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We were a motley group in New York, the various territories divided between the Irish, the Bratva, the Greeks, and our blended, Americanized Cosa Nostra. I noticed Carmine immediately, thankful he hadn’t been stupid enough to insist on sitting front and center in the restaurant, otherwise known as a sitting duck.
I moved to the man’s table, waiting as he and his associate stood, Carmine holding out his hand first. While he was twenty years my senior, respect was earned and, in my book, he had very little given his fluctuation with who he considered his friends. I could tell by his look of surprise that he’d been fully anticipating Max’s presence.
Evidently, he’d forgotten our family was on the list. I accepted his gesture, giving his Capo a onceover. The kid was young and green, likely a family member. Hell, I’d been there once, nagging Max at eighteen to be given a place of authority. True to Max’s word, he’d given me the rope to almost hang myself three times before sitting me down and having a discussion.
It was funny how the words he’d said hurt more than if he’d beaten me like my father used to do. His methods had ultimately won me over. I’d give this kid a pass, hopeful he’d learn what not to do when moving up the ladder in our business.
“Francesco. I wasn’t expecting to meet with you. I mean no disrespect of course. I hope all is well with Max.”
While we were barely little more than acquaintances, I didn’t consider his less than formal address disrespect. I’d known him and his wife for far too long.
“No offense taken, Carmine. He was merely detained with important business. I offered to come in his stead. I’m certain that won’t be a problem?” I didn’t like the expression on his face or the fact he seemed fidgety. Something was off.
“Of course not. It’s always good to see you.” He wasn’t good at lying, but at least my presence put him more on edge. I noticed he glanced toward the front of the restaurant. There wasn’t a single syndicate in New York who would dare attempt to take out the Don or the Underboss of a powerful family.
“As you might imagine, I’m a busy man, Carmine. Let’s get this meeting underway.” I drummed my fingers on the table, still enjoying the few minutes of seeing him squirm.
“Absolutely. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a drink for both of us. Perhaps you’d enjoy a bite to eat?”
I gave him a look and we both sat down. It was customary to offer, although he knew the answer. Also, a drink wouldn’t arrive for Cay as Carmine preferred the old methods of doing business. In his mind, my Capo was nothing but an unintelligent hired gun.
Once I was seated, I glanced around the restaurant, noticing our table had already received more than the usual share of glances. People should know better than to pay any attention to meetings of this nature. That didn’t set well with me, but no one was stupid enough to order a hit in the daylight. Cayman seemed on edge as well, already shooting me a cautionary look.
The waiter brought the drink seconds later, backing away so quickly I almost didn’t catch the look of horror on his face.
My instinct was in overdrive. I gazed at the amber liquid, pushing the glass away then leaning over. “If you’re here to provide the signed contract for our business agreement then we’ll toast to our future business endeavors. If not, then we have nothing to talk about and I’ll move on to annihilating your entire corporation. The decision is entirely yours, although I suggest you make it wisely.”
After issuing the mandate, I smiled, noticing his hand was shaking as he brought the glass to his lips. He knew how savage I could be, yet I’d never seen him this full of angst. No. Something was definitely off, the man under obvious duress. I glanced at Cay who was immediately on notice.
“I’m happy to sign the contract, Francesco, but there have been some complications.” Carmine lowered his head and that’s the moment I reached for my weapon.
If my gut was correct, he’d sold his soul to someone else.
Within seconds, I knew I was right, the slow motion of the imploding situation something I’d remember for months to come.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
There was no time for hesitation. Both Cayman and I shoved our seats back, dropping to the floor as we tossed the table over onto its side.
“What the fuck?” Cayman yelled seconds before firing off several calculated shots.
I turned in the opposite direction, scanning the crowd as screams erupted, customers jumping over chairs and each other to try to get away from the impending carnage. I noticed an assassin at four o’clock, carefully able to drive a bullet between his eyes. With both hands on the weapon, I threw my arms over the edge of the table, snarling as I witnessed Carmine and his protégé being escorted toward the back. They were nothing more than the decoys, luring us to the destination.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” Cayman jerked my arm, yanking me toward the front but almost immediately another round of shots was fired, innocent people hit in the process.
I dropped and rolled, firing another round of my own. There were at least four of them if not more, men in suits who’d blended in with the customers, waiting for our arrival. We’d been the sitting ducks, pulled into a ruse.
Goddamn, I was pissed. There was only one family stupid enough to do something like this.
The Bianchis.
I would bet what was left of my soul I was right. I’d never believed they’d been chased away. Roberto Bianchi continued to harbor rage at the loss of his son as well as the demise of what little business they’d garnered in New York. They were American born and raised Italians with no couth and zero respect for the old ways. There was also no loyalty between them, their methods little more than those of brutal animals.
I’d paid attention to their every move for almost two years. Then I’d grown soft, ignoring my usual regimen. How many times would I allow the fuckers to play me for a fool?
While Maxwell had managed to stop a bloody war three years before, my gut had told me one day they would seek additional revenge. If my instinct proved to be true, this time I wouldn’t keep any level of patience. The fuckers didn’t deserve to live.
“Goddamn it,” Cayman hissed as another round of bullets whizzed by, far too close. “Where the hell is Ralph?”
