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It was too easy; picturing me winding that long golden hair around my fist, pulling her head back to make her look me in the eye, and seeing that play of stubbornness lose out to desire. I wanted to hear what noise she’d make when I kissed her and how loudly she’d scream when I made her come over and over again.
If there was another thing I could spot, it was certainly a woman who wanted me.
I grinned. Maybe swinging by tonight would take care of more than one of my problems. Mafioso or not, I was a man who appreciated the proven efficiency of a night ending with pleasuring a blonde in bed. I got a little hard just thinking about it – which was surprising. The last time that had happened, I’d been a teenager — and a civilian.
I have to know her name.
When I came up to Dean’s bar, the little bastard’s skin dropped to an even paler shade than that of those weird green eyes of his. He offered me a nervous smile, “’Lo, Mr. Michaelson.”
“Who’s the blonde, Dean?” I asked as I slid into a seat at the bar and waved at him to pour me my usual. “Damsel in distress?”
Dean lifted one shoulder and busied himself pouring my drink. I had to give him credit. Terrified as Dean was — as anyone with a half-brain was when they knew my face and name — he had some balls keeping shit from me.
My hand drifted to my waist and I swept my thumb along the edge of my Glock. It was tempting to make him spill his sorry guts, one way or another, but that would be a waste of time. Plus, the Son of Celt who owned this bar was semi-decent and I didn’t want to foot his cleaning bill.
Blood was a real bitch to get out of vintage stone floors like these.
More than that, though, the Glock reminded me of why I was here.Fuck, as much I wanted to let off some goddamn steam, I couldn’t get distracted by that girl, no matter how curious I might be to know her story and how she ended up here.
Of all the hellholes in Massachusetts…
“Mickey Weiss,” I said but Dean had his poker face back on as he turned around with my drink. “Detective with the BPD, nineteen years on the force…” I paused. “Too bad he won’t make it to twenty.”
Dean gave me a tight smile. “Too bad.”
“You know him,” I stated, “and I know you’ve given him information — at the behest of your family, of course.” I tapped my fingers on the side of my nose. “Still, being an informant must be a real bitch. Always telling people what they want to hear so they don’t suspect their days are numbered.”
Dean gave me a tight and cold smile. “Pays the bills. And yeah, I know Mickey. He’s not bad for a cop.”
“It’s a him, right?” I picked up my drink and my fingers tightened around it, bracing myself in case I was wrong because that meant it was one of the other names, which were all female. “Not June Duarte? Or Carmen Delacruz?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s a guy cop,” Dean said and gave me that narrow look that I hated. I had to keep myself from reaching for my hardware.
Besides, it wasn’t like I kept secret my ways of operating my business: no killing women, not a damn stripper or sex worker, andespeciallynot a cop.
“This Weiss character’s got balls of brass, I’ll give him that,” I said. “Must want a real big toy from Santa to go after every crime family on the east coast. Big shiny hero’s badge, trophy, the works ? all for what? A bullet in his brain by New Year’s?”
“Revenge,” Dean said. “Henny killed his partner or something.”
“Of fucking course.” I gritted my teeth. Caleb Hendrix – the constant, sociopathic thorn in my side – was the reckless, rival boss of the one family that could take down my own — if they weren’t so busy wrecking things and not cleaning them up. They made business harder for everyone.Jerkoffs. “So, Weiss, what’s he got? Names?”
Dean let out a rough laugh and shook his head. “That’s only the tip of the damn iceberg.”
My jaw tightened even more. I’d only become aware of this mess yesterday. At first, me and my right-handcapo, my cousin Daniel, were convinced we had a rat. We’d had too many close-calls and then the Feds had caught two of our best men.
But when Daniel followed up on a rumor, and that rumor turned out to be half-true… I knew only one person would have the whole story.
And now here I was, in this goddamn Sons of Celt speakeasy, paying Dean for information about a cop on a suicidal power trip who wanted to play the white knight and bring down all of Mafia-dom.
“I know,” I said in a low voice to Dean. “I heard about the Calotti Boys bust. Everyone’s talkin’ about how the cops got lucky for once.”
Dean snorted and shook his head. “You could say that.”
I glanced around and leaned in closer, gripping the bar's edge. “So, I’ve got a guy saying it was a cop in shining white armor and another about a guy who’s got dirt on all the families from Manhattan to Miami — is it true?”
Dean glanced around and nodded.
He was lucky I didn’t grab the back of his head and smash it onto the bar top. “Care to fucking elaborate, Dean?” I hissed.
