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I wasn’t used to wrestling with my feelings. Usually, I reacted in whatever manner I saw fit, but the conversation I’d had with Sierra the night before continued to linger in my mind. The fact she’d kept the information to herself continued to anger me. “I’m nothing like my father, Edwardo. Nothing.”
“You’re not taking this seriously enough and you’ve gone too far by kidnapping her. The prosecutor is chomping at the bit to shove your ass back inside that prison on a charge that will allow him to throw away the key. Do you understand what I’m telling you? I don’t think there’s enough magic in the world to save your ass from serving additional time.”
“I didn’t kidnap her,” I said quietly. I wasn’t interested in explaining the rules of the verbal contract.
Exhaling, he muttered under his breath. “Stop playing games. While you’re concentrating on exhuming a dead man, your enemies are chomping at the bit because they smell blood in the water. The Irish have been breathing down our necks for years. They already have a strong hold on a territory you claimed to want to carve a niche in.”
“The south?” Cruz asked, half laughing. “We have enough to deal with in the north.”
I had intended on shifting further beyond Maryland, eventually planning on investing time and money into taking South Florida prior to my arrest. “It would appear the Irish had some connection to Tristen.”
Cruz laughed. “Let me guess. He was double dipping.”
“I don’t know, but he attended some event at Wakefield Acres in Raleigh several years ago but was fearful of being recognized by an attendee.” I took a gulp of my drink, my thoughts returning to Sierra. She’d remained quiet after our discussion the night before, although she’d gotten little sleep if any. I’d remained in the room, watching her from the shadows, the darkness almost overwhelming me.
Edwardo seemed interested, his eyes lighting up. “A mockery of a southern tradition. How the Irish managed to gain admission considering how southerners feel about the Irish is a true fascinating mystery. Are you aware of the amount of money that flows through the facility?”
“I make it my business to find out what other syndicates are doing, Edwardo, as did my father. This is nothing new.” Yet it was disconcerting.
“Whatever your plans, it’s only a matter of time before you lose this charade and when you do, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the fall of the Montenegro Empire,” Edwardo stated as if the news would terrify me. “My advice is to stop fixating on Tristen Bradford and concentrate on the growth of the business your father worked so hard to achieve.”
He’d always believed my less than traditional methods of handling business would be the Montenegro Corporation’s ultimate demise.
I noticed Cruz had placed his drink on one of the bookshelves and started clapping. “Bravo, Edwardo. An excellent speech. However, the problem is that I agree with my brother. Tristen is alive and he deserves to pay for his sins.”
The boss of the Irish mafia was a cranky son of a bitch who’d sparred with my father on several occasions. While it was believed his son was in the process of taking over as boss, they’d bided their time, hoping I’d be killed in prison.
“You’re both nuts,” Edwardo huffed.
“I guess we shall see,” I countered as I lifted my glass in respect to my brother.
Edwardo grabbed his briefcase, yanking out his paper copy of theNew York Times, flipping to the article and four photographs encapsulating the story of my recent engagement. “Your plan of finding out if you’re correct by destroying a woman who had no knowledge of her fiancé’s alternate life? That’s beneath even you, Alessandro. My God. What is wrong with you?”
I slammed the glass on my desk before taking long strides in his direction, my rage off the charts. “What is wrong with me? I spent several years languishing in prison because you didn’t do your job with regard to Mr. Bradford.”
“You’re blaming me?” Edwardo demanded. “From what I remember, hiring and firing has been your responsibility because of your demands for eight years now. You should have vetted him more carefully.”
I closed my eyes, seething from his arrogance and lack of respect. “Let me lay this out for you. A woman named Clarice Montgomery was murdered inside Sierra’s house two nights ago. Her throat was slit. At least that’s what I’ve been able to find out from one of our sources.”
“What does that matter?” Edwardo asked.
“She was a friend of Sierra’s,” Cruz answered.
Edwardo glared at me. “So what?”
“So she was a dead ringer for Sierra, and it’s my belief my lovely fiancée was the actual target.”
“Whew.” Cruz grabbed his drink. “This is getting interesting.”
“Perhaps more than you know.” I glanced from one to the other, settling my full attention on Edwardo. “We can spar about why we didn’t figure out Tristen could be a turncoat, but the truth is, we weren’t looking in the right place.”
“What are you getting at?” Edwardo asked, cocking his head.
I took a swallow of my drink, convinced I was right. Proving it would be difficult if not impossible. Killing him would be dicey as fuck, more so than if he was simply a criminal in WITSEC. “Ask yourself why a dead man’s testimony was allowed. Also ask yourself why there wasn’t an investigation into his death.”
Cruz caught on first, grumbling under his breath. “He was working for the Feds the entire time. What the hell?”
“The signs are there. Possibly the DEA. Whatever arm of the law doesn’t matter. If he was, then the reason we haven’t been crucified is that the information he collected is missing.”
