“We need a new Front of House. A large Spaniard with a knife isn’t going to entice the clientele.”
Viper shrugs. “Depends on what their flavour is?”
“Hot women only. They’re a good distraction for when the cops and the grown-ups come to visit.”
“How very ‘1960s misogynistic husband’ of you.”
I shoot him a look.
“Okay, fine.” With a sigh, he removes the knife from the guy’s throat and twirls it around his fingers—surprisingly adroit, considering he’s missing two digits—acting like his own suggestion is a huge inconvenience to him. “Don’t sweat it, Lastra. I’ll take one for the team.”
“You’re not taking anyone. You’re not screwing the staff.” I rip the cigarette from my mouth and point it at him to show him how serious I am. “It’s not good for business.”
He stares at me again, and I can tell he’s decoding my bad mood.
“How did she look?”
“Trapped.”
“Figures.”
“What the fuck happened here anyway?” I circle back around the counter to join him, shutting down any talk about Ada. “This was meant to be a casual enquiry into buying a business. It looks like a stag party went to hell and back.”
He shrugs. “They wouldn’t sell us their casino for a reasonable price, so I gave them a choice. Not my fault they chose badly. Not my fault you weren’t here to mediate.”
“What else?” I say grimly, knowing he’s holding out on me.
He starts twirling his knife around his hand again, clicking his tongue in agitation. “They looked at Bambi the wrong way. Made a few comments that didn’t sit right, then tried to touch her up when my back was turned.” My shoulders stiffen. “Plus, I recognised them, even if they didn’t recognise me. They all used to work for Guido Rossi.”
I slam the bottle back down on the counter so hard even Bambi glances up. “What the fuck did I tell you about not making waves?”
“Is that ‘hypocrite’ I see tattooed across your face, Lastra?” he says coolly.
“Guido has himself shoved so far up O’Sullivan’s arse he hasn’t seen daylight in twenty years. This slaughter is the equivalent of us sticking a bat signal in the sky to the Red Compass.”
“Well, Guido mustn’t like the smell of shit anymore because he wants out.” He waves his knife at the stack of dead bodies on the blackjack table. “Today, I learned from a couple of these very helpful corpses that he’s been distancing himself from O’Sullivan since Zaccaria got himself arrested five months ago. Now that his old capo dei capi is dead, he’s escalating his exit strategy. Guido knows we’re coming for him, and he doesn’t like to be on the losing team. Zaccaria’s son is scheduled to arrive in London any day now to take control of his territories.”
My family’s territories.
“Which son?” I demand.
“Mario. His second born. A short-tempered, trigger-happy, son of a bitch, who’s pissed the Zaccaria family won’t be getting another capo dei capi anytime soon. That honour’s passed to the Bambrilla family. O’Sullivan’s not thrilled about it, either. Apparently, the old bastard doesn’t like change.”
“Then he better start getting used to it.”
The guy bent over the counter starts moaning again. “There’s a meeting…” It slides out of his mouth in a gurgle of red spit bubbles.
“What meeting?” Viper moves quickly to press his blade to his throat again.
“Thursday,” he rasps out. “Ashton Racecourse. O’Sullivan wants representatives from every organisation in London to attend. Mario Zaccaria, too.”
Viper glances at me. “Sounds like a gathering of the clans. What’s he planning?”
“Don’t know. I swear it.”
“Who is this fucker again?” I say to Viper, raking my eyes over the mess of a man. I’m guessing he’s late forties, early fifties. Shirt and tie were clean on today, judging from the creases. Expensive Italian leather loafers... The guy has the cash, but he doesn’t have much of a face left.
“One of the casino owner’s security guys, or so he says.”
“Is he my ‘good surprise’?”
“Like I said, I’ll get to that in a minute. Don’t hold out on me now, sweetheart.” His voice drops to a dangerously low caress as he turns back to his victim. “You were just starting to make my dick hard.”
“Please don’t kill me.” The guy’s sobbing now, his tears leaving clean trails through all the red. “I don’t know why he called the meeting! No one does!”
“What’s with the horses?” Viper’s blade presses in deeper. Crimson beads start to form as the guy swallows nervously. “Has O’Sullivan got himself a new hobby?”
He nods with difficulty, wincing as the movement makes the blade bite into his skin even more. “One of his new fillies is running in the Novice Stakes at three p.m.”
“Why are you singing like a goddamn canary all of a sudden?”
“Mercy,” he says weakly, and I can barely contain my snort of laughter. That word is like a bad smell in this room, and no one’s claiming responsibility. “Listen, I can help you…”
Viper’s demeanour changes. Reeling backwards, he pulls the guy off the counter with a snarl and forces him to his knees. “Like you showed us fourteen years ago, Ronan.” he hisses. “When you held me down while O’Sullivan took my fingers, and then helped kick the shit out of Frankie here? I knew who you were the minute you stepped into the room.”
I stare down at the guy’s face again, and then I know.
Ronan Kelly.
The man who conspired with Guido Rossi and let me into O’Sullivan’s house that night.
One of the many who betrayed me.
One of the many who betrayed her.
“Mine.”
Another look passes between us. After a long beat, he lets go of Ronan’s sweat and blood-soaked hair and offers me the handle of his knife.
Flicking away my cigarette, I roll up my sleeves, my pulse rate slowing to that steady savage beat I know so well. This is my kill rhythm, when the world ceases to exist, and every hurt and wrongdoing in my past wraps her fingers over the eyes of my humanity; when I slide so close to the gates of hell, I can feel the heat on my skin.
Checking that Bambi’s still surfing the Internet, I nod at the guy standing next to the iDock and Rage Against The Machine gets ramped up to max again. With the music pounding through my veins, I take the outstretched knife and smile nastily at Viper.
“Time to show you how we mafia men like to do things, snake eyes.”
He returns my smile, revelling in the challenge. “Do your worst. Ten quid says I do it better.”
Make him suffer.
To his credit, Ronan doesn’t try and run. Not that he’d get very far. He played his last card, and it was a dud. Game over. Time to pay up.
“For what it’s worth, Lastra, I’m sorry.” He starts crying again, but all I see are Ada’s tears after Semenov swung his baseball bat at her legs.
“Were you there when Guido and O’Sullivan betrayed my family, too?” I murmur, testing the sharpness of the knife against my thumb pad, and relishing the bite when it makes a clean cut.