“What?” I whisper.
“Dispose of it.”
CHAPTER 8
CRISTIAN
If Natalia Carprio doesn’t stop giving me headaches, I’m putting a bullet through her pretty little face.
Dario is dead—further proving his smarts were limited.
And now, it’s time to use his death to my advantage.
I pick up my phone, and pleasure hits me as I listen to the ringing. I wait for a man as heartless as me to answer.
“Vincent Lombardi,” I say as soon as he does. “Your son is becoming quite the problem for me.”
“So I’ve heard,” Vincent replies with a huff.
I trace the rim of my whiskey glass. “I have something he wants.”
“I know.”
“He killed one of my men.”
“I know that too.” A brief silence passes. “What do you want, Marchetti?”
“One of your men in exchange for the death of mine. Fifty K for the woman.” I consider that a reasonable offer.
It’s a win-win for me.
A lose-lose for Natalia.
The woman is turning into a liability.
Dario was killed.
My men, including my son, want to fuck her.
And, hell, I’ve thought about fucking her more times than I’d like to admit.
She’s trouble, and she needs to be disposed of.
Might as well profit from it.
Plus, giving her up will provide me with something I want.
“I can’t just hand over one of my men for you to murder.”
“An eye for an eye, Lombardi.” I relax in my chair. “Tell your son to quit being so trigger-happy, and we won’t have these troubles.”
“That’s bullshit, Marchetti. That woman is my son’s ex, and he simply wanted to speak to her. Your man stopped him from doing so.”
“Vinny was unprovoked. He could’ve taken her without killing my man.”
“Fine,” he grunts. “I’ll meet you behind the Seminole warehouse.”
“Be there at eight.”
When I hang up, I smirk with satisfaction.
Tonight, I will lead my daughter’s best friend to her death.
Tonight, the monster inside me will come out.
With the ease of a man who excels at manipulation, I wait until after dark to tell Natalia that I’m personally escorting her home to collect her belongings. I’m chaperoning because Vinny knows not to fuck with me.
Her face gives off nothing when she nods and says, “Okay.”
Four crime families run New York—the Marchettis, Lombardis, Cavallaros, and the O’Connors. In a perfect world, we respect each other and how we handle business. But that doesn’t mean there haven’t been problems. Most of those issues are with the Lombardis. Vincent Lombardi is the boss, but his eldest son, Vinny, will take that title when he steps down.
Word is, Vinny has been bragging behind the scenes of wanting to create chaos, break contracts, and attempt to be king of the city when he steps into his father’s position. Dealing with an idiot like that sounds like a headache. It’s better to kill him now than worry about it later.
The Cavallaros have real estate I want, so that’s why Benny pulling out of marrying Neomi isn’t a fucking option—especially if tension between the Lombardis and me grows. They’ll be forced to take sides, and I need them to take mine.
But if Vincent has a brain, he’ll listen to what I have to say and logically decide to keep his family and operations safe.
Natalia is in the Escalade’s back seat with me, and Rocky is driving. Benny usually accompanies us on business like this, but he’d try to save Natalia from the inevitable. The less bullshit I have to deal with tonight, the better.
“Wait.” Natalia smacks her hand on the back of Rocky’s seat. “This isn’t the way to my apartment.”
“We have a brief stop to make,” I explain in a relaxed tone. “I prefer to run all my errands in one swoop.”
She doesn’t reply, but her shaky breaths echo through the SUV.
Rocky nor I mutter another word. Eventually, Natalia will realize the chances of her returning to her apartment are slim to none. I hope Vincent spares her a quick death, but knowing him, he’ll hand Natalia over to his idiot son like a birthday present. And everyone knows, Vinny’s dick gets hard when he beats and tortures those who have crossed him.
“You son of a bitch!” Natalia screams when Rocky turns into the back alley of the old warehouse. “You’re handing me over to him, you fucking bastard!”
Rocky chuckles in the front.
Like Vinny, he enjoys others’ pain.
Mutilation is his favorite pastime. The man gets off on chopping up bodies and delivering the parts to unsuspecting family members. Good for me. Even though I’ve done it, it’s a tedious job. Rocky calls it therapy, but we all know the man needs to be in a fucking padded cell, not therapy.
I grunt when Natalia lunges toward me, her nails going in every direction as she claws at me. I allow her a few blows—give her a little something before meeting her demise. When I’ve had enough, I snatch her wrists and stop her.
“Sweet, Natalia.” I rub at the nip her nails gave my lip, noticing a small trickle of blood. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge?”
“How could you do this?” Her voice cracks as every inch of her body shakes. “I’m your daughter’s best friend—”
I place a finger over her trembling lips. “You are nothing to me.”
I’m tired of her thinking I care about her being Gigi’s friend.
Rocky steps out of the Escalade and opens Natalia’s door, and she screams insults as he drags her out of the seat. His arms are tucked underneath her armpits, holding her up, and her feet drag along the concrete. I rub my thumb over my lip again, collecting the small amount of blood, and bark out a laugh as I join them outside.
A sedan is parked feet away from us, and all four doors open simultaneously. A bright spotlight above us puts everyone’s actions on full display. I tune out Natalia’s shit talking as Vincent—a dark red cane in his hand—and Antonio, his middle son, ease from the car. Vinny and a younger man then join them. I snort as my eyes lock with Vinny’s bloodshot eyes, courtesy of Natalia’s pepper spray.
His murderous glare slides from mine to a combative Natalia.
Not that she’s making any leeway. Rocky has her arms pinned behind her back with one hand, and his free arm is looped around her waist.
Vinny’s eyes tighten as he stares at her.
I’m unsure who he wants to kill more—Natalia or me.
By instinct, I already know the guy standing next to Antonio is their sacrifice. Baby face, no older than twenty, and most likely made some petty mistake that pissed Vincent off.
Natalia screams, and Rocky’s hand leaves her waist to cover her mouth.
I ignore her, wishing I’d brought a muzzle for her loud-ass mouth, and motion toward the young man. “This the one?”
Vincent—a stalky man, no taller than Natalia—says, “It is,” in a stern and sure-of-himself tone.
“What does he mean?” the poor guy frantically asks, his gaze panning from me to Antonio and then to Vincent. “The one what?”