversation. I strode away, leaving Nash to cut Sambini and the Crows loose, and stormed into the clubhouse, kicking out at a chair, booting it into the wall. “Fuck.”
My phone was already to my ear, calling Saint, but it didn’t even ring, cutting straight to an automated message telling me his phone was either off or he was caught in the dead zone between here and the scene of the fight.
The latter explanation made most sense and gave weight to what I’d told Sambini—that he wasn’t even there yet, let alone responsible for whatever the fuck had happened in their camp. But ominous dread built in my gut all the same, roiling in my belly and eating me alive. Going to war with the Sambinis over business was one thing, but if they truly believed we’d hurt the son of their top boy? Damn. We would lose brothers to this. I knew it like I knew it was going to piss it down all day long.
