“No,” she interrupts and presses her lips together. “I don’t think I want to know. But it’snotthe club.”
“It’s business,” Rome replies before I can.
“Enjoy your friends, sweetheart.” I kiss her forehead and then join the others, headed to the elevator.
“Your woman breaks the heart I don’t even have,” Mateo says, shaking his head.
“She’s doing much better, but the club is a trigger,” I reply, and Rome growls deep in his throat.
“I fucking hate that,” he says.
“I’m going to come up with a way to change her perspective,” I tell him. “She won’t be afraid of it forever.”
“How’s Elliott doing?” Mateo asks.
“He hasn’t been in my casino,” Carson says.
“He’s doing well.” Frankly, I’m surprised by the improvement my son has made. I’m proud of him. “If he keeps his shit together for a few more months, I’ll bring him in as a foot soldier. What’s going on in the cell, Rome?”
“Do we get to kill someone?” Carson asks, speaking for the first time. I can tell that he’s in one of his moods. If he’s not joking and flirting with our girls, that means his dark side is itching to come out. And that’s always bad news for someone and their will to live.
“Potentially,” Rome says as we file out of the elevator and walk to the door at the end of the hall. Rome’s men step out of the way, and we file inside the cell.
“Mendoza,” Mateo says in surprise. “Looks like wedoget to kill someone, brother.”
Carson smiles.
It’s not a happy smile.
It’s aI’m going to pull his lungs out of his throatsmile.
Correction: It’s a happy smile for Carson.
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.” Mendoza looks clean and relaxed, as if he were watching Netflix in the comfort of his own living room. There’s no blood. He’s lounging in a metal chair, one leg crossed over the other, checking his manicure.
I glance at Rome and lift my eyebrow.
Rome shrugs.
“You were told to stay out of our city,” Rome tells the head of the cartel. “And that if you ever did business here again, you wouldn’t leave alive.”
“I wasn’t doing business,” the man says calmly. “I was simply gambling.”
“At the Four Leaf,” Luke says. “Did you forget that we’re allies with the Irish, you smug cunt?”
“No, you’re not,” Mendoza says, his bravado starting to slip.
“I guess Mendoza says who we are and aren’t friends with, boys.” Mateo pushes his hands in his pockets and rolls back on his heels. “Maybe we should have him on staff. He could be the secretary, so we’re sure to remember who’s who. Wait, that won’t work. I like to fuck secretaries, and this piece of shit definitely isn’t my type.”
“Why are you in Vegas,” Rome asks as he strides calmly to the tool bench and picks up a throwing star.
Rome has the best fucking accuracy of any of us, no matter the weapon. Sniper rifles, knives, handguns—you name it, and he’ll hit the bull’s-eye.
“None of your business,” Mendoza says.
Rome smirks and throws the star, hitting Mendoza in the upper thigh, right by his dick.
“Good shot,” I say with a nod as Mendoza screams.
