“Please do not try and tell me we’re talking about the Russo family.”
He cringed as soon as I made the statement. “Maybe?”
“Fuck.” A few years before, the Russo Cosa Nostra family had been another player in a dangerous game created by the Barishnikoff Bratva. After my father had been murdered, my brother Alexander, now the Don of the family, had been arrested for a false but damning retaliation kill, the murder of the Italian rival’s firstborn son. The ruse had almost destroyed two powerful crime syndicates.
Once the Prince family had discovered the truth, in that the Russians had been behind the entire scheme and both murders, we’d formed an alliance with the Russos. It was not a decision I enjoyed, yet one I was required to follow. We’d provided the Italians with both the truth and protection, in turn they’d handed us control of a significant portion of their businesses. To date, my brother Sinclair handled a percentage of their operations. Although, with the Russo patriarch’s death from cancer, the second oldest son had returned to the fold, slowly reacquiring more of his family’s power.
Carmine Russo was unusual in that up until his father’s death, he’d wanted nothing to do with the family’s crime regime. I’d had few dealings with the man but was honestly surprised he would decide to destroy the alliance.
Although stranger things had occurred. With the Russians mostly out of the picture, the Italians had little to fear.
Leaning back in the chair, I swiveled it back and forth. The Prince family and our entire operation had seen an extended period of down time, peace and quiet in the wild world of New Orleans. Most family members would like to keep it that way. I wasn’t certain if I’d mind a little rough and tumble activity, although not with a crime syndicate we’d sworn an alliance with.
That would be bad business all the way around.
Oddly enough, I was considered the cleanup man, while not in the traditional sense, as we had teams of forensics experts still on staff ready and capable of erasing any issue given to them. I erased the headaches. Backstabbing small time enemies, traitorous rats, whiny corporate rivals, employee issues, and even teaching the new police officers about how damaging we could be to their careers.
All tedious bullshit.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Talk further with the informants and I want concrete information. The last thing we can do is to go off halfcocked.”
“I thought you might be concerned.” Donatello lifted his eyebrows.
“Yeah. This will piss off Alexander and Sinclair.” I oversaw keeping the peace, checking on every aspect of our business. Sometimes done with the stroke of a pen, other times with my fist. I’d just returned from a business trip to Miami in place of my brother, the Don, given his wife’s difficult pregnancy.
“Will do, boss man. What if it’s the truth?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” My exhale was heavy.
“Are you alright?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you seem moodier than usual.”
“Maybe I’m just bored. Have you ever thought of that?” However, the news would certainly keep me onto my toes.
“Maybe a woman would help.”
Now I laughed with my whole sense of amusement. “A woman is definitely not what I need. Too many complications. Too many issues that I’m not interested in grappling with.”
“When you put it that way, hell, I don’t need to get my willy wet.”
“What are you, seventeen?”
“Very funny. I’m just suggesting you need to take care of things a bit.”
We’d been friends for years, which afforded him certain privileges that no one else had. “Maybe at some point you can tell me what the hell that means.”
Sensing another presence, I tensed.
“I have a favor to ask,” the woman practically purred.
Hearing my sister’s voice, the purposeful Southern drawl she used when trying and usually successfully getting her way, I opened a single eye.
The smile on Emmeline’s face was downright evil. As she came closer, I couldn’t help but notice Donatello was keeping a watchful eye on her every move.
I threw him a cautionary look, which prompted his face to turn red. I’d never allow him to live it down.
