“You need to update this piece of shit. Your laptops are more valuable than the junk you’re carting them around in.”
Smith makes a ‘duh’ face while Rocco gives reason for his lack of class. “That’s the idea, D. Who’d suspect a rusty van would be holding half a million dollars’ worth of equipment?”
Since he has a point, I quit whining before clambering out of the driver’s seat. It’s early, but our visit to a maximum-security prison hasn’t come without notice. Three red dots highlight my chest a mere second before I’m blinded by a megawatt spotlight.
I don’t know whether to be amused or pissed when the voice of Warden Mattue crackles over the speakers of the establishment we’re visiting long before visiting hours commence. I’m grateful he requested for the guards to lower their weapons, but the superiority in his tone is too haughty for my liking.
Anyone would think he’s running the show around here. I know that’s far from the truth. I’ve had a hold of things for years, and my power will only get stronger now I have Rico on-side. We’ll never be classified as friends, but as long as our agreement continues serving both our objectives, it will continue without bloodshed.
I stop smirking like a pompous prick when a man who walks like he has a stick shoved up his ass greets me with a wonky smile. His lopsided grin reminds me of the one Brandon gave me when he arrived at my office on precisely day five of my threat. The information he shared about Isabelle wasn’t anything Smith hadn’t already unearthed, but it felt good knowing I could tell Brandon to jump, and he’d ask how high.
“Dimitri, good morning,” stutters Warden Mattue. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Ignoring the hand he’s holding out, I slant my head and arch a brow. “Do I need a reason to visit?”
He gives it his best shot to hide the quiver my tone caused his thighs. His efforts are pointless. I can smell his fear, much less taste it. “No, not at all. We’re pleased to have you.”
When he waves his hand across his body, inviting us in, I drift my eyes to Smith.
“One sec…” While chewing on the corner of his lower lip, he taps on a silicon keyboard stuck to the hood of his old van. In quicker than I can snap my fingers, the spotlight Rocco is shielding his eyes from with his forearm switches off, once again shrouding the parking lot into darkness. “Okay, you’re good to go.”
After lifting my chin in thanks, I shift my focus back to Warden Mattue. “We wouldn’t want news of my visit getting out, would we?”
“Not at all,” he parrots again when he hears the threat in my voice.
With Smith taking care of the cameras inside and outside of the prison we’re about to visit, the only way my tour will reach my father’s ear is if Warden Mattue tattles. That will end badly for him. Veryverybadly, although not quite as graphic as the punishment I handed down to a group of my father’s associates when they stupidly decided to test my patience last week.
They sought vengeance for the slaughter of Mikoloff and his family six weeks ago. The insolence caused their family’s downfall. They’re not just dead, they are buried in unmarked graves no one will ever find, and their legacy was struck from the record.
Their punishment was so brutal, no man will be game to test me again. Everything is operating like clockwork. Roxanne is safe, my bank accounts all remain in the seven figures, and Fien’s last ransom was received without the slightest delay.
All I need now is an outlet for the frustration keeping my body temperature in the scalding range the past six weeks. Whores won’t come close to scratching it, so I don’t bother. A bloody massacre barely skimmed off the surface, and I refuse to let another drug-fueled bender curtail my life. That only leaves one thing capable of taking the edge off, and even she isn’t at my disposal right now.
With my blood already bubbling with anger, you can picture my struggle to maintain a rational head when a bitch from my past shouts my name. Theresa Veneto smiles like the badge on her hip will save her brain from being pierced with a bullet from my gun. She’s dead fucking wrong. This prison is home to America’s deadliest criminals, which means it’s located miles from the nearest town. Many people have gotten lost out here the past six years, even Federal agents who don’t know how to back the fuck up when asked.
Before I can voice my annoyance about my unexpected guest, Rocco takes up my slack. “I thought only vampires roamed the planet at dusk. Who knew witches got around, too? Do you fly above the houses to avoid collisions with your sister witches, or do you prefer the sewer network?”
While Theresa hisses at Rocco, I shift my eyes to Smith, curious to discover how Theresa’s movements slipped past us without notice. We’ve been scrutinizing her as closely as Rico has my father the past two weeks.
When Smith shrugs, as pissed as me, I return my focus to Theresa. “Are you here to cover your tracks? Or are you hoping to lead me away from them?”
The past two weeks weren’t solely gobbled up embedding Rico deeply into my father’s operation. My team put both the time and the snippets of information Rico has discovered in an embarrassingly short amount of time to good use. Little threads are coming undone everywhere. It will only be a matter of time before my father’s outfit is unraveled, and considering Theresa seems to be very much a part of his ensemble, she’ll come undone right along with him.
Theresa’s laugh agitates me to no end. “Cover what tracks, Dimi?”
Her use of my nickname pisses me off. Only my friends get to call me Dimi. She most certainly isn’t one of them. “Oh, I don’t know. How about putting a man away for a murder he didn’t commit? Or falsifying police records to conjure up a fake victim? Then we also have the fact you left an unstable woman to defend for herself.”
I don’t know what’s more frustrating, Theresa’s cocky smirk or what she says next, “The fact your focus centers around me shows how far off the mark you are.” She steps closer to me, switching out Warden Mattue’s feared scent with an over-priced perfume. “I was merely upholding my end of our agreement.”
“Ouragreement?” I query, too interested in the honesty in her eyes to act nonchalant.
“You’re a Petretti, aren’t you?”
When she attempts to hand me a stack of papers, Smith snatches them out of her grip. I don’t mind. They’re official-looking documents he’ll have a better chance of deciphering than me.
Seemingly believing we work for her instead of the other way around, Theresa explains, “They’re transcripts of conversations I’ve had with your father. Their seal should prove their legitimacy, but in case they don’t, I forwarded links to the original files to your email.”
Smith logs into my email server before I can gesture for him to, and even quicker than that, he authenticates Theresa’s claims. “Imagery is shit, but the audio is first-class. Your father approached Theresa.” He listens for a couple of seconds before his brows draw together. “He didn’t want Megan killed. He had her admitted for a psych workup. That kept her under lock and key for over a year.”
