“So that kinda shit doesn’t go down well in my world,” I reply. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Pfft!” he snorts, rolling his eyes and looking back down at the ring. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Actually, it is,” I tell him. “I demand retribution.” My voice is still calm, conversational.
“Retribution?” he laughs out. “Are you out of your motherfucking mind?”
“Do I look like I am?” I ask. Mario and several of my men are lingering nearby, although my muscle power is matched by McErlane’s band of thugs, who are glowering at us like a pack of rabid dogs.
“You look like a man who’s about to get his ass handed to him on a platter,” McErlane threatens. I give a light laugh.
“That so?” I say.
“Hell, yeah.” McErlane is still looming over me, not sitting, but it doesn’t intimidate me at all. Even seated, I know he can see I’m a force to be reckoned with.
“Then let’s settle this like men,” I say. He blinks a few times. I stare past his shoulder into the ring, and he flicks a look back in that direction. I lift an eyebrow and dip my chin just enough for him to see what I’m getting at.
“You want to fight me?” He rolls his shoulders as he says it, cracking his neck.
I shoot him a wolf grin. “Now you’re getting it, Tommy boy.”
I know he’s offended at the way I address him, but aside from that flicker in his eyes again, he doesn’t show it.
“I’ll kill you in there, kid.” Powerful arms bunch, and fists clench.
“You can try, old man.” I rise to my feet. I’m taller than him by a head, but he’s broad; a street brawler. I can sense it in his stance.
As I move, his men step forward, but he raises a hand to stop them.
“And just why would I be interested in kicking your bony ass, kid?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to take over your import business,” I say smoothly.
“What the fuck?” he snarls. “You think you can make threats like that?”
“It’s not a threat, Tommy. I spent the past few hours digging around in your backyard. Amazing what a man can find if he greases the right palms. If you don’t want to take this to the octagon, I’ll make a call that’ll shut you down.”
“Bullshit!” he spits.
“Wanna test me?” I reach for my phone. I’m not bluffing. Between Mario and I, we uncovered an entire rats’ nest of illegal product lines that McErlane has cleverly hidden through a network of supposedly legitimate import/export companies. Masquerading as exotic interior design specialists, it didn’t take long to figure out the crates were packed with heroin. Though I have to give ole Tommy credit for ingenuity.
“You…you…” he starts to bluster. “You’re bluffing!”
“Am I, Tommy boy?” I say. “I got a penthouse downtown that would look great decked out in Indonesian teak. Whaddya say? Care to put it to the test? We both know you’re a man who likes a bet. In fact, I hear tell you’ve blown a small fortune on fights just like these. Why not get some real skin in the game?”
“You’re gonna be sorry, ya cunt!” he snarls.
I shrug. “You can back out if you’re afraid,” I taunt. “Though I can go easy on you if you like. These are new sneakers. I don’t want blood on ‘em.”
“Blood’s gonna be the least of your worries,boy!” he growls at me, yanking at his shirt with such force that buttons fly when he begins to remove it. “I’m gonna rip out your liver and wipe the fucking concrete with it!”
I give a light chuckle as I pull my snug t-shirt over my head and roll my shoulders.
“Game on, old man!”
Chapter 8
Emma Caraldi
