Dom is a man of simple tastes.
A pair of perky breasts, an easy poker hand, and a job that pays for his misdeeds is all he needs to feel accomplished. To feel like he’s on top of the world. Because to him, that’s all there is in life.
Not me. I need order and purpose. I need to know where everything is and to work my way to the top. I’m told my ambition is a trait my father passed down to his only son. Wherever it came from, it’s made me into this man now.
I still don’t know why Nico chose me to take over when he retires. By all accounts, Dominic De Luca should’ve had first claim to the position. He’s older, born and raised in the States, and groomed for the family business from day one. He’s a true De Luca, not one adopted into the name. I had a steep learning curve when I came to America, body burnt and bandaged, unable to speak English with no idea for the life that awaited me here.
Yet, here I am. The second in line behind my uncle, giving my shithead cousin simple orders because he’s too thick to figure it out on his own.
Nico didn’t give him the reins, not because of favoritism, but because Dom is too idiotic to think. Others have to think for him. He can’t make a plan and follow through or know all the moving pieces without being handheld to task.
Not like I can.
“Where did you leave the product?” I ask, twirling the pen in my hands. I recline into my plush seat, enjoying the feel of leather and the silence of an empty club.
It’s midafternoon, well before we open for the night. These are the moments I treasure here, away from the pumping music where the men are busy, and I’m left to just be.
Dom shifts, rubbing his forehead. He’s a small man like his father, but thicker, beefier. He spends his days in the boxing ring when I don’t need him. “With the drivers.”
I rub the bridge of my nose tiredly. This conversation has been an exhausting, infuriating mess for close to an hour now.
We don’t have drivers. We have soldiers who take the product to the prearranged locations where it’s broken up and distributed to our men on the ground. It’s a task we don’t give to the new guys because they have to earn that trust. The rest of the product is given to those who smuggle it over state lines, another higher level because of the secrecy of the routes we use. Everything is coordinated and kept on a need-to-know basis.
After years in the business, Dom should know this. He should be able to remember the titles, the positions, the faces. He doesn’t, because he’s too simple.
“They’re not drivers, they’re runners.” I drop the pen soundly. I could be home right now instead of cleaning up this fucking mess. “Did you see them take it off the docks?”
“Yea, of course.” He shrugs, leaning back into the chair. “You think I’m some kind of stupid asshole, Lex? I know what my job is.”
Clearly not, if I have to interrogate him into making sure he does his fucking job.
A job that until recently was just something for him to do so Nico didn’t feel bad for keeping the leadership role from him. An easy job that paid too much with too little responsibility. All he had to do was watch the product come off the ship—checking it against the deliveries—and get it on the trucks.
Keep his mouth shut. Get the product off the ship. That’s it.
Now my product is missing, again, and my cousin was the last to see it go.
Months of this and I’m losing my mind trying to figure out what is happening.
“Fine. You watched it leave the docks. Did anything seem out of the ordinary to you?” At his confused look, I wave into the air. “Something suspicious. New people hanging around. Loud noises. Too much activity. Anything different than it should be.”
If he’s doing his job, he’d know the normal players. He would have noticed if there were any lurkers who didn’t belong.
At least, that’s the hope.
“No.” He throws his hands up in a way that reminds me of Zia Maria when her sauce boils over. “What is going on here? Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”
“No, no,” I reply quickly, smoothing my shirt down so as to avoid eye contact. “No, nothing happened. I’m making sure we’re still safe. I need to keep a tight lid on everything.” I sit up straighter, pulling my navy suit jacket down and tighten the gloves on my hands.
“With the marriage completed two weeks ago, Ace will be looking for us to uphold our end of the agreement soon. That includes bringing in her products and splitting the costs while sharing in the profits. I don’t need to remind you of her reputation and how everything needs to go according to plan so none of us are on the chopping block.”
Dom winces. “Fuck, yea, she’s batshit. Last guy that pissed her off? I heard she cut off all his fingers and shoved them down his throat before gutting him. Left him to die in an alley. It was gruesome.”
My body tenses as the images replay in my mind. Not much scares me in this life, but Ace O’Brien coming after me with a knife is high on the list.
If I can’t find who’s stealing my shit, I’ll not only have a very pissed off uncle, but I’ll have her after me. Being related by marriage now won’t save me from her wrath.
“And you’re making sure we’re good.” He winks, smirking. “Smart man. That O’Brien chick is psycho.”
Remembering the threat on Ace’s face when I sat down for my engagement dinner, I have to agree. I can’t let her know we’re still missing product. That we have a rat. That it’s taken me weeks to even track down which shipments are going missing, let alone when.
It’s a weakness. It shows I can’t run this family the way Nico intended.
I refuse to be seen as a weak heir.
Giving my cousin a small smile, I nod. “Just crossing Ts and dotting Is.”
“Good man.” He stands, pulling down his crumpled blue dress shirt and brushes dust from his wrinkled slacks. He’s always been messy in appearance. “I’m going to head out. There’s a race on the ponies I can’t miss. What me to place a bet for you?”
I dig out my wallet and throw a hundred-dollar bill onto the desk. “Put it on who you think will win.”
Gambling wasn’t my vice, but it was the only thing Dom and I bonded over as kids. Betting on the horses, became a way for us to forge a relationship.
When my English was lacking, body healing on the couch in Nico’s home, Dom used the horses as a way to teach me numbers, to speak English. He spent all day with me, having me recite words. I didn’t care about gambling, but he did, so therefore, I did.
Dom became my first friend.
From there, our relationship grew to quick schemes in the alleys to swindle tourists out of their wallets, to scoring bigger jobs. We made inside jokes while hiding from the cops, knowing we could rely on the other. I learned the streets under his tutelage, learned who the big players were, what we did in the shadows under the De Luca name.
He taught me to survive.
Throwing him money for a bet is the same as throwing a ball around for other cousins.
His smile is wide and amused, remembering the same childhood memories. “You got it.”
Dom leaves tapping the desk twice, a gesture of luck we’ve done since kids and we had to spilt up before getting tagged. I’m left alone to brood for all of four seconds before Tony knocks on the door.
My only thoughts have been on solving this crisis and getting back to my wife. A wife who has been in my home for two weeks and who I’ve yet to be alone with for longer than a few passing moments.
I take in his expression, eyes flickering over the earring in his brow, and the pressed black shirt and pants. Military precision because he’s ex-special forces. His entire body is rigid and that sets me off right away. Nothing gets under Tony’s skin. “What?”
“You’re needed out back.” Fuck. The entrance we bring in the products for distribution on the dance floor.
The same alley Sloane entered and fucked with my car. I’ve had to put it in a different spot so she didn’t get that idea again. My wife is creative but predictable in her rage.
Standing, I button my suit. “I swear to God, Tony, if it’s the cops after the fucking day I’ve had, I’ll blow your head off myself.”
My man snorts as we descend the secret stairs. “You’ll wish it was the cops.”
Exiting on to the side alley street, I notice the G-class car with tinted windows before I see the man leaning against it. My soldiers surround him, hands at their waists, deep into the alley where passersby won’t see us.
The man doesn’t care. He’s calm, confident with an air of a depravity surrounding him, one that promises death if pushed the right way.
I thought I wouldn’t have to see him, but apparently God likes to laugh at me. Killian Linwood glances up, flicking ash away from his cigarette as if he’s merely hanging with old friends. Completely unbothered by the weapons and trained men ready to snap his neck and that bothers me.
He’s too confident.
“Fuck, it’s you?” I throw a hand through my brown locks, pushing them back behind my ears. Of all the people to be standing here, I did not expect the hitman.
Tony’s right. The cops would have been a better option than this man.
“With that kind of welcome, I should stop by more often.”
“What do you want?” I gesture to a few of my men to back away. Not that the guns aren’t needed, but it’s stupid to level them on Killian. It’ll only piss him off, and I don’t have the energy to waste on him.
He once took on three armed guards in a tight space two years ago and walked away, alive. I don’t need to see what he’d do here.
“Product is due in at the end of next week.” His lifts soulless black eyes to me, standing from his relaxed position. He’s a few inches taller than me, but lean, with a cobra’s instinct to kill. My mind calculates how fast I can pull my gun before he strikes. “I’m here to make sure you’re ready for it.”
His tone has my jaw clenching and my hands twitch.
“Did Ace send you to do her dirty work?”
Killian smiles and it’s not friendly. Hell, it’s not even nice.
Awareness prickles the nape of my neck.
“No. Ace doesn’t know I’m here.” He glances to my men, pushing his way closer to me. He smells like mint and death and I barely stop the recoil. “In fact, it needs to stay that way. She doesn’t know I’m in the city.”
“Then why the fuck are you bothering me?” I throw my hands out wide. “In case you haven’t realized, Linwood, I don’t work for you. Hell, you don’t work for me. I have my own shit to handle, and your drop-ins are nothing but a hinderance, at best.”
He keeps that unsettling smile plastered on his face, but one eyebrow lifts. There’s a pause, and I can see the gears turning as he runs the calculations, dissecting my words without bothering to ask for context.
He’s a killer, but he’s smart. The worst kind.
“You’ve got a problem at the docks.”
How did he—
“Killian,” I say, narrowing my eyes but the fucker’s smile just grows, irritating me further. “Why would you say that?”
He takes another inhale from his cigarette, tossing the blazing butt at one of my men. The soldier jumps back before it touches him.
Now I really want a smoke.
“Call it a hunch.” He winks. “Regardless, you’ve got a problem. And you need to handle it before Ace’s shipment gets here. Especially if anything happens to her stuff?” He whistles. “That’ll be bad for the family dinners.”
“What do you want?” I growl because I’m done playing this sadist’s game. “You’re on my territory. I have every right to put a bullet into your head for disrespecting me.”
If I could do it without causing a scene, I would.
Killian Linwood is no friend.
“Here, let me make it easy for you.” He takes out a gun, matte black, shoving it into my hands. It’s a sturdy presence, foreign in size but not in weight.
Quickly, he turns the safety off, pushing the barrel into his forehead, intense look marring his face. He doesn’t blink, just stares as if I don’t hold his life in my hands. “Go ahead, heir. Pull the trigger.”
He’s taunting me to pull it. He knows damn well if I do, it could be war.
I don’t know what his connection to Ace is, but he was hired directly by her father. There’s a loyalty there I can’t quite make sense of. And if I end up killing the clan’s prized hitman, what does that do to our truce?
I dig the tip in just enough to see a flicker of discomfort cross his deadly eyes, before I drop it into his hands. “Just tell me what the fuck you want.”
He smiles that damn smirk again. “Don’t tell Ace I’m here on her behalf, and I won’t let it slip that you’ve got some… logistics to work out on your end.”
“Fine. Deal. Now, leave.”
The killer nods, laughing to himself as he returns to the car. A decidedly large car that seems made for someone else. Especially with the dead head moth hanging from the mirror.
“Oh, and heir?” I meet his black eyes, glaring at him even as my men move to surround me. “Handle your problems before the shipment date. There’s only so much family will protect you if Ace’s goods are stolen. I wouldn’t want to be on that receiving end.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Linwood.” I flip him off and don’t bother to wait until he drives off. My men will watch him. Now I’ve got a ticking clock over my head.
I need to figure out who’s tipping off our enemies about our incoming shipments and fast. Otherwise, Ace’s shipment will be taken, and I’ll be the next casualty in this turf war.
The need to expend this anxious energy sizzles under my skin. I’m stuck, without a way forward and that is not like me. I plan, I coordinate, I attack.
I have nothing right now. Nothing.
I need to do something, talk to someone. And there’s only one person I want to see. My wife.
