AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah, bitch, take my dick. I’m stretching you so good with my big cock, aren’t I?”
Grimacing, I go to the wet bar by the dinette near the stern and pour myself a shot of whiskey.
It takes him about thirty seconds to finish. Although it seems like an eternity to me and I’m sure to the poor woman in there with him too. All the while, he demeaned her, called her a whore and a slut because he needed her approval. Validation that he was big enough to make her feel something.
I’ve never seen Joaquin’s dick. Don’t need to view his prick to know it’s probably proportional to his body size.
Because if your dick is big enough, you don’t need to ask a woman if she feels it. In fact, if you’re big enough, she shouldn’t be able to speak, much less answer stupid fucking questions.
A few minutes later, a brunette climbs out of the lower deck, wiping white powder from her nose as she shrugs into a thin red sweater. She gives me a weary smile before she grabs her purse from the cushioned benches around the deck and makes a hasty retreat.
Joaquin traipses out of the companionway, linen shirt open to display his hairy chest and three thick gold chains.
He spots me and grins, flashing me the many gold teeth he likes to decorate himself with. “If I’d known I had a visitor, I’d have put on a better show.”
“I texted that I was on my way. Guess you were preoccupied.”
Sitting across from me, he tugs a cigar from his shirt pocket and lights it. The tip glows red several times as he puffs, then blows out a stream of black smoke. “What are you doin’ here? Figured you’d be MIA for a few weeks after your pops was offed. Thought you might want to find out who did it. I know I would.”
I don’t remind him that when his father died, everyone mourned him except for his own sons.
“Business must go on. It’s what my father would have wanted,” Joaquin had insisted when he took over.
He jumped in feet first, refusing to look back. If Francesco Gianni’s car accident was caused by something other than mechanical failure, we would never know.
Joaquin stepped into the role of kingpin, elevating his younger brother, Renzo, from capo to underboss, stripping my father’s rank of consigliere and swiftly eliminating anyone who would oppose him. Not that many did. We’d all respected Francesco, and that extended to his sons.
Unfortunately, any loyalties he may have been afforded for who he is have been waning as his stupidity chips away at the strength of the Gianni name.
Every day I like him less and less.
“So, you’re here now. I have a job for you.” He tugs his cellphone from his pants pocket, enters something on the screen, then hands it to me. “Luca Sinacore. Get rid of him.”
I glance at the photograph he’s pulled up of a thirty-something male with long brown hair, dressed in biker clothes, standing in front of a pizza joint. The picture was taken from a distance, probably because whoever did it was too chicken shit to get closer.
“Why?” I ask.
He narrows his gaze. “Because I said so, bitch.”
“You ask me to take out Tony Sinacore’s brother, I need more than that.” Killing the brother of the ruling mafia king in New York could start a war we’re not prepared for. Not with Joaquin as boss.
My cousin smirks with annoyance but complies. “You know he’s the one who stole the shipment of coke from the border. Do you realize how much money that cost me?”
“Yes. I also know that you planned to sell it in New York without paying the Sinacores their due. Luca did what I would have in his place if someone planned on selling shit in our territory.” I toss the phone back at him. “If you want him dead, give me a reason, not a fucking sob story.”
Joaquin’s jaw tenses and the veins in his temples bulge as he gives in to his quick temper. “If you’re not here to do your job, what the fuck do you want?”
“I just came from the morgue,” I say, unfazed, and down the remainder of my drink. “Gunderson warned me that the case would be closed soon.”
Joaquin nods slowly, sucking on that cigar, narrowing his eyes as if he’s thinking. “Shame. Sometimes there isn’t enough evidence.”
“It’s not a lack of evidence,” I say coolly, though I feel anything but. “First, Chief Morrison, and now, the D.A. is off your payroll?”
He stares at the low glass table between us, the corners of his mouth tugged down. “We had issues.”
“What sort of issues?”
“The kind that make it impossible to work with her,” he snaps.
