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Pulling out a chair to sit on I take in Eric again briefly without him noticing my gaze because well fuck, I like my eyes where they are and not on the floor next to Steve’s fingers and teeth.
This is the first I’ve seen Eric since before Saint and I left to track down Steve. At first sight I’m taken aback by his appearance and so is Saint by the look of him.
I’ve never seen Eric with so much as a crease on his designer Desmond Merrion suits, but here he sits head down, his shirt is undone at the first few buttons displaying a patch of rugged grey chest hair and crinkled as if someone’s been bunching it up and trying to tear it from his body. He sucks in a sharp breath seeming to collect himself, straightening his shoulders up in his leather chair. Dark circles have formed under his red rimmed eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is a mess like he’s been constantly running his hands through it. The thin scar that’s normally visible from his left ear to chin is hidden by stubble that’s grown around his face in the past few days.
I take in the state of the room again. Fuck I hate this room. Everything is black, right down to the shiny marble floor tiles. I wonder how many people have been killed in this very room? Easier to mop up blood with tiles I suppose.
My eyes cast towards Saint who lifts a brow. His eyes asking what the fuck as they filter between Jono, Owl, and me. He bends picking up a chair from the floor to sit on. A cracking noise can be heard around the silenced room when he places it in an upright position. One leg is almost broke in half. Setting it back where he found it, he strides around the table planting himself in a chair that still sits in place untouched.
Jono doesn’t sit next to us, instead opting to stand to the right of Eric, setting a glass of neat whisky on the table for him. Eric drinks it in one go then hands the glass back to Jono to keep them coming.
“I have a job for you. It appears the rat bastard had some valuable information to share when he was begging for his miserable little life,” Eric says calmly.
“It’s amazing how loose a tongue can get when it’s about to get cut off boss,” Owl jokes.
I cock a brow wondering what that has to do with Saint and me.
“It appears that our good friend Steve has been feeding back information on our organisation to Marcus Maloti,” Eric says rubbing his hands together before cracking each knuckle.
“Maloti?”
Fuck. The Maloti family is one of Erics biggest rivals. Each family would slit the other’s throats to be on top of the fucking food chain. Or in this case the drug, gun, and money laundering chain.
“What did the prick give them?” Saint quizzes.
Owl answers. “The bastards been working for Marcus all along. Feeding him information on us for months, including the location of one of the warehouses full of cocaine that we’d just shipped in. The same warehouse that was recently raided by the cops and seized.”
“That coke cost me a lot of fucking money,” Eric interjects.
“Why weren’t the cops not paid off to get it back again?” Saint asks in a serious tone.
“The drugs were being stored across the border which is outside our territory,” Owl exclaims.
Shit, this is bad. I knew that one of the warehouses was compromised, but I didn’t know Maloti was behind it. You can’t earn money if there’s nothing to sell, which was obviously their plan all along. Hitting the mafia in the pocket is where it hurts the most.
Eric lifts his glass swirling the amber liquid around in a circular motion.
“The warehouse situation is not why I called you down here.”
“No? Then why are we here?” Saint asks his dad, but it’s Owl who answers.
“In a desperate attempt to plead for his tongue, Steve also gave up information on his new boss,” he says before continuing. “Marcus had a new visitor at Valley State prison. Apparently daddy dearest Ian has hired him a new lawyer that’s now moved into town in a desperate bid to launch an appeal against his conviction. One of the best defense attorneys in the State from what I hear, with well-known connections.”
“Appeal? Wait, wasn’t he put away for life for murder?” Saint replies.
Eric sighs heavily, running his hands around is face. Tiredness obviously catching up with him.
“He was but this new lawyer of his has made quite a name for himself over the years. He’s acquitted more guilty made men than I can count,” Owl says.
“The murder Marcus was found guilty over was a set up by us,” Eric clarifies.
Fuck me. A set up? This is going to be bad if the Maloti’s find out Eric did this. It’s hard to believe amongst all the hatred, bloodshed, and death between them that the families once coexisted peacefully. It didn’t last long. Many years ago the boss of each family arranged a deal in a bid to broker peace as the battle between them raged to dangerous levels, allowing many rivals to reap the benefits of their war. Both families agreed that they would unite their empires to become one unstoppable force, sharing power, and wealth following the marriage of Ian’s only daughter Viola and Patrick Garo’s only son Eric as soon as Viola turned 18. The union may have been beneficial to them but hatred was rooted deep between Marcus and Eric. Marcus was strongly against the union from the very beginning. He threatened to kill Eric if he didn’t call off the marriage to his sister but Eric refused to give her up. There were whispers that Eric was bewitched by Viola’s beauty, but I found that hard to believe. Eric’s not the type of man to fall in love. He sees women as transactions that can be easily bought, just like everything else in his life.
The wedding however never took place and the truce was broken. Viola apparently ran away five weeks before the wedding. Ian kept it from the Garo’s until the night before the nuptials in hope that he would have her returned home in time for the wedding and that the deal would still go ahead unbroken. He knew the consequences it would bring. Once a boss in the mafia gives his word, there is no going back.
Except Ian didn’t find her, and almost two years of searching Ian found out his only daughter had been found by his enemies who sent her back home to him one body piece at a time.
“If the lawyer is that good maybe we could turn him, hell, he might even come in handy for us one day,” Saint jokes.
