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For some reason, the memory had attacked me hard the past two weeks and I wasn’t certain why. I’d yet to accept a similar assignment, no longer certain of my abilities.
I’d also cut off dating altogether ten months before, finding I enjoyed the solitude more than alcohol-induced morning headaches.
“I’ve begged off women altogether.”
He gave me a hard look and laughed. “Right. I seriously doubt that.”
“Said from the guy who fell hook, line, and sinker for his goddaughter.”
“Now look who’s reminding whom of shit.”
“Hey, all is fair in love and whatever sin you’re involved in.”
“You fucker.”
“Hey, I just tell it like it is.” I threw up my hands as if surrendering, although both he and I knew I wasn’t that kind of man. Most people called me dangerous, some even going further and using the term psychotic. That was mostly due to my skill in weaponry, never hesitating when making the necessary and always successful shot.
I grinned as he made a face. We’d been friends long enough we could tease each other about anything.
“You never got over that girl. Did you?”
“What girl?” I asked, although I knew exactly who he meant.
“Please. How many times did I hear about the witch Luna over the past few years?”
“Who?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re such a bad liar.”
The girl had ruined me for anyone else, something I’d just come to terms with. She’d been the light I’d needed during one of the darkest periods of my life. When I’d awakened and she was gone, not bothering to leave a note, I’d scoured the hotel searching for her. She’d been nowhere to be seen. Every woman had paled in comparison since.
Bantering about women wasn’t the reason I was standing outside a gutted building west of Manhattan in the first place. Suddenly, a moment of tension settled between us. The once regal facility was awaiting a massive renovation, another expansion of the billion-dollar corporation I owned a portion of.
The old red brick-and-mortar location was a stark reminder of the old days in a city of gleaming high-rises and swanky addresses. While the bones were good, the interior was been razed completely. There was very little I liked about the Big Apple other than the food. However, my monthly excursions had a significant purpose.
Between the Irish mob, the Bratva, and the Armenians, there were constant squabbles, attempts at securing additional territory. Maxwell Powers, the new Don of the Cosa Nostra, had no intentions of allowing that to happen.
“What do you think, Viper?” my buddy asked with no emotion in his tone. He’d become casual about the necessity of evil, a term he’d used more than once.
Confronting a traitor wasn’t on my playlist of favorite things to do. However, it was a requirement within the confines of the crime syndicate. I’d learned an entirely new set of rules since accepting the position, some actions not acceptable for friendly conversations with anyone outside of the tightly knit organization.
“I think the thief deserves to be taught a lesson, but my recommendation is that his punishment is used as a warning. Killing him would be too easy.” I glanced at Max, watching as he scrubbed his hand across his jaw. We’d both changed significantly in the last twelve months, our wealth increasing tenfold.
While I’d taken over as CEO of Powers Security, a firm catering to the rich and famous, he’d tackled a position that had been thrust on him by the death of an old friend and the former Don. I was also his right-hand man, one of the few people he trusted implicitly and in an underground business where loyalty and respect could be bought for a song, it was important someone was watching his back.
Days like today meant the two worlds collided. I was no longer the good guy but the dangerous thug who had no issue hunting down an enemy. Sometimes it surprised me how much I’d taken to the change in climate, as Maxwell liked to call it.
He said nothing for a few seconds then grinned, pumping me on the back. “Now I know why I keep you around.”
“Ha. You keep me around so your ass doesn’t end up in prison.”
We both laughed, although my statement held truth. When deciding to cross the very line my mother had warned me about, accepting violence and bloodshed as an everyday occurrence, we always ran the risk of pissing off a new district attorney or FBI agent determined to prove his worth.
“Good to have you around.” He opened the door and walked inside, shoving his hands into his pockets. The worthless son of a bitch who’d decided to steal from the organization was pacing the floor. I was surprised Max’s Capos hadn’t touched him, obviously told to lock him down and nothing more.
Gio Rivera offered a nod of respect, Max’s number one Capo a force of nature as well as a surly dude. However, he was loyal and had proven his worth more times than I could count.
“How ya doin’, bossman?” Gio huffed as he studied my approach.
