“Hey. Are you listening?”
A baritone cleaved through my half-baked idea.
I dragged my gaze from the floor to Sergeant O’Flaherty, a police officer in his fifties with bags under his eyes, who was having another meltdown. His use as an insight into the Organized Crime Task Force hadn’t dried up, but I hated the coward.
We stood at the construction site of Nico’s next condominium development.
“I wasn’t. Go again.”
“Rage Machine told me they’d break into my house, tie me up, and make me watch as they rape my wife if I didn’t release their member,” he babbled. “I’m not the only one, Mr. Costa. Anyone who doesn’t take bribes gets a death threat or their car torched!”
“Then accept a fucking bribe. What do you expect me to do? They’re animals.” I shrugged, watching a forklift shower dirt onto a pile. “I’m staying out of their war.”
“Help Legion crush Rage Machine.”
Fuck you, pay me. “I’m not sure that’s worth my time.”
“Well, you have to do something.”
Or what?
I wasn’t in the habit of throwing my soldiers into unnecessary conflicts. I had enough of that shit with other men in charge. “Aren’t you a cop? Arrest someone.”
“No judge is willing to sentence a one-percenter. Nobody is standing up to the MCs. People are dying.” Pete wiped his brow, leaning against his beat-up Chevrolet.
“How sad.”
He stilled. Loathing marked his face. “You’re a callous prick.”
“Might surprise you, but I dislike not being able to walk around my city without a bomb going off. However, I won’t get involved until it makes sense for the Family.”
“You don’t care about anyone.”
Correct.
“Look, you want to stop Rage Machine? Follow their money. Find it. Choke it. Cut it off. Do whatever it takes to kill their finances. Everything will calm down when they can’t finance their fucking war.”
What could I do?
I wasn’t a detective. I had no clue how a brand new MC group had the means to out-finance the much larger Legion with chapters in several states. I didn’t feel like solving the mystery. It didn’t concern me.
“Tell them to stop threatening us!”
Unbelievable. Tell them—like I could pick up the phone and boss a guy I’d never met.
“Okay. I’ll ask if I can fuck their wives, too.”
“This is serious!” He banged my car hood, and I shot him a glare. “The local economy is dead in the water. If you don’t give a shit about citizens, maybe you care about your business drying up when everybody leaves Boston.”
“Jesus, fine.” I was sick of his mewling. “I’ll keep my ears open. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
I leaned in the driver’s seat as Pete drove off. I viewed the biker wars like a cold. It’d worsen before the power struggle shook out its kinks, and then we’d be back to normal. Inserting myself into the conflict was unnecessary. I didn’t understand why Nico kept harping on making peace with Legion. Who cared which MC emerged the victor? If they destroyed each other, perfect. My money was on Rage Machine. I hated Legion on account of the president demanding Liana’s hand.
My thoughts went haywire. I’d offered to save her from them. What more did she need? I scanned our conversation—why had she been so pissed?
Vincent.
My stomach clenched.
I’d assumed Vincent was a dumb lie, but she’d practically thrown me from her house. Then she’d shown up at the gala with that college boy. She mouthed off to me constantly. Perhaps she resented me for taking her from the other guy.
My knuckles whitened. Heat pricked my chest. Maybe she wanted to get with the other Vincent—or that prick who’d made my skin crawl.
What was his name?
James.
I let him off way too easy. My lip curled as I pictured them cozying up in some diner. I shoved my keys into the ignition, stopping as a shadow rippled the ground.
Fucking Pete.
I rolled down the window and stuck out my head, but the angry retort lodged in my throat.
Because I stared into the barrel of a gun.
Ten
Vinn
Nico got out of prison.
Two years early.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for being jumped by my bodyguards, forced at gunpoint into a car, and driven to my boss’s mansion. He’d materialized in Boston like a rabbit out of a magician’s hat. Nobody told me he’d been released. Not the lawyers I kept on retainer or my informants inside his jail. He’d blindsided me.
I stood with Michael in Nico’s living room, which doubled as a museum for my cousin Anthony. His athletic trophies filled the china cabinet. Pictures of the shithead smiled at me from every direction.
My father gave me his stupid name—Vincent—shortly before running out on my mom after I was born. I had no family except Michael’s, and they were a hot mess.
Anthony had it all—money, great schools, sports, parents who loved him. I’d always felt like a peasant when I visited here. My clothes were too dirty for their furniture. I taught myself not to eat everything in sight because my mother couldn’t pull it together enough to make me a sandwich.
I’d envied Anthony.
I’d resented his privilege. I’d stewed in jealousy at the mountain of gifts under the tree every Christmas. As I grew older, my contempt for him deepened into disgust. He’d wasted his potential. Thrown away all that education to become a waste of space. He’d been a junkie and liability.
But as I watched my heavyset uncle pace the living room, gun in hand, I wondered who was the real disaster.
“How did prison treat you, zio? They feed you well?” I pretended not to notice the thirty pounds of weight he’d added, smiling. “Should’ve told me you were back. I could’ve stopped at Lucchese’s.”
“Alessio did already.” He motioned to a pile of meat on butcher paper. “Got me it as soon as he heard. Good kid.”
That fucking asshole.
I ground my teeth. “He knew?”
“No. I called him a couple hours ago.” Nico grabbed the bottle of wine, his hands trembling. “I wanted to get the full story. He said a lot of things that concerned me.”
Great. “So he’s underboss now?”
“I offered, but he doesn’t want the job anymore—”
“Which he made clear when he left town!”
“You ruined what I built.” His voice leapt from the low baritone to a thundering roar. “You destroyed our leadership, compromised our position in Boston, and you lost my son!”
Jesus. “I didn’t lose your dipshit son!”
Nico seized the handle of his Glock and pointed it at me. “What did you call Anthony?”
Was he drunk?
It wouldn’t be the first time Nico had one too many and shot someone. But I wasn’t in the mood to lie down and die.
“Nico, put it down. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not drunk.” He stabbed it in the air like a toddler. “You have a lot to answer for. Both of you.”