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“I know who my enemies are, counselor,” he growls quietly. “Why the fuck do you think I spared the little bitch who tried to cut my throat after I turned his own blade on him?” He sneers. “Your gramps is cheap, and he hires dumb motherfuckers who’ll give up whoever hired them once they’re in trouble themselves.”
Holy fuck. I stare at Roberto, my blurry hangover and fighting pains receding as my brain begins to crank up to high gear.
“You’re telling me this man literally told you that Charles Black hired him to fucking kill you?” I mutter coldly, my pulse racing.
“Does the Pope wear a big-ass hat and work Sundays, counselor?”
“You’d testify to this?”
“Last night?” He shakes his head. “No, because I ain’t a snitch…” He smirks. “Well, unless Uncle Sam is paying me to be one. Also, I settle my own debts…plus, the man was watching over my family. But after this morning?”
I raise a bewildered brow. “What the hell happened this morning?”
Roberto’s face turns a deadly shade of red. “Someone tried to take out my mom, my sister, and her kids. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Holy shit.
“I haven’t heard about this at all,” I snarl, yanking out my cell phone.
“That’s cause the few guys I’ve got left stopped it and took my family somewhere safe—somewhere your prick grandfather can’t touch ’em. The little bitches they caught trying to ambush my family?” His lips curl dangerously. “They were some of Charles’ go-to thugs. My guys recognized them.”
Fuck me sideways.
I lean back from the table between us, my brain going a million miles an hour as I try and make sense of the facts and the timeline.
Charles and his buddy Roberto have a falling out. Roberto’s got some bad guys after him now, plus the feds are looking to put him away for murder and racketeering. So my enterprising shit-stain of a grandfather cuts him a deal: pay back what he owes, and Charles gets his grandsons—Gabriel and yours truly—to do what we do best and get Roberto off on all charges, or at the least get a reduced sentence. And in return Charles will protect Roberto’s family in the interim.
But aside from Charles being an asshole, why the hell would he go back on that deal? And why the hell is he trying to kill the very man he wants us to get out of jail?
Shit.
Abruptly, it clicks.
Charles has never, ever forgiven a debt, or a fuck up, or being crossed. Not once. I mean hell, he stopped sending my siblings and I fucking Christmas presents because of our dad defying him. Why the hell would he forgive Roberto for a deal that went bad that cost him, Charles, money?
He wouldn’t.
He wants us to fail. It’s why he’s been slowly stacking the board against us, including voting in his own wife, Caroline. Then when we don’t get Roberto out of prison time, because Charles has him killed while awaiting trial, our grandfather can sway the board to boot us from our own firm, citing gross incompetence.
Or more likely, to own us.
It first came up years ago, when we were setting up the firm that would become Crown and Black. Charles bullied his way in, offering money, connections to city licensing boards, access to clients, and so on. In return, we’d act as his own personal weaponized legal team, that he could use as a bargaining chip with his shady buddies. As in, “Do business with Charles Black, and you get access to his hotshot grandsons and their little friend who all happen to be killer lawyers”.
We ended up bargaining him down to just a seat on the board. But again, Charles never forgets shit. And now this is his pay: torpedo the Roberto Chinellato case, and thereby own us.
Roberto smiles coldly as the realization spreads across my face.
“You connected those dots yet, counselor?”
“You could say that,” I growl. My brows knit. “Mr. Chinellato, can you prove any of this?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I can prove it. I just need to stay alive to do it.”
I nod. “Protective custody is a start?—”
“But not enough. You need to get me out of here, counselor,” he growls. “I know too much about too many players.”
“I can protect you from my grandfather and his people.”
