He’s the Hawkes’ single best resource.
“I don’t think there’s any harm in contacting him. He’s already shown up at The Grind, already made his presence known very intentionally. He did that for a reason, when he could have easily snuck back into town and remained in hiding.”
Saint scans the room. “Who should make the call?”
Savage pulls out his phone. “I will. And I’ll do the talking.”
Everyone nods their agreement, no one willing to question his authority here as he dials the number.
Bishop circles back to her place on the wall near the door, looking as tense as I’ve ever seen her, and when her eyes cut over to me, I mouth “relax” to her.
All that does is earn me an annoyed scowl from her.
And maybe I shouldn’t be doing anything that might antagonize her when she could get me thrown out of this room.
The fact that they even let me in here for this phone call says how much headway I’ve made in earning their trust.
They want my input. Maybe not on strategy, but at the very least, on the security issues. And something tells me there will only be more of them as we move forward.
Everyone seems to hold their collective breaths.
It only rings twice before Satriano answers. “Savage Hawke. Did you call to welcome me home?”
Savage glares at the phone, as if Satriano can somehow feel his animosity if he tries hard enough to project it. “Something like that. I’m calling because there was an incident at The Grind last night.”
“Oh no. Is everyone all right?”
In the slightly accented English, the man’s concern almost sounds genuine.
Almost.
“Thankfully, yes. No one was injured. But we have video of someone skulking around the building checking doors and otherwise behaving suspiciously. The security cameras there and around other buildings caught most of it. We weren’t able to get an image of the person’s face, though. I was hoping you might have some information for us about this.”
A momentary pause through the line has everyone leaning forward slightly, anticipating what he will say. “Why would I know anything about it?”
Savage somehow maintains his composure despite Satriano’s faux innocent game. “Perhaps it was one of your men. You were just there recently…”
Satriano issues a low, dark chuckle. “I was there for my cappuccino. And to say hello to my favorite family. The last thing I would want to do is cause harm to you or anyone there. Where would I get my morning coffee now that I’m back in town?”
“I don’t care where the fuck you get it, just get it somewhere else.” Apparently Savage is done playing nice. His normally warm blue eyes have gone icy cold. “Are you saying it wasn’t your men?”
“That is what I’m saying, Mr. Hawke.”
“Then who the hell was it?”
Savage exchanges a confused look with everyone in the room as we all wait for Satriano’s response.
“I don’t know why you think I would know that.”
“Maybe because one of your men just got shot, and Pope had to save his life at the clinic? Your men ending up with bullet holes typically means you’re stirring up shit again, and I don’t know how or why we would be pulled into that, but I have to ask if this is at all connected.”
Satriano releases a long sigh. “My return to New Orleans does not come without complications.”
That makes everyone sit up straighter and those standing inch closer to the phone laid out on the desk.
Complications.
Something tells me that word from a man like Damiano Satriano means something completely different than it does to the rest of us.
