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“Take a seat,” Barone says, and walks off without bothering to see if I’ll do as I’m told.
But I do. I’ll sit and stay and bark on command, if that’s what they want.
I’ll do whatever it takes to further and protect the interests of the Castellani Family.
CHAPTER3
BRICKER
“You started the party without me?”I ask, throwing my keys in the communal bowl by the door.
The grimy windows of the Lair battle with the light trying to get through, which is just as well, since nothing could make the worn-out furniture and threadbare rugs in here look any better.
This is our nest, a throwaway place out in one of the seediest neighborhoods in the Valley. But I’m in my element here, surrounded by my crew, laughing and joking as we start the day. The air might be stale with old, ingrained cigarette smoke and the smell of strong coffee, but it’s home to us.
Tony the Pony emerges from the kitchen, munching on a cold slice of pizza for breakfast. “We got tired of waiting around for your lazy ass.” He punches me on the arm in greeting, the blow cushioned by the leather of my jacket.
Grinning, I go into the kitchen and grab out my stained coffee mug from one of the open-faced cupboards—open-faced because all the cupboard doors were ripped off long ago, pre-us. It doesn’t seem to have been a stylistic choice. I head straight to the coffee machine; at leastthatI can’t complain about. It’s probably the most expensive thing in the house. “Lazy?” I call back over my shoulder. “I’ve been working overtime to keepyourungrateful asses out of trouble with the Maestra.”
“Trouble is my middle name,” Van quips from the ratty armchair in the corner.
“Yeah, and Dumb and Dumber are your first and last.” I take a sip of coffee, and wink at Honeybee over the rim, who chortles along with Giddy and Nico at Van’s expression. Tank snorts, and even Jazz gives a slight smirk, which for her is practically a guffaw.
“Ouch,” Van says with mock hurt. “Handing out the burns early this morning, Cap. What’s with the mood, your one night stand’s beer goggles wore off too fast last night?”
Before I can even flip him the bird, Pony’s piling on. “Hey, Bricker!” he calls out. “Remember that time you almost got taken in by that cop because you were so hell-bent on flirting with him?”
“Shut up, asshole,” I say, kicking out at him as I walk back into the living room. “We all have our vices. Mine happens to be men in uniform.”
I laugh at the chorus ofewwsandtraitorsthat follow and a warm sense of contentment fills my stomach along with the coffee. These people are more than just my crew. They’re my family.
“Alright, enough about my amazing sex life,” I say, leaning against the old table in the living room. “What’s the news?”
“Tank said something about a shipment coming in this morning,” Pony replies, glancing at the silent Tank in the corner. He’s already cleaned two shotguns and is dismantling a third. “Might be we should get down to the docks, make sure we get hold of it before those fucking Bernardis stick their noses in.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “A few of you can scope it out, bring the goods back here. The rest of us can keep doing what we do. And tonight we’ll hit up the bar. First round’s on me if that shipment comes in without the Bernardis squeezing extra out of us.”
“Deal!” Rook agrees enthusiastically. “Who’s driving down to the docks?”
“Me, numbnuts,” Pony says. “Who the fuck else?”
I don’t like the edge of condescension in his tone. Rook’s green, but he’s enthusiastic. But I don’t have to say anything, because Jazz gets there first. “Hey, Pony, what’s the difference between your driving and a drunk squirrel on roller skates?” she asks. “The squirrel has a better chance of getting to its destination in one piece.”
“Hey!” Pony protests. “Don’t do your wheelman dirty like that!”
This time, I hear even Tank’s chuckle from the corner.
“Okay, okay,” I say, waving my hands to shush them, though I still smile. “Seriously, we’ve got work to do.”
As the crew settles down, I take a moment to look around at their faces, some weathered by age, others younger than I am. They’re the definition of a motley crew, but they’remine, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. Our jokes might be sharp, but they keep us connected.
The sound of my phone ringing breaks through the quiet. I check the name and clear my throat, standing up straighter. “Duty calls.”
Van narrows his eyes. “What’s the old lady want now?”
“Watch it,” I say. No one talks about Anna-Vittoria that way. Van holds up his hands, backing off, but I can tell he’s still worried. So am I, but I try to shrug it off. “It’s the Baron,” I tell him. “Nothing to worry about.”
But the crew has sensed my sudden shift in mood, and the room falls silent.
