That still pisses me off.
Members of that cartel bombed Maverick’s mansion. Killed members of his family. And because explosions draw attention, rumors spread. Names followed. Someone dug into him and figured out exactly who he was.
It’s not like he was hiding. His property is in his name. A simple search would’ve done it.
But that’s not the point.
“People know you’re connected to the Shadows now,” Bones says. “If it turns out these guns are fake.”
“They are,” Skip cuts in. “Well, not fake. But cheap. Don’t even need the deeper tests. The metal on this one is shit.”
He sets it aside.
“But not all of them,” he continues. “I’m guessing about half.”
Maverick exhales slowly. “So, your supplier is either cutting corners to save money…”
“Or sending faulty guns on purpose,” I finish, “hoping something goes wrong, and the Italians turn on us.”
“Fuck,” Spike mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.
Yeah.
That’s exactly the kind of move that starts wars.
And someone out there clearly wants one between the Iron Shadows and the fucking Italian mafia.
“How does your supplier even know who you’re selling to?” Maverick asks. “If this is an attempt to pit us against each other, how would they know these guns were meant for me?”
“Well, technically,” Skip says, “we’re selling to an Italian mafia outfit based out of New York. Didn’t know it was your group, by the way. Sneaky. Anyway, your main guy over there is who I’ve been dealing with, right?”
“Our supplier this round is also out of New York,” Bones adds. “Could be rumors got around that a local organized crime group was looking to buy clean guns and got pointed in our direction.”
“For what purpose?” Skip asks, tossing another faulty gun onto the growing pile. “What does anyone gain by setting us against the Italians?”
“Enough theory,” Spike sighs. “Let’s get some fucking facts.”
“I’ll get my New York man on a plane,” Maverick says. “He’ll be here within six hours. We’ll meet at the compound.”
“You trust him?” I ask.
“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Maverick smiles. “He’s my twin.”
Skip’s head snaps up. “There are two of you?”
He squints. “Please tell me he doesn’t play for my team, too.”
“No,” Maverick laughs. “Stefano prefers only women.”
“I thought Luca was your right-hand man,” I say.
“He is,” Maverick replies. “One of six. Luca runs my Palm Springs operations when I’m not around. Stefano handles New York. I have an empire…I can’t exactly run it alone.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Skip mutters, tossing another gun aside. “No need to flex. We already know you’re awesome.”
“You just want to be an underling,” Bones says dryly.
“So fucking badly,” Skip whines.
