Page 63

Chapter

Thirty-Five

SAL

We drive to the airport quickly. “No one. No one tells me what to do except you. Understood?”

She squeezes my hand and lets me cool off. I won’t sacrifice my sister for Mark. Enzo dies now, and it’s best if there are no reports to file. Mark better be around if I need him but the red tape involved in getting to Enzo is not my fucking style.

“So, what’s my new passport name?” I ordered it for her the moment I found that woman in NOLA, just in case.

“Fiona Salvatore.” I park and ditch this Honda at arrivals then toss Ang’s Camry keys in the garbage can on the way inside. I leave the flashers on and walk away. I grab my duffle with our meager clothes. I swing it over my shoulder and grab her hand as we head into the airport.

“And where exactly is Fiona traveling to today?” I give her a sigh and a smile.

“This isn’t the way I wanted to take you but how does Italy sound?” She jumps up and down and her tits are going wild. She can’t wear a bra with the bruises and now the airport is getting a free show. I pull her to me. “They’re a little wild and not for the public. Got me?”

She shakes her head and then says, “Can we at least get some real gelato in between our busy schedule of tracking, hunting and killing another human?”

“He’s an animal. But sure, we have time for a scoop of pistachio.”

“It will be like an assassination vacation,” she says brightly.

“If that helps you.”

“It does. I love you. Thank you for taking me with you.”

She skips through security. It’s cute as hell. I tell her let’s go kill someone, and she’s excited about the location where the execution is happening.

My body is too fucking big for these damn seats. I lift the armrest and pull her to me. She settles exactly where she belongs at my side. “You’ve been awful quiet, especially for you.”

“I was thinking,” she says.

“About what, mi amore?”

“My empire.”

“Yours?”

She smiles and says, “I understand how the Prohibition tunnels your family controlled made money. Booze, but you told me they were the basis of all the LA operations. In the modern age, how do the tunnels translate to money?”

“Assessing your operations there, Queen?”

“Something like that. Just trying to understand the pieces.”

“My grandfather and his father, Salvatore, brought the family business to LA after being frustrated in New York. They found their way to being the exclusive importer of illegal booze to the City of Angels. LA’s speakeasies were different from the swank speakeasies of Manhattan and some of Chicago’s. They were the tunnels your asking about. They were under downtown Los Angeles with staircases that wound down from storefronts. And this is where your holdings come into play- they were the delivery routes of regular joe items that ran directly to…” I point to her.

“The ports!” I grin at her and affirm her answer.

“That’s how we got them in the first place. Running booze, whores, dope, guns, you name it. But now we just own the docks and don’t run the rest of that shit.”

She gasps. “They are sex workers, not whores.”

“Ok. But you know, you’re head of the family now. Those are your sex worker legacies.”

“Do I still own sex workers?”

“No. We’re out on that.”