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The guy bent over the bar counter starts moaning.
“Shut the fuck up,” we snarl in unison.
Holding the smoke captive between my teeth, I slide my jacket off and chuck it over a nearby stool before picking up the single malt again. For the next few seconds, I alternate my bad habits until the buzz in my head is numbing the ache in my chest.
“We need a new Front of House. A large Spaniard with a knife isn’t going to entice the clientele.”
Viper shrugs. “Depends on what their flavour is?”
“Hot women only. They’re a good distraction for when the cops and the grown-ups come to visit.”
“How very ‘1960s misogynistic husband’ of you.”
I shoot him a look.
“Okay, fine.” With a sigh, he removes the knife from the guy’s throat and twirls it around his fingers—surprisingly adroit, considering he’s missing two digits—acting like his own suggestion is a huge inconvenience to him. “Don’t sweat it, Lastra. I’ll take one for the team.”
“You’re not taking anyone. You’re not screwing the staff.” I rip the cigarette from my mouth and point it at him to show him how serious I am. “It’s not good for business.”
He stares at me again, and I can tell he’s decoding my bad mood.
“How did she look?”
“Trapped.”
“Figures.”
“What the fuck happened here anyway?” I circle back around the counter to join him, shutting down any talk about Ada. “This was meant to be a casual enquiry into buying a business. It looks like a stag party went to hell and back.”
He shrugs. “They wouldn’t sell us their casino for a reasonable price, so I gave them a choice. Not my fault they chose badly. Not my fault you weren’t here to mediate.”
“What else?” I say grimly, knowing he’s holding out on me.
He starts twirling his knife around his hand again, clicking his tongue in agitation. “They looked at Bambi the wrong way. Made a few comments that didn’t sit right, then tried to touch her up when my back was turned.” My shoulders stiffen. “Plus, I recognised them, even if they didn’t recognise me. They all used to work for Guido Rossi.”
I slam the bottle back down on the counter so hard even Bambi glances up. “Whatthe fuckdid I tell you about not making waves?”
“Is that ‘hypocrite’ I see tattooed across your face, Lastra?” he says coolly.
“Guido has himself shoved so far up O’Sullivan’s arse he hasn’t seen daylight in twenty years. This slaughter is the equivalent of us sticking a bat signal in the sky to the Red Compass.”
“Well, Guido mustn’t like the smell of shit anymore because he wants out.” He waves his knife at the stack of dead bodies on the blackjack table. “Today, I learned from a couple of these very helpful corpses that he’s been distancing himself from O’Sullivan since Zaccaria got himself arrested five months ago. Now that his oldcapo dei capiis dead, he’s escalating his exit strategy. Guido knows we’re coming for him, and he doesn’t like to be on the losing team. Zaccaria’s son is scheduled to arrive in London any day now to take control of his territories.”
My family’s territories.
“Which son?” I demand.
“Mario. His second born. A short-tempered, trigger-happy, son of a bitch, who’s pissed the Zaccaria family won’t be getting anothercapo dei capianytime soon.That honour’s passed to the Bambrilla family. O’Sullivan’s not thrilled about it, either. Apparently, the old bastard doesn’t like change.”
“Then he better start getting used to it.”
The guy bent over the counter starts moaning again. “There’s a meeting…”It slides out of his mouth in a gurgle of red spit bubbles.
“What meeting?” Viper moves quickly to press his blade to his throat again.
“Thursday,” he rasps out. “Ashton Racecourse. O’Sullivan wants representatives from every organisation in London to attend. Mario Zaccaria, too.”
Viper glances at me. “Sounds like a gathering of the clans. What’s he planning?”
