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I pray they don’t know about the bunker. I should’ve had it renovated from my old man’s day, installed modern materials, made it truly indestructible. I made the mistake of thinking nobody would have the balls to attack me there.
I didn’t account for Franco’s stupidity.
I spread my hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“What?” he says.
“Enough bullshitting. Let’s talk price. How much is Franco paying you? You’re not real street guys. Franco has lost support now that Ottavio is against him, meaning he most likely took all his real men to the estate. Half of you can’t even hold your guns properly. So how fucking much?”
“He’s paying us a thousand dollars each,” the kid says, the one with the acne I faced off with before.
“Quiet,” the leader growls.
“Ten grand to every man who puts his gun down and walks out this instant.”
“How do we know you’ll really pay?” the kid whimpers.
I snap my gaze to him. “Ask anybody in the city, from the beggars on the streets to the politicians in their penthouses if Luca Lioni has ever missed a payment, and the answer will be no. Write your bank details on a piece of paper and give them to my consigliere. The payments will be made within the day. But you have to decide now, all of you.”
Just like that, most of the men lay their weapons down and start looking around for pieces of paper and pens. Aldo grins over at me, pushing his glasses up his face, and I give him a subtle nod.
My cousin’s wits are often a better tactic than stumbling in like a bulldozing rhino, destroying everything with brute force and leaving no room for nuance.
“Alright, here we go,” the kid says, taking a sheet from the reception desk and scrawling down some details.
The rest of the men do the same, lining up.
I smirk over at the leader. There are ten of us and three of them now.
But they still have the guns.
“Last chance, fellas. Ten grand versus the one Franco’s giving you.”
“Franco’s a madman,” the leader snaps, fear quivering in his voice. He knows how bad this situation could turn for him. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out we let you go?”
There it is, the giveaway that this man doesn’t want to be here.
When we let you go… not if.
“Franco isn’t going to be able to bother anybody after today. You can count on that. So put your guns down and leave before you force us to fuck you up.”
“Ten grand?” he says, eyebrows quirked.
“For those two.” I nod at the men still with him. “But not for you. You insulted my woman, you sick fuck. You made depraved threats. You’ll leave with your life and be grateful for it. You know what? Twenty grand for you two.” I gesture at the men. “If you take his gun and give it to me.”
The men snap into action like I knew they would. They had that glint in their eyes, the tell-tell sign that a man is willing to be bought, but I simply haven’t offered enough money yet.
They grab their so-called friend and push him to the floor, snatching his gun. One of them hands it to me and I grab it by the barrel.
“Men,” I say.
Aldo and my men flow into action, picking up the discarded weapons and gathering around the men. I keep the leader on the floor with my gun aimed at his face as Aldo handles the list and the money business.
Soon the men are filing past us, heading for the exit, and once the door closes behind them Aldo locks and double-locks it.
“What’re we going to do with him?” Aldo asks, nodding at the man beneath me.
“I should put a bullet in your throat for what you said about my woman,” I snarl, prodding his head with the gun. “Do you understand that?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did mean it. You’re just not the one holding the gun anymore.”
He flinches away from me, as though any second I’m going to pull the trigger. And the way I’m feeling, I’m tempted. I could blow this bastard away and make him see – in his final moments – the punishment men will receive if they ever dare to disrespect my woman.
“Boss,” Aldo says, walking up beside me.
“I know.”
I sigh. Aldo knows how much killing weighs on a man, and he doesn’t want to go down that dark path if there’s an alternative.
I prod the man with the gun again. “You’re exiled from this city. You have twenty-four hours to get the fuck as far away from the east coast as you can. It’s open season on you then, motherfucker. Fellas, get his license and his details. We’re going to watch you, make sure you do as you’re told.”
“Yes, yes, I will. Thank you.”
