Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“From the sounds of things, she’s not going to have a life to live soon. They won’t miss a second time.”
“I know,” I agreed. They’d barely missed the first time. Hell, if my car hadn’t pulled into their path, I was sure pretty Elizabeth Riley would be dead right now.
“I get why she feels like she needs to go back and get dirt on her boss,” Renzo added, shrugging. “But the chances of him going down for this are slim. And the chances are even lower that any of the other Bratva members will ever get convicted. They caught that one fuck because of a random search.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“What are the chances that the senator can get the district attorney to drop charges?” he asked.
“I honestly don’t know. I don’t know enough about our DA to know if she is corruptible or not.”
“I think we know from experience that they almost all are, if the motivation is strong enough. If it’s not money for her, it will be the threats that the Bratva can use against her. She’s got a family. Two kids in college. Big risk right there. No way for her to protect them.”
“True,” I agreed.
“And the chances of this girl—“
“Elizabeth,” I interjected.
“Elizabeth,” Renzo said, brows pinching a bit, but he pressed on, “will be able to get enough proof to go to the police, have them build a case, and get anyone arrested before the Bratva finds those weaknesses and uses them against the DA, are almost nonexistent.”
“So what do you want to do?” I asked, finding myself thankful to have him make the decision, since I felt like all I was doing was floundering, following people who never did anything publicly that could get them arrested, who were never alone, so I couldn’t even start picking them off, chopping away at their numbers.
“Fuck if I know,” Renzo admitted, letting out a deep breath, looking as lost as I’d been feeling for months. “All I do know is these fucks took control of two of the street gangs that used to kick up to us. It won’t be long before it’s three, five, ten, until we are fucking outnumbered by them.”
“We could take out the street gangs,” I suggested. Ugly business, killing that many people, but there was nothing pretty when it came to a turf war. And they’d chosen sides against us.
“I got Rico looking into that,” he admitted, nodding his chin toward the man himself who was walking toward the back, bringing a tray of coffees with him.
“The gangs?” Rico asked, passing out the drinks.
I took a sip of the coffee, feeling an immediate and irrational disappointment that it didn’t taste like fucking cookies.
“Yeah.”
“My guys have been reporting back to me. Looks like we could easily take out the Lincolns. They haven’t been strong ever since someone clipped their leader.”
“Someone,” Renzo scoffed.
“Yeah, well, they’re too fucking stupid to realize it’s the goddamn Russians who did it. And now they’re kissing their boots.”
“Do you think the Bratva will retaliate?” I asked.
“Not if we make it seem like the Brook Boys did it,” Rico said, meaning the other gang that the Bratva had turned against us.
It was a common strategy in the playbook. Take out a few members of one crew, make it seem like a rival crew did it, and let them finish taking each other out while you sat back and watched.
Both of our gazes slid to the boss, who sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Do it. We can’t keep sitting around letting this shit happen. This won’t stop the Russians from coming for more of our turf, but at least it cuts the numbers down against us.”
“I’ll get it done,” Rico said, nodding. “Coal has been chomping at the bit for a job. You good with me taking him on it with me?” he asked.
Coal was a kid who’d originally been working against us. But when he’d been chained to a chair and tortured without breaking, Renzo had developed a grudging respect for the guy. And eventually offered him a job on his crew. He’d been relentlessly working to prove himself since.
“Yeah. He’s done a lot of fucking people up so far, but it’s probably time for him to make his bones,” Renzo said, nodding.
We all had to do it.
Make bones.
Take a life.
It was a rite of passage to eventually become a made man in the mafia.
Coal had been working as an associate for Renzo for a while now. But if he got ‘made,’ he’d be a soldier. And possibly on track to becoming a capo some day.
We’d all been Coal’s age or younger when we’d been made. Of course, back then, shit had been different. Renzo had been making a power grab to get control over the area after decades of shitty leadership that left the Lombardi crime family a laughingstock of the Five Families.