His scream is higher this time, more animal than human as he slumps forward, blood pooling beneath his chair, spreading across the expensive carpet in a dark stain.
“That,” I say as I holster my weapon, “was for making me come here.”
Ian hands me my jacket, which I shrug on. I straighten the lapels, button the middle button, and smooth down the front.
“I hope you have enough money saved for medical bills,” I tell the sobbing man. “Because it looks like you’ll need it.”
We leave him there, bleeding and broken on his office floor. Colin unlocks the door while I check my cuffs for blood spatter. Clean. Professional.
In the elevator, I watch the numbers count down, feeling the familiar stillness that comes afterward. No remorse, no satisfaction—just the cold, empty space where other men might feel something.
“Call Sonny,” I tell Ian as we exit the building. “Tell him there’s a mess that needs cleaning on the fifteenth floor.”
Chapter 5
Raffaele
As soon as we’re outside, I make my way to my car and lean against it while lighting a cigar. The first draw fills my mouth with rich smoke that tastes like satisfaction. Another debt collected, another message sent.
In Cleveland, the Russo name doesn’t just command respect—it demands it. And those who forget that simple fact end up like Joe Carr, bleeding out on expensive carpet, counting the cost of their stupidity in pints of blood and shattered bone.
Ian and Colin have both followed me, standing nearby.
“Any update on the Brewer situation?” I ask, tapping ash onto the frozen asphalt.
Colin shifts his weight. “Derek and Wes have been watching the bakery and the woman. Said they made contact earlier tonight.”
My interest sharpens. “Contact? How?”
“Just surveillance,” Ian clarifies quickly. “Checking the location, confirming occupancy.”
I take another pull from my cigar, letting the smoke curl from my lips into the night air. “Call them and put it on speaker.”
Ian nods, pulling out his phone and dialing. The line rings twice before Derek’s gruff voice answers.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Ian. You’re on speaker with Mr. Russo.” Ian’s tone changes subtly, formality creeping in to signal to Derek that he’d better mind his manners.
There’s a pause, then Derek’s voice again, more respectful now. “Mr. Russo. What can I do for you?”
“I want a report on the Brewer stakeout,” I say simply, watching the smoke from my cigar dissipate in the frigid air.
“We scoped out the bakery like we were told,” Derek says. “Place was closed, and it didn’t look like anyone was home at first—”
“At first?” Colin cuts in.
Derek swallows audibly. “Yeah, man. The, uhh… the fat one—”
“Her name is Alina,” I interrupt, an icy edge in my voice that makes both Ian and Colin glance at me. “You’d be wise to use it.”
“Right, sorry,” Derek stammers. “Alina. She spotted us looking through the window. Came over and asked what we wanted.”
“And?” I demand. Fabric rustles and something’s being whispered on Derek’s end, too low for me to hear. “I feel like I should warn you. I’m not feeling very patient tonight.”
It takes a couple of seconds, but then Wes joins the conversation. “Yeah. Uhh, hi, boss. It’s me, Wes.” I roll my eyes but remain silent. Bumbling words like that don’t deserve tobe acknowledged. “Right, so she came home. She saw us. But we just said we were looking. And then we asked who lived upstairs.”
I exhale slowly, irritation building. “Idiota,” I mutter, the Italian slipping out before I can stop it.Idiot.“You let her see you?”
