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That’s what she said. I still am.
My phone rings pulling me from the trance. I reach for it in my back pocket and look down at the screen hoping it’s either Vincent or Gibbs with news. But it’s not either of them. It’s an unrecognized number. I don’t like calls like that. It’s never good but I answer anyway.
“Yes,” I say into the phone.
“Christian Giordano,” comes a male voice. The instant I hear the Spanish accent I tense, knowing this could only be one person with the balls enough to call me.
“Who is this?” I say, tightening my grip on the phone.
I hear a deep chuckle and I bite down hard on my back teeth, seething. I don’t have time for shit and I’m not in the fucking mood either.
“This is Miguel Diaz, I believe you know my wife,” he answers.
Fuck. I’m right. I’m fucking right. it’s him and I’m not surprised he got my personal number.
“The Miguel Diaz I’m aware of is supposed to be dead.”
“I’m sure you know in our world sometimes you have to get gone for a while. Die if you must and resurrect when the time is right,” he answers.
Motherfucker.Of course I’m well aware of what happens in our world.
“Where’s Lilly and Rosie?” I demand, gritting my teeth.
“Mywife and my child are with me, thank you very much. Now I’m a man who doesn’t like trouble and suddenly I have all manner of people looking for me. Cops and fuckers like that. I need you to call them off.”
“Why the fuck would I do a thing like that?” I growl, roaring like thunder has laced itself into my voice.
“I know you, Christian Giordano. After watching you over the last few weeks, I see you’re the hot tempered one,” he says and my fucking blood runs cold.
Watching?Instantly I think of that guy from a few weeks back. It wasn’t Falcone who sent the fucker. It was him. Miguel. He sent the guy to watch me. How long has he been in Chicago watching? As long as I’ve known Lilly.
“You don’t think before you act,” he continues in a sing song voice. “You automatically assume you’re better than me and think you should have my woman and my child. You’ve fucked my wife enough. No more of it. Come for me and I’ll come for you. Stay the fuck away.”
“You don’t seem to know who you’re talking to,” I bellow.
“Oh, it’s you who doesn’t know who you’re talking to. Go outside and open the gates. I have a message for you and a warning.”
I’m enraged, but panic has me and it tells me to play nice. I’m not the one with the leverage here, it’s him and if I want to know more than I already do I need to cool it.
So I do as he says.
“Who is coming?” I ask.
“You will see. There should be a black Range Rover waiting by the gate.”
I practically dash outside and press the buzzer to open the gates.
Not a minute later a black Range comes down the drive.
It stops in front of me and a guy in a hooded sweatshirt gets out.Holy fuck.This guy has to be the punk who was watching me. Up close he looks leaner, a little taller, but it’s him and I can see his face. He looks Hispanic and has a cross inked on his neck. He gets out with ease and walks over to me.
“Your punk is here, what’s the message?” I ask Miguel on the phone.
“He will show you. This is the type of message you see and hear.”
The asshole in front of me takes out his phone and holds it out to me.
I look at the screen as he presses the play button on a video.
