Successful bosses no longer settled disputes by sending in soldiers to do the dirty work. Nowadays, negotiation and strategy were the tools of an established crime lord. Not so for Valko. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
“Trust me, Don Moretti, we’ll get her back soon.” The look on his patatnik plumped face was apologetic and sincere. Still, his men took her and that made me want to put a fist through the fucking wall. Fury flared through my mind, blinding me. And I wanted to hurt his family members, blow up his warehouses, and torch his possessions.
Go back to my roots.
The thought of the Glock in the top drawer of my desk made my fingers curl under its drawer pull.
Valko’s eyes ricochet off my hand.
“What do you want, Miranov?” I put my weight on the top of the desk and leaned towards him. Jack widened his stance behind our guest, preparing himself for a fight.
“What I’ve always wanted, for the Morettis and Miranovs joining forces. With the influx of the Cartel, the Russos… it’s only a matter of time before we’re squeezed out. The Cartel is homing in on our supply chain of ecstasy from the south, squeezing profits. The Russians have set up prostitution rings that overlap our territories.”
“What did you have in mind?” I hated being backed into a corner, and I swore to myself that Valkov would pay for putting me into this position. I imagine choking him with my own hands, his tongue turning to purple and leaking spit on his pinstriped suit as the life-force squeezed out of him.
Miranov leaned across the table and slid a contract towards me with his meaty fingers. I read it over, and my gut roiled, knowing that I was about to destroy something that I cherished.
As excruciating as it was to give in to his demands, I’d do anything to save Eva, and put my pen to the paper and signed.
“You made the right decision, Don Moretti. Protecting the Miranov’s operations will be good for both of our families. By letting us join the syndicate, all of our organizations will flourish.”
I watched the shmuck as he froze in place. His hands shook at his sides. It’s what Valkov wanted, power and protection, and used my one weakness to get it. Everybody had one.
Today he got what he wanted, but the day would come when he’d pay for using that weakness against me. He wouldn’t see it coming.
I was a very patient man. The recipe for revenge took time.
18
Eva
For self-defense, I’d take brains over brawn any day.
Right now, it was time to kick a little ass.
The thug mobile parked in front of a two-story fortress and I planted two feet on the pea gravel.
You couldn’t call the stone walls and brass topped turrets homey. I swiveled out of the car, noticing the appreciative glance that zip tie guy gave my legs. Coming up fast on my feet, I head butted the gawker under the chin. He stumbled to a cowering position, and I clocked him with my elbow.
I sprinted for the front gate, and heard, “Don’t make me shoot you, girlie. It’d be a shame to get blood on that pretty dress.”
I turned and gasped at the sight of his weapon; my heart tapping out a beat like mores code. I didn’t know a .38 from a Glock, but message received—the black-barreled, deadly weapon was pointed straight at my head.
That didn’t mean I was giving in.
Zip tie guy glared at me, rubbing his chin, took out his phone and called for backup. Someone said on the other end, “What? For the girl?”
“Just get down here,” he growled into the receiver and lumbered towards me.
Icy fingers drummed down my spine; I backed away.
The goon pulled the hammer back on his pistol, and my stomach plunged to the gravel where I stood in the stupid, impractical heels. Taking no chances this time, he kept the gun pinpointed at my head.
Spots swirled in front of my eyes as I realized I’d die dressed like a floozy.
“Hang on.” My friend with the fancy, folded kerchief held up a single sausage finger and turned his impressive, knobbed nose in profile to look at his phone screen. “Yes, Valko.”
Zip tie guy was glaring at me and huffing like an angry bull. I’d clocked him pretty good and held my breath, hoping he didn’t pull the trigger.
“She’s safe. We just got to the house.” Bruno, I decide to name him that, rubbed the back of his neck and pursed his lips in concentration. His canine-like loyalty was admirable.
If only it didn’t involve kidnapping and killing my ass.
Who was Valko?
Was he going to kill me to seek vengeance on the Moretti family, like a mobster movie?
I had to piss like a racehorse and told Zip Tie, “Hey, I gotta pee.”
“Tough titties.” I can tell getting sucker smacked in the chin by someone half his size has wounded his pride, but I don’t care. There’s an urgent matter to attend to in my bladder.
“Fine, don’t take me to the bathroom. I’m just gonna go right here on the gravel.” I squatted down, not an easy feat in the Loubutins, and wondered if heels were a male invention meant to keep women hobbled and helpless.
If so, it was working.
There was no out running anywhere in these shoes.
“Jesus, fine.” Zippy said pissed, pun intended. He positioned himself at my back and I could sense the gun pointed at my spine. “Walk towards the house. You can use the bathroom inside.”
Zippy had to ring the front door, which was answered by a svelte, sophisticated older woman who raised her eyebrows. “Really, Phobus? Is the gun necessary?”
No wonder Zippy was so pissy. His actual name was Phobus.
“Phobus, wow. What’s the origin?” I asked, walking in front of him to the restroom.
“It means fear.” He said with a pout.
“It’s also the name of the Martian moon, and Mars is the god of war.” He told me, lifting his heels and rising slightly to emphasize words as he did so.
“Wow, that’s a lot to live up to.” Come to think of it, this guy reminded me of Marvin the Martian from Bugs Bunny cartoons. He talked like him. “I’ll just be a second.” While daydreaming on the toilet, I noted wealthy toilets differed from poor people’s toilets.
Solid.
The lid didn’t slide around when you dropped your butt on it.
I looked for a weapon to use against Zippy.
Eureka! There it was on the counter.
Wealthy toilets were posh, but everyone pooped. Next to a scented candle sat a glass bottle holding wooden matches and had a striker on the bottom. In the cabinet above the sink, was a can of hair spray.
Jack pot.
I tucked both into my strapless bra, feeling much safer with a mini flame thrower stashed between my breasts.
“Thank you for letting me use your restroom,” I shouted to the interior of the house as I exited the front door, my secret weapon tucked between what my grandma called “tetas.” Phobus was close on my heels, none the wiser.
Bladder empty, I could think now.
Bruno told Zippy and I, “That was the boss. She’s free to go. We gotta take her to Moretti’s place.”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
I patted the hairspray under my dress for comfort. Moretti told me his family no longer dabbled in death. So why did these goons kidnap me at gunpoint?