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“It was tampered with in Canada. If the pilot didn’t catch it, you’d all be dead.”
* * *
Less than an hour later, I’m sitting behind my desk in my office at the restaurant. It feels good to be back. I haven’t enjoyed doing business at the house. If Snow and I stay there, that’s going to change. Business needs to happen here, not where we live.
Dean and Nick are standing across from me, arguing, and I’ve had enough.
“Jesus Christ, Dean. Just because the jet was tampered with in Canada doesn’t mean it was the Canadians who did it.” Nick turns to me. “I’ve been your father’s advisor longer than either of the two of you shit-stains have been alive. You need to listen to me, Sam. This was Sabatini. The jet. The bomb. This has Sabatini written all over it.”
“Listen up, old man. You may have been the advisor, but you can step aside now,” Dean mocks, over this conversation already. These two have never gotten along.
Nick pulls his gun from inside of his jacket, and Dean takes a step forward.
Daring him to use it.
I stand, ready to kill both of these assholes. “Knock it the fuck off. Am I babysitting or talking to my top men right now? Put the fucking gun away. Nobody is getting killed in my office. Not today. Not yet.” I wait until my uncle returns the gun to its holster and straightens his jacket before continuing, “Nick, I know you think it was Sabatini. But unless you have proof, we’re not acting on it. I don’t think it was him. One of the first things you taught me was to trust my gut. And my gut says he’s too stupid to pull this off. If it was local, maybe. But he doesn’t have the pull he needs for the international shit.”
When Nick starts to sputter, I cut him off. “Listen to me. I’m handling Sabatini tomorrow after the funeral. He’s being dealt with the way I planned. I want the two of you to work together to get me everything you can find on the Tremblays. My gut tells me this was them. And from what Mike is telling me, it sounds like I’m right.” Once I sit back down, I add, “But I can’t retaliate based on my gut. Get me something firm. Get me something we can act on.”
Nick pounds the wall. “Your father would never...”
I round my desk and shove him against the wall with my forearm at his throat. “I’m not my father. We’re not doing this his way. We’re doing this my fucking way. If you’ve got a problem with that, tell me now.” Rage drips from my every word.
This week has been the worst week of my life, but it could have been worse.
My men could have questioned my ability to do this job.
My ability to take this position.
But they didn’t. They trusted me. And I’m sure as fuck not going to bend to my uncle.
“Well?” I get further in his face and push harder against his neck. “Do we have a problem?”
It takes a minute before Nick answers, “No problem, Sam,” as he gasps for breath.
“Good.” I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “Now get out. Go get me the information I need to finish this.”
