. . .
Remo– 36 years old
“Boss?”
Lying on my stomach, I opened my eyes to find Gian crouched beside my bed, staring at me like he’d just witnessed a spectacle.
“What the fuck do you want?” I grunted, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“It’s almost six p.m. and you wanted–”
My head snapped up. “PM?” He nodded and I shot upright, my gaze jerking to the bedside clock. “How the fuck…”
“You still want to visit The Den?”
Cursing, I slid my legs off the bed. “Take Duke for a walk while I shower,” I referred to my blueish grey XXL American Bully.
“Fuck, boss, that dog hates me,” Gian muttered, straightening.
“He just wants a taste of your flesh.” I shrugged. “Give him some.”
Eyes wide, his mouth mumbling incoherent shit, he walked toward Duke. “Let’s go, big boy.”
I didn’t expect the animal to heed his command and grinned when Gian cursed. “Duke, go,” I instructed without looking at him.
I could hear the roll of his eyes in his snort. My chuckle soft, I looked at him and winked. Like me, my pet was an arrogant ass. His movement princely, he rose, turned and walked out, the click of his nails against the tiles almost a fuck you to Gian who hurried after him.
Mind still confused by how I’d slept through the day, I cracked the tendons in my neck. Usually, my sleep was haunted by nightmares, and I’d wake tired or irritable. Last night though, my nightmare had morphed into a dream, one so wet I was sure that tight feeling on the skin of my dick was crusted cum.
About to rise, my gaze fell to the stem of purple flowers on my nightstand. This wasn’t the first time they seemed to make it into my bedroom without my knowledge and worse, Duke never warned me of its source. Whoever they were, my dog knew them and that unsettled me.
Slowly shaking my head to clear the mess up there, I ignored the floret, stood, and headed for the bathroom. There, I glanced at myself in the large wall to wall mirror, noticing the stained crotch on my light grey satin pajamas, confirming my suspicion.
“The fuck?” Dragging my hands through my hair, I wasn’t sure if I was irritated or amused. The last time that happened I was a teenager.
Under the sharp spray, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the hot water sting my scalp. A flash of red eyes in an invisible face, shot my lids up. Frowning, I glanced around the bathroom, expecting to find those eyes on me.
“You’re losing your shit, asshole.” My self-reproach shifted my brain back into indifference.
Freshly showered with a green smoothie running through my well-rested body, I glanced out my window as Gian drove.
New York was once a highly contested territory where plenty mafia families killed each other to rule this city. Until the birth of the roundtable where each mafia head was given a city or state he wanted, never demanded.
Headed by Vincenzo Salvatore, a ruthless kingpin who reigned over half the fucking world and a man no one dared to challenge, the roundtable brokered peace among the families. I never got the full story of how Lorenzo knew him yet one thing was certain, they had each other’s back and probably why when my brother, as a young capo then, asked for New York against the wishes of experienced dons, there was no argument.
And it flourished under him.
With three major airports, a bustling port and a national land transportation hub into various States, it was a smugglers paradise and a Rossi domain very few tried to fuck over until now.
Thirty-five minutes later, Gian guided the SUV into a parking lot at the back of The Den, an underground club for members of mafia families. Despite the long sleep, the rest hadn’t tampered down my itch to kill. Blood lust had become my yoga practice, it worked well with my gym routine. Yesterday, that hadn’t been appeased.
Because of Lorenzo’s clear warning, both Mario and Figo escaped my wrath which left me inwardly bent on chaos and outwardly, a motherfucking saint even a priest would trust. An achievement that took years in the making.
Stuffing my phone into my pants pocket, I climbed out, holstered my gun, buttoned my suit jacket and grabbedVeritàfrom the trunk. I glanced at the decrepit building, scoffing. If I were into descriptions, I’d say it spoke well to the sinister dealings beneath.
“Are we going to kill some motherfuckers, boss?” My trigger-happy right-hand man watched me conceal my trusted weapon.
At first glance, Gian was easy to underestimate. With naïve good boy looks and an ever-ready smile, he was often mistaken for one of the young soldiers still learning the ropes. Since he began working for me though, he’d upped his game, stayed on his toes and at times, I had to curb his enthusiasm to off fuckers before we had a chance to get the information we needed. Not necessarily a bad thing given that had been my MO all my life but sometimes we needed to crisp the smaller fish into order to deep fry the big ones.
