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His head moved up and down as he took in and released another deep breath. He clasped me on the shoulder this time. “Brothers in, and brothers out. That’s what you’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Let’s see what life is like running two Mafia empires.”
“We’re not just running two Mafia empires. We’re the kings of New York.”
Trace’s mouth twitched. I could tell he liked hearing that. “We’re the goddamn kings of New York.”
He held his drink up, and I met it with mine.
His phone buzzed, and a second later he asked me, “Why does your cousin want to talk to me?”
I choked on my drink before smirking. “Because he’s going to ask if he can officially take your sister out on a date.”
“Why is he asking again? I thought the wedding date was a one-off?”
“He’s planning to ask you because I already told him he could keep fucking your sister.”
“Jesus Christ,” Trace said. He said another string of curses. “Why would you give him permission?”
I gave him a long look, sobering. “Because he’s going to tell you that he’s not pursuing Remmi for a brief fling or to get her out of his system.”
Trace glared at me, because he knew what that meant. He swore again, low and long, before looking away. The man we were both talking about was on the dance floor, and after having a word with Demetri, he looked up our way.
I clasped Trace on the shoulder, squeezing at the end. “My primo is in love. We’re going to be family in a whole official way, brother.”
“Jesus Christ.”
I made a praying motion before glancing upward. After that, it was time to celebrate.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
ASHTON
Three months later and Elijah was directing Shorty Easter to my new place of business. It was just one of many. I’d moved it farther north of the city, and we owned a good acreage on the Hudson River. This particular new building was a warehouse, one that no body of government was aware of. Yet.
It was also the perfect place for me to fulfill my second promise to Molly.
Elijah brought him inside. We were both ignoring his protests as he put him in a chair and whisked off the bag from over his head.
Shorty quieted, blinking a few times for his gaze to adjust to the change. It was daylight outside, the sun fully shining down, and in here, all dark except for a few lamps in the corner.
“Ashton Walden?” Shorty’s hair was greasy, as always. He had his usual homeless-esque attire on. A cargo jacket with holes for the elbows. The pocket was pulled off. The ends of his jacket were shredded and frayed. His jeans were just as bad, and I couldn’t see what kind of shirt he had on under the jacket.
He had money. That was always in the pictures sent to me. A good wad of it, always kept in one of his back pockets. Maybe that’s the reason for the jacket? That pocket zipped up in the back. It was one of the only pockets that remained intact. We were nearing the end of September, but after getting briefed on him regularly over the last month, I’d come to realize he had a penchant for this jacket. The temps were still hot, but he never went without it. Even during the summer, after he’d been released from jail—which I knew he’d taken a deal and turned evidence on what he knew about Nea for the reduced jail term.
“What am I doing here?” He was twisting around, trying to guess his location.
I only had Elijah here.
Shorty had been bagged before coming in, and he’d be bagged when he’d be leaving here, but he would not be returning back to the city.
“What’s going on?”
I tossed a thick file on the table in front of him.
“What’s that?” His tone was scared, nervous. But I knew Shorty. He always scurried out of whatever predicament he landed himself in. He never needed to be nervous. I had full faith in his cockroach abilities, as Molly liked to put it.
“You lied to my grandfather.”
“What? I’d never. What’s this about?” He was starting to sweat, twisting around more frenzied. There were only two doors to leave this particular warehouse. He came in through one. The other was behind me. And as he kept looking for any other exit routes, Elijah moved closer. His gun was on full display.
“This is a nice greeting to your future pops-in-law, don’t you think?”
I’d let him talk. For now. I only raised an eyebrow.
He went back to eyeing Elijah, his gaze falling to the gun. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, I wasn’t really ingratiated”—he sneered as he said that last word—“when I found out about my little girl and you, but I got ears. Ears to the streets. I know people, know people you don’t even know, and the word around town is that you’re in love. You actually love my little girl.” He laughed, some of the nerves easing from him. “The fellas I know—”
