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Magnus pulls his phone back out, and so help me God, if he’s checking the fucking weather again. “Miller is working with the schedule. I’ll have to let you know later.”
“Miller.” I pause and add, “Do you think he’s equipped for the job?”
“More so than, Johnny, yeah. Dude was Luciano’s right hand.”
“I don’t like this; I don’t like any of it.”
“Me either, but we’ll handle it. We always do.” Magnus rolls one of his rings around on his index finger. “I think you should hear John out, see what he has to say. Could be a useful asset.”
I drag my hand through my hair and smooth down the sides. I adjust my tie and straighten my suit jacket. “Bring them in.”
We spend the next hour discussing strategy, figuring out the best routes, and coming up with numerous alternative paths. Because we keep getting hit on the west, we’re moving shipments further east. There’s concern that this is what our attackers want us to do—that perhaps they’re pushing us farther from the coast, but it could just be that the coast provides easier targets for them, and that’s why they haven’t been hitting our more inland routes yet. I’m still not convinced that we don’t have a mole, but Magnus is certain that it isn’t within the small group of men in this room. I put my faith in him since reading people is kind of his forte.
He's always had a knack for picking up on tells and minor shifts in mood. He notices body language and is able to make swift and usually spot-on judgment calls. It's an incredibly useful resource to have, but with pressure coming from all directions, it's impossible to have him in multiple places at once. The guy is already overworked and spread thin—hell, we all are. But this won't let up until we get the attacks under control and we eliminate the bastard responsible for attempting to overthrow me.
One hour turns into another, and the next thing I know, it's nearly two in the morning. My eyes burn from being awake for almost two days straight but I push through the pain and focus on the dry-erase board in front of me.
“Here.” I circle a spot on the haphazard map on the board. “I say we send dummy cargo out. Try to catch them in a trap. We need bodies to interrogate to get more information. This is our best shot.” I look at the thing again. “They’re hitting us in spots where surveillance is spotty. That’s why we take those routes. But this one, there’s none. Tell all the men you can without making it too obvious. Don’t let on that it’s an empty shipment. We need our mole to spread the news.”
“But…” John speaks up. “That’s a death trap for whoever’s driving.”
I turn toward him. “I’ll do it, don’t worry. I won’t put any more of my men at risk.”
Bryant clears his throat. “I’m coming with you.”
"Fat fucking chance." I stare directly at him. "And that's an order." I point to the other guys. "You can ride in the convoy, be my backup."
“What the fuck, Dom?” Bryant climbs out of his seat and approaches me, as if standing in front of me will somehow get me to change my mind.
I slap his shoulder. “Glad we came to an understanding.”
He lowers his voice. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
I look into his frantic eyes. “Are you?”
That’s twice in one day these two fuckers have disobeyed me in front of others. First, Hayes when he left a meeting after he zoned out of the whole thing, and now, Bryant, questioning my authority with these men to bear witness. They’re setting a bad fucking example and making me look like I don’t have control over my subordinates. It’s no wonder someone is trying to overthrow me—I look weak as fuck.
But how do I make an example out of what they’ve done when I know June will have my ass for laying a finger on either of them. What’s worse—June being mad at me, or the threat to her life gaining the upper hand because I went soft?
I can’t keep her safe if people start walking all over me. A decision needs to be made, and none of us are going to like it.
In one solid movement, I draw in a breath and force my hand around Bryant’s throat. I walk him back and slam him into the wall.
“What the fuck, Dom,” Bryant sputters.
But I shove him harder and tighten my grasp. “Who calls the shots here?”
Bryant struggles to speak but manages to spit out, “You do, you fucking psycho.”
I release him and he coughs, clutching at his throat.
“Christ, man.”
I flex my hand and turn back to the men sitting silently in their chairs. “If any of you think for a second that I am taking this threat lightly, you are sorely mistaken. I will find and punish anyone who dare tries to take what is mine. I call the shots here, no one else. That’s why the council voted me into this position. And that’s why Franklin appointed me in the first place. These people will not go unpunished, and when we figure out who is behind all of this, I will skin him and send his body parts back to his family piece by piece.Anyoneinvolved with this movement will be taken care of. Do you hear me?”
A few heads nod and there’s a collective murmur of agreement.
“I want a list by tomorrow of everyone who was in the run for my title. I don’t care if they conceded or not. We need to scour every single person until we figure out who’s responsible.” I point to the door. “You’re dismissed.”
