“A job came in. The client isn’t new, or rather, the family isn’t.”
“Who?”
“New York—Marcellos.”
Gian dragged in a heavy breath and rested back in his chair to steeple his fingers together. He didn’t look at either of his sons, but Chris didn’t need to see his father’s eyes to understand what he was thinking when that name came into play. Oh, sure, their family was on friendly terms with the Marcello Cosa Nostra in New York. The largest mafia organization in North America, it was always better to be on their good side.
His father’s reaction, no doubt, was because he wondered what the issue was. With the Marcellos, it couldn’t be something small. They went all in, or nothing at all. There was no in between for them, and it was one reason Chris respected them as much as he did in the grand scheme.
“And?” Gian asked.
“They need a retrieval done,” Dare said, “which seems simple on the surface—it’s my team’s specialty, right?”
“It seems to be their focus, yes.”
“Except there are details that make it problematic for this job. And beyond those issues, I have another problem.”
“Which is what?” Gian demanded. “Because my suggestion, Dare, would be to give the Marcello family whatever they want, and get them off your ass. They are not the types to be fucked around, and they won’t stand for you to jerk on their chains, if you understand what I’m saying here. Take it into account when dealing with them.”
“I am,” Dare muttered, “that’s not the issue.”
“Well, what is?”
“The auctions, Gian.”
“Ah,” his father said in a sigh, massaging at his temples with his fingers. “Right, those are next month.”
“And the main team—the one I’d use for this job—are being sent out to Russia next month for a prison assignment. We need someone to scope the target out first, and gain as much information as we can get before we gather who and what we need. Then, we can grab the target, but not before. Maybe two months, or a little less. I don’t have someone who would be appropriate for this job except Corrado and Alessio.”
“I can do it,” Chris said.
He didn’t regret saying the words, sure. All eyes in the room turned on him as soon as he said it. And even the man on the phone quieted at the declaration.
“What?” he asked.
“You haven’t done a job for The League since you were nineteen,” his father said.
“It’s like riding a bike,” Chris returned, “you fall off, and get back on.”
Right.
Like riding a bike.
Mostly, Chris spoke up because he didn’t want his twin to be bothered and that fucking ingrained need inside his being to take care of Corrado, and look out for him—even when his twin didn’t have a clue he did it—was bred deep.
He blamed genetics.
And his father.
“That’s ... going to be my suggestion, actually,” Dare said, his voice filtering through the speaker again. “Because with your influence and name, Gian, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to infiltrate the organization where we believe the target is located.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Gian asked.
“When can you two get to Vegas for a proper briefing?”
Gian gave Chris a glance.
He shrugged.
“Christmas is soon,” Gian said.
“Right after New Years?”
Chris nodded to his father. “After the new year is fine.”
“Good. I will arrange it with the Marcellos.”
The phone call ended before anyone said goodbye, not that Chris or his father seemed to mind. Marcus continued sipping on a glass of whiskey, not bothering to step in at all.
“Are you sure you want to take that assignment?” Gian asked Chris. “You have duties here to la famiglia, too, son. I am sure I could make do for a couple of months, but it’s not about that. I want you to be certain this is what you want to do.”
His father, always looking out for his boys.
Chris appreciated it.
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not?
That seemed to be the story of his life.
Might as well add another chapter.
• • •
The League ran their business out of a cluster of connected buildings deep within the desolate land of Nevada which they dubbed the complex. And frankly, Chris thought the name fit considering it’s massive size. It had to be considering everything and anything The League needed to operate smoothly was inside the complex.
He trained here. Broke here. He lived here—ate, slept, and survived behind these walls. He was sure, despite the time he had stayed and worked for The League, he hadn’t seen every single square inch of the place.
They also added to the place over the years, building on to the complex for whatever suited their purposes. It had been a while since Chris last visited the secluded cluster of connected buildings, so he hadn’t known they added an Olympic-size pool until he stood in the doorway leading to it.
He stared across the calm blue water, unnerved by the black tiling design at the bottom of the pool. It gave the water a bottomless effect, and it sent his anxiety spiking through the roof.
If the water went over his fucking head, it was too deep. An almost drowning as a child left Chris with a paranoia and fear for water. He did his best to hide it from others, but his family knew.
And The League.
They had knowledge of it, too.
One of the many reasons he was conflicted on being back inside this building. Although he appreciated all they did for him here, and what it taught him, Chris still walked away from this place with more scars than he cared to count. Some, more than others, never too far away from his thoughts.
Their motto?
Break the body, break the mind.
They’d done that to him.
Again and again.
“Chris,” Gian murmured.
For the first time, he looked away from the pool, realizing he had come to a complete stop before he passed the room to stare inside. His father, a few steps down the hall, raised a brow and waited for him to get over his ... thing.
“Sorry,” Chris blurted, “I’m coming.”
Gian nodded, but said nothing about the water, or the obvious problem Chris had by being near it. His father was good in that way, and Chris respected it. “Dare is waiting with the others. Let’s not keep them.”
Right, right.
Their reason for being here.
Knowing his father made a good point, and the Marcellos had been kind enough to allow them to hold this meeting after the holidays passed, Chris forced his attention away from the goddamn pool. He followed behind his father in silence, walking through newer halls of the complex he wasn’t familiar with as the owners added them over the last year.
Before long, they stood in the doorway of Dare’s office. The group inside, four in total, turned to greet them, although none wore smiles.
That serious, huh?
Chris recognized all the men, but for different reasons. Dare, standing behind his desk, because he had been Chris’s boss for a time, and he was his father’s business partner with this place. Cree, the Native with his hands clasped at his back in front of a row of screens showcasing an aerial view of what looked to be a map, because he was one who trained Chris here.