I don’t mean minutes, I mean seconds. Brandon’s apartment is only one block over. He can run here if he has no other option.
Once the screen of my phone advises my message has been read, I snap an image of the Ravenshoe Courthouse stairs then forward it to Brandon.
It feels as if not even ten seconds ticks by when I spot him racing up the stairs. I must have woken him. His hair is a mess, his face is crinkled, and I’m reasonably sure he’s wearing the same suit he wore yesterday.
I’m about to slide out of the back seat of my Range Rover when Rocco grabs my arm. “Hold up. This looks like it could get interesting.”
When I stray my eyes in the direction he’s peering, I notice Brandon’s race up the courthouse stairs has been thwarted by a blond man with wide shoulders and an arrogant mask slipped over his face.
“Who’s that?”
“Agent Alex Rogers, Field Operations Supervisor for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Smith isn’t gloating. He sounds like he wants to rip off Alex’s head as badly as Alex wants to tear into Brandon. “He was Brandon’s supervisor.”
“Was?” Rocco and I ask at the same time.
Smith lifts his chin. “Agent James was demoted last night. The FBI’s golden boy isn’t as shiny as he wants us to believe. His rap sheet is almost as long as mine.”
“So, sweet fuck all?” Rocco asks with a laugh. “Or are you talking about the rap sheet you got expunged for sleeping with the enemy?”
Okay, perhaps he knows a little more than he let on.
Our interrogation shifts from Smith to Brandon when the crack of a fist colliding with a jaw silences a town not known for its quiet. Alex didn’t hold anything back with his hit, and shockingly, Brandon takes it like a man. He gets up in Alex’s face and says a few words, but he keeps his hands balled at his sides.
His response is nothing like mine would have been. I would have retaliated with more than my fists if I were in his predicament.
“Find out what that’s about. If a war is about to begin, I want to know about it, especially if it involves the FBI.”
“Already on it.” Smith digs one of his laptops out of his satchel, then fires it up. Within seconds, he has a confidential report up on the screen.
“Who’s the blonde?”
Smith double clicks on the trackpad on his laptop to zoom in on the image of a blonde in a towel. She’s attractive—if you’re into ball crushers. I swear I’ve seen her before, but I can’t pinpoint where.
Smith alleviates my curiosity. “That’s the infamous Regan Myers, Isaac Holt’s lawyer…”Ah, there’s the connection. “And Alex Roger’s current squeeze.”
I double back, certain I heard him wrong. The half grin he’s wearing reveals I didn’t, much less the tap of a revolver on the window next to my head. I don’t know how I didn’t put it together earlier. The Rogers’ familiarities are almost on par with the Petrettis. There’s no denying them when you drink them in at the same time.
Grayson Rogers, another one of Tobias’s little minions, acts as if he doesn’t have the scope of Rocco’s M4 on his chest when he requests for me to roll down the window. I could drive off, but Roxanne’s exasperating habit of nosy-parking has rubbed off on me. Furthermore, the last time I was in the same room as Grayson, I walked away with him owing me a favor. My assistance this time around will cost him much more than the gratitude I have no plan to cash in.
Rocco works his jaw through a thorough grind when I signal for him to lower his weapon. He has issues with law enforcement officers, most particularly, ones who are as cocky as Grayson.
After rolling down my window as requested, I say, “I’m shocked you’re up. I didn’t see you leave the front of the compound until well after four this morning.”
I’m happy to let him know I realize he’s watching me, just like I’m happy to watch his brutal swallow before he says, “Kirill—”
“Is not a part of my operation. I’ve told you that many times before.” My interruption is snappy and to the point. I’m sick to death of having the same conversation with these people. Yes, I run drugs, and yes, my entity is part of the prostitution conglomerate but tell me one fucking cartel unit that isn’t. If we weren’t running it, corrupts fuckers like Ravenshoe PD would. I don’t know about you, but I know who I’d rather deal with. It isn’t the corrupt members of law enforcement who put away innocent men for murders they conjure on a whim.
Grayson acts as if I didn’t speak. “Is the reason for Castro’s resurrection.” He shoves a set of documents through the crack in the window as if he’s a bank robber, and I’m the teller he’s demanding cash from. “He’s stateside because of this.”
I lower my eyes to the document to ensure he doesn’t see the shock in them. From what Smith unearthed the past couple of weeks, Kirill hasn’t been stateside since he purchased Katie from my father, so for him to be back, it must be for something big.
“You fucking idiot,” I mutter under my breath when I realize what I’m looking at.
My father learned nothing from my grandfather’s death, not a single fucking thing. I thought he squandered the massive payout he got for my mother’s death on the business ventures I’ve tried to steer our entity away from the past eight years. I had no clue he used it to try and regain control of New York.
We built that city. The Italians, Greeks, and Albanians made it the mecca it is, but my father lost the ability to be king of that realm when he put his drug-fucked friend above our ‘family.’ He had no right to stake a claim, none whatsoever, and now Henry’s lack of assistance the past few years makes sense.
“Consider your favor cashed in.” Needing to end our conversation before I take my anger out on the wrong person, I commence sliding up my window.
