“Need a nap, old-timer?” Raoul’s staring at me with one black eyebrow raised.
I roll my eyes. “This better be good, or you’re going to pay for the wise-cracks, kid.”
The plain door to the club opens after two sharp knocks and then we’re moving into the inner sanctum. Prism has been the domain of New York’s Dons and their captains since the days the gangs first took over this neighborhood. The dark wood paneling and thick burgundy carpeting holds the scent of decades’ worth of cigars and whiskey.
“Your regular table, Mr. Caraldi?” A woman in a black pencil skirt and crisp white shirt has emerged from the shadows. Perfectly applied make-up and smoothly pinned up blonde hair… she looks like she could be someone’s executive assistant. Aside from the fact that her shirt is transparent, and her tits are bare beneath it. Raoul gives a nod and we’re guided to an alcove. I wait till she’s gone before turning to Raoul.
“So, what’s this all about?”
“I picked up some intel I thought you might want to know.” He signals to a waiter, who nods and returns a moment later with a pair of whiskey tumblers. Raoul has a knack for ramping up the suspense. He leans against the backrest, one arm along the seat behind him, taking a sip from his glass.
“And? Are you going to make me drag it out of you?”
“You could try.” He winks. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of all these nice people.”
“For fuck’s sakes, Raoul! Would you—”
“The guy I’ve been speaking to.” He takes another sip.Fucker.“Stumbled into something he shouldn’t have that implicates Mark Whitlock in something dirtier than we expected.”
Chapter 4
Mateo Ricci
My first instinct is to laugh out loud. It’s too fucking good to be true. But I know Raoul well enough to know he’s not bullshitting me.
“So, go on. Spit it out.” I don’t generally push for information, but this is too important. The booth we’re in is secluded and private. Nobody is paying any attention to us. And there isn’t a chance this club is wired for sound. There are some places that are sacred, and Prism ranks high among them. The one club in town where any mob boss can hang out with no fear of being taken out. This is no-man’s land. A place rivals set aside their differences, and grievances are not tolerated. Especially if they involve guns.
And, of course, Raoul has shares in the club – which is probably why I don’t have a bullet in my head right now. My previous “pig” status is no secret.
“One of the families I’ve been dealing with have had run-ins with Whitlock too,” he says. Since Ernesto Caraldi got locked up, Raoul’s stepped into his shoes. It wouldn’t have happened if Ernesto had his way – his bastard son isn’t blue-blooded enough for the seat of power. But Dario had no interest in the role, and while we were working on taking the old man out, Raoul was dealing behind the scenes to take control of his empire. All in all, everyone’s happy – aside from Ernesto. Suits me fine. I’d have killed him with my bare hands if I hadn’t been duty bound to get him behind bars.
“What kind of run-ins?” I ask.
“They can tell you themselves.” Raoul stands as a pair of men head up to our table. My senses are immediately on high alert, but Raoul greets them warmly and in moments, they’re seated with us.
Julio Bennetti and his brother Carlo have a stake in the New York crime business that comes from decades of dealings here. Would I ask either of them to take care of my kid, if I had one? Fuck no. But right now, I’m pretty sure they’re on the up and up.
And they’re pissed.
They describe in detail the ongoing battles they’ve been having keeping Mark Whitlock and his organization from muscling in on their turf. It’s gone beyond the clubs and hotels now. Whitlock’s redirecting drug shipments, getting on board the trafficking deals. Details I make a note of because quite frankly, it’s the sort of shit Reed needs to know about. Just because I’m tight with Raoul and Dario doesn’t mean I’m going to turn a blind eye to these fuckers.
“Anyhow, things kept getting worse. Seems the guy’s got really deep pockets. Buying out our shipments before they hit the ground. So, we put a boy inside Whitlock’s team,” Julio says. “Low-level like, you hear me? Not in the inner circle, but we don’t wanna take no chances with that anyhow. Just wanna get a feel for what the cunt’s been doing, ya know?”
Raoul nods. “So, tell Mateo what your guy picked up.”
“Whitlock offed the Carter kid. Did the deed himself.”
Everything in me stiffens.
“KyleCarter? Broderick Carter’s son?” Who else could it be? But I have to ask. Julio nods. “So, what was the deal. Some kind of college prank? Alcohol…drugs?”
Julio shakes his head. “Fucker whacked him. Paid off the cops to make out like it was a suicide.”
I feel my blood run cold. “You’re fucking kidding me.” I lean forward. “How did he find out. Was there proof?”
“Funny you should ask that,” Julio says. “Seems that ole Whitlock likes to keep trophies. Real psycho cunt.”
Carlo’s own chuckle is dark and deadly. “Fucking amateur. Nobody keeps fucking trophies from their kills. Who does he think he is? FuckingDexteror something?”
