“Bambi got bored and gave Thiago the slip.”
For God’s sake. “Find her. I’ll improvise.”
I go to follow Guido, and then it’s Viper’s turn to stop me. “Tell me the plan first, before you fuck us all to hell.”
I give him the benefit of my coldest smile. “Santiago told us to leave O’Sullivan and Semenov alone, but he never said anything about the rats.”
CHAPTER 20
FRANKIE
The second Guido leaves the bookies, I’m his new shadow, tracking him back past the Parade Ring and into the Clubhouse.
Here, the crowds are swarming like flies, and the queues at the bar are ten-deep. I hang back behind a group of mouthy drunks—the patient executioner—as he waits to be served.
I never knew hate had a flavour. It’s flooding my mouth as I watch him acting all nonchalant, making small talk with the people waiting either side of him like he’s a regular rich guy in an expensive blue suit and not a King Deceiver wrapped up in his coat of lies.
Once he has a large whiskey in his hand, he moves to the far end of the bar where the crowds are less compact. He sips it slowly, savouring each mouthful, and then he’s glancing at the results of the last race on the giant flatscreen above him.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the old man was stalling.
I study him like he’s a new social media trend and I’m a pink-haired kid with a weird name and a penchant for stealing stuff. He must be in his sixties now. There are grey streaks in his black hair, and a stoop to his massive shoulders from the burden of age pressing down on him.
He’s still a savage, though. When someone drops a glass, his hand still reaches inside his jacket for his gun.
Bad habits die next-to-never.
Ten minutes later, my own gun is a dead weight against my chest and my fists are aching for contact. Maybe I’ll beat a confession out of him first…maybe some goddamn repentance. It won’t bring my dead family back or make up for all the lost time without Ada, but at least it’ll end my day on a high.
When his glass is empty, he’s on the move again, striding towards a set of double doors at the back of the Clubhouse and checking his wristwatch. There’s no security around. No tail. No mercy. He’s high and dry, and mine for the taking.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I’m reaching the doors.
“Viper. Did you find her?”
“Yeah, eventually.” He sounds pissed. “She’s back in the car. Chained to the headrest. iPad and iPhone confiscated indefinitely.”
The corners of my mouth lift, despite the scent of blood and violence in the air. “Since when did two mobsters become ‘two men and a fucking wild child’?”
“That’s what happens when you hit your thirties, mafia boy. You get heartburn from the stress of responsibility. By the way, I’m right behind you. Don’t turn around. Keep walking.”
I catch a glimpse of him in my periphery, and then he’s falling into my slipstream, maintaining a couple metres distance as we enter the hallway beyond the doors. Guido is a good ten paces ahead, until he doublebacks into a bathroom suddenly, pulling out a phone from his pocket as he disappears inside.
It’s too late to call God for an absolution, fuckface.
“How is this going down?” asks Viper in my ear.
“We’re painting the white tiles red.”
“Ah, my favourite colour.”
“You still want in on the action?”
“For sure… nah, fuck.” He curses again. “Someone needs to keep the plebs off the killing floor. Do this one alone, but I need your word that we end Semenov and O’Sullivan together.”
“You got it.”
“Wait until it’s just you and him. No collateral damage. This place is too public. No bullets. Make it quiet.”
But not quick. Guido Rossi doesn’t deserve that luxury.
I hang up, nodding briefly at him as I turn and enter the bathroom. He’s pulled his tie loose and his top collar is undone, and there’s a dark hunger in his expression that matches the one in mine. Death and pain are intrinsically linked for us. It’s the black carousel of life. We bring the first to those who made us suffer the second, and it keeps everything spinning nicely.
The bathroom has seven stalls, and a couple are occupied. I hover by the condom machine on the far wall, counting out my change like an eager college kid while the men at the urinals finish up and leave. A beat later, one of the stalls’ occupants emerges, giving me the easy eye as he’s washing his hands.
You’re not my type, sweetheart. You’re not called Ada.
He gets his answer from my face and beats a hasty exit, leaving me all alone with silence and vengeance—a brutal two-step, ticking away in the background like an angry clock—until I hear the toilet flush and the lock jangling.
Stepping into the nearest empty stall, I pull out my gun. I’m not planning on using it, but it’s a good incentive for him not to try anything stupid. I wait until he’s leaning over the sink, and then I make my move, feeling a vicious thrill when he locks eyes with me in the mirror and stiffens, right before our first conversation in fourteen years starts with my Glock making a dent between the shoulders of his designer blue suit.
He curses in Italian, slowly flicking water from his fingertips as he holds them out in surrender. “You’ve got some balls coming here today, kid.”
“That’s what happens when a boy becomes a man, Guido. You stop giving a damn about living clean and start living dangerously instead.”
I watch his lips curve in begrudging respect. That’s when I realise the giant from my childhood is now a good inch shorter than me.
“Do you remember the first thing you ever said to a twelve-year-old boy?” I ram my gun in even harder between his shoulder blades and he winces.
“I remember the gun pointing in a different direction. Put it down, Frankie. Let’s discuss this with honour… Like made men.”
I shake my head, scoffing away his bullshit efforts to talk his way out of this. “You’re a disgrace to Omertà. There’s not a thing you can say to me that will make this go any other way for you.”
His expression darkens. Hell beckons. He knows he’s fuck out of options.
“I saved your life once, kid.”
“And you killed it, all over again. Do you know what they did to her in that basement?”
“Do you know what they’ll do to you once they find out you’re here?” He winces again as I spin him around and back him up against the sink, repositioning my gun under his chin. “Why did you come back, Frankie? For Ada?” He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in me. “Forget her. I told you that before. She’s your downfall, kid.”
“Funny... That’s what Zaccaria said before I shanked him from hip to rib.”
His expression changes. “Why, you piece of—”
“I had his guts in my hands, Guido. The last thing he saw was me ripping them apart. The last thing he heard was my father’s name. You asked me if I was Lastra’s son—that’s the first thing you ever said to me. I haven’t been for a long time, thanks to you and Zaccaria, but I’m making up for it now.”