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“We’ve got him cornered at his club. He’s got his son with him.”
I glare out the window I’ve just climbed through, checking for his guys. “Am I supposed to give a fuck? You know we spare nobody. This is about getting the jump on him. We get the fool out the way like Ernest wants, then we flip it on Ernest.”
“You coming by? We’re waiting on you.”
A cruel smile comes to my face. “Believe me, Dre. I’ll be there.”
Andre hangs up after confirming he and the others will hold them.
He’ll be surprised when I show up to greet him.
I leave the old building behind once I’m sure Mancino’s goons are gone. They’ve likely left the scene to make sure Delphine’s transported home.
She resembles Leontine in so many ways.
Obvious in the photos of her in the city paper and on the news.
But seeing her in person was something else—it was almost like having Leontine back.
It had thrown me off.
Made me feel like it was the past again.
Leontine and me never got our real chance. Her background and mine didn’t mix. I was hardheaded and at the height of my power as a criminal; there was no turning back once you reached my level.
I was Killer Clay for a reason.
I came from the streets. Trapped in the poorest borough in the city and rose up to make something of myself.
Men like Ernest Adams and his father look down on criminals, but they’re crooked themselves. They’ve never had to suffer in poverty. Ernest’s father betrayed mine and Ernest betrayed me—he was supposed to be my boy, but instead he chose to pretend like his life was squeaky clean and perfect.
Once scandal broke about my father’s shady business deals, Ernest and his father cut me us out of their lives. My school pal gone like that. So was my scholarship to the pricey private school we attended together.
We sunk into poverty. My father fell deeper into the crime lifestyle.
Dark spots like me and my family were erased from their lives like we never existed.
But I didn’t need help from Ernest or the Adams. I succeeded on my own, surpassing even my father’s power, ‘til I was so damn respected, I was ruling my own mafia family.
Not Cosa Nostra. Not Bratva. Northam’s first Black mafia that thrived in the 70s and 80s.
We were respected. We were underground and unknown to the general population, but times were good. Cash rolled in and I was living the high life.
…’til shit hit the fan and we lost some of our power. Relations went south with Leandro Crotone and then got fucking worse with Lucius Mancino taking over.
My numbers have dwindled. My influence and net worth.
If not for the Speakeasy, times would be really rough.
That’s what Ernest doesn’t get, though. I’m always gonna find a way to survive. I’m always gonna come out on top.
He’s gonna learn and so is Mancino.
Nobody tops Killer Clay.
I call up Ernest and let him know the latest—without mentioning my ulterior motives. That this whole thing is payback on him too.
“We ran Mancino off the road,” I say as soon as he answers. “Nirvana’s where it’s all going down. Just like old times.”
