Rayden leaned on the counter, bringing his face close to mine. “Told you, I knew my shit.” He lifted a brow as though taunting me. Dario stepped forward and attempted to have Rayden back away from me. I stopped him with a raised hand.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I said to Rayden.
“Bring it on,” came the brazen reply.
Years ago, I’d ordered a Jasmine cocktail at Remo’s insistence. It was his twenty-first birthday and I’d humored him, not expecting to like the drink. I did. Sadly, no one had come close to replicating the cocktail. There’d been variations but never that specific taste. “Jasmine.”
“You’re a Jasmine drinker?” I could hear the surprise in his voice.
“No. Just want to see if you know your shit.” This time I gave him a hint of a smile. The fucker scoffed as he turned away. I hid my grin behind my glass, relishing the spicy taste of the Negroni. Rayden walked over to Zena, asked her something to which she pointed at the kitchen just off to the side of the bar. Wondering what he was up to, I watched as he made his way there then reached inside my jacket pocket for my ringing phone.
“Remo.”
“Are you coming down?” My brother sounded out of breath.
“Having fun?” I mocked.
He chuckled like the sick bastard he was. “How can you tell?”
“You sound like you’ve just run a marathon which means you’ve worked him solid.” I shook my head imagining Remo’s wicked smile. “Did he give you anything?”
“Fuck, Renz. That bastard is one tough motherfucker.”
I looked up as Rayden returned to his station and carried on preparing the drink. “Nothing then?”
“Nope. Your turn.”
“I’ll see you in a minute. Get yourself a drink.”
I disconnected the call as Rayden placed the glass in front of me. With his fingers remaining on the stem, he leaned closer. “If this drink tastes good, will you promise not to fire Zena?”
Fuck, the boy had balls. Still, I only negotiated on my terms. My gaze locked with his, I reached for the glass. “And if it doesn’t?”
Instead of answering, he straightened. I was disappointed with his lack of fight when he leaned forward again as I brought the glass to my lips.
“Name your price,” he muttered.
Surprised, I lowered the glass. “You sure about that, boy?” He nodded, still maintaining eye contact. I took a drink. It wasn’t the same as what I’d tasted then, it was much fucking better. Rising, I winked at him and walked away with the drink in my hand.
“Is it good?” Dario asked as we stepped into the elevator. I grinned and he chuckled. “You could’ve said something.”
“And let him know I like him?”
“You mean the drink?” At my frown he added, “you said you liked him.”
My laugh low, I downed the drink. Not much impressed me in my line of work but that green-eyed boy stirred something in me I couldn’t really grasp. Perhaps he reminded me of myself at that age. Inexperienced with matters of the heart but so full of arrogance like I owned the fucking world. But that was thirteen years ago, a lifetime. Times had changed. Arrogance was free for all now and while it led to their death for some, others learned to thrive. Like me. Now, I didn’t have to think I owned the world. I did.
Five minutes later, I headed for the basement after depositing my jacket in the office. Unclipping the cufflinks on my shirt, I slipped them into my pants pocket and rolled up the sleeves in neat, precise folds to my elbows. I stared down at the mass that resembled more a bloodied pulp than a face. The man’s eyes were so swollen, I doubted he could see. Blood drooled down his chin, oozing from puffy lips that looked like they’d been stung by one too many bees. His short hair, slick with blood and sweat, lay plastered to his scalp and his ears. Gripping his chin, I yanked his head upward.
“Fuck, Remo, you still expect him to talk.” I glanced at my brother over my shoulder. Hair in disarray, white shirt splattered with large red spots with one tail hanging out his pants, he looked like he was ready for a Halloween party.
“You just need him to give you a name, not recite the fucking bible.” He shrugged.
Shaking my head, I released my hold and the man’s head dropped, his chin hitting his chest with a dull moan. I didn’t have to get my hands dirty to know the fucker wasn’t going to give me the answers I sought. The knowledge, however, didn’t stop the fury rising through my blood, heating it to a level that would likely singe anyone who dared to touch me right now. Jaw clamped, I balled my fists, letting the anger debase my joy from a few moments ago. That person wasn’t me. I didn’t laugh and accede to the whims of green-eyed girls and boys. No. I was Lorenzo fucking Rossi. I killed. I maimed. I tortured. In my world I was the hunter. I preyed on the innocence Rayden and Zena represented. Forcing their effect on me from my mind, I focused on the reason I was down here, the reason I was about to tear the man in front of me from limb to limb until he gave me what I wanted.
Arabella’s killer.
He knew and while he looked done for, I wasn’t. “Vincent!” I barked. Moving, he lifted his head slightly. “Wake the fuck up!” I snarled. This time, his head shot up. He tried to focus his swollen eyes on me. I glared at the man. Vincent Sisco. The cocky bastard didn’t look so tough now. Hell, he was bigger than Remo but that hadn’t stopped my brother from nailing the son of a bitch to the floor with a staggering punch to the balls. I’d seen the replay of the takedown. Remo had insisted on having it recorded for my pleasure apparently. But I knew better. There’d be hell to pay if the D’Angelo family found out I had their head of security lounging in my club basement on the verge of death. “I want a fucking name.”
