Page 23 of Ripple Effect: Ep. 1

I have to do this for Charlie. I need my dog back.

No matter what I’m doing it for, in the end, I’ll be dead if I don’t.

8

Ripley

I stare at the wall, sat in a leather chair across from Dorian Bertrand, who holds his finger up as he answers his cellphone.

“Yes. Yes. Report back to me,” he says and clicks the phone off. Rubbing a hand down his face, he lets out a huff of frustration.

“Spoiled fucking bastard. You know what I hate most about this shit? Fucking politics. Back in the old days? You kill my brother, I kill your brother. Boom. Done. We’re even. Now, you kill my brother, I get your sister, we have kids who grow up and marry spoiled little bastards to keep up this stupid fucking diplomatic façade.”

I sneer at that. “Welcome to the family.”

“Rene’s pissed at the mess you left of Frank Caruso. Nothing but a whiny little prick, and if not for him being the spawn of my father’s whoring sister, I’d have you take him out back and turn him into dog’s meat.”

“Say the word and it’s done.”

“Rene tells me you got the information out of Matteo about who ordered the hit. I’m going to trust your reasons for going after Caruso were warranted.”

“They were. Thought I could get the asshole to tell me who carried out Adrian’s murder.”

“You are dedicated, Rip. But I have no doubt it was Marchetti. And I want you to hit him where it hurts. But first, I want you to take out Alasdair. There are not enough people who can suffer for the loss I feel for my nephew. I recognize he’s a big player, so I’m offering triple the pay.”

Fuck. Not Alasdair.

Alasdair MacGregor, better known as the Dirty Scot for his ruthless kills, is Marchetti’s consigliere and closest advisor. He’s also something of a legend, having been around for so long. Guy must be pushing sixty and probably had nothing to do with Adrian’s murder. But I don’t ask questions.

“I’m on it.”

“Lucien appreciated your loyalty, as do I.” Dorian’s appreciation means shit to me, and I’m not sure why the hell he speaks about his brother in past tense when the guy is still kicking. Comatose, but breathing, last I checked.

I’m here to finish the job I started a few months back and get out.

“I know you won’t fail me. You never do.”

“I remain loyal to those who’ve shown me loyalty.”

“And God forbid I ever make your shitlist.” He snorts a laugh. From the drawer beside him, he pulls a box of cigars and I decline when he offers one to me. “My brother has good taste in cigars. Always admired that about him.” He clips the end of his and lights it. “Just out of curiosity, did Frank happen to give any names?”

“Frank swears it wasn’t Marchetti. Swore, I should say. Said he’d know if someone had been paid to kill Adrian.”

“Think he’s telling the truth?”

“Had his intestines in my hand at the time, so I’m guessing, yes.”

“And Enzo swears it is Marchetti.” If there’s one brother I hate more than the others, it’s Enzo. I’d give anything to hear the sound of that bastard’s gullet being ripped out of his neck. He can be more sadistic than I am when it comes to killing, but hasn’t been put on a hit simply because he’s sloppy and far too unpredictable. A hot head. “He’s on a rampage to prove it, and the unfortunate nature of him being my youngest brother, is I have to deal with his bullshit.”

“I suppose it’s possible Marchetti could’ve gone rogue on this one. Paid someone without Frank’s knowing and kept it low key.”

“It’s possible. Don’t spend too much time investigating. These things are better handled when you strike first and ask questions later. Frank’s disappearance is going to rouse some suspicion, but knocking out Alasdair will leave Marchetti vulnerable, should he decide to exact revenge for his men.”

“Lou cleaned it up nice, from what I was told. Not a trace of him left.”

“I heard you did a number on him. Lou said his bones had begun to liquefy by the time he got there.” Dorian puffs his cigar and shakes his head. “Your mind must be a dark and hellish place, Rip.”

“My mind is probably the only place I fear.” Tipping my head, I let out a mirthless chuckle and rest my foot against the top of my thigh.