Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I haven’t forgotten anything.” I lean forward across the desk, staring my grandfather down. “I got to know him. He’s a good man. Did he do what he was accused of? I don’t know, and at this point I don’t care. He’s paid his debt to society, and he’s a free man now. And Savannah loves him. That’s the end of it. You want me to take someone out who’s done our own family wrong? Say the fucking word. I’ll do what I have to do to prove my loyalty. But to murder an innocent young woman who hasn’t done anything? Whose brother hasn’t done anything, other than love my sister? No. It won’t happen. Not under my watch.”
My grandfather rises slowly. “You’re forgetting that this family is still under my watch.”
“Yeah? Fine. I came back. This is my birthright, Grandfather. You need to start changing with the times. Name a name. Any name—as long as he deserves it. I’ll do my duty. I’ll kill the motherfucker. But I will never harm an innocent woman. Especially not one who just got a second chance at life.”
He stares at me then.
Glares at me.
And I wonder if his eyes are drying out, because he’s not blinking.
Despite my urge to, I don’t look away. I see this for what it is. It’s my grandfather trying to stare me down.
He will look away before I do.
I may have learned to come to peace with my guilt during my time in a Buddhist temple, but I also learned inner strength. I learned the power that you can manifest from within yourself.
Right now, I am taking all that power and focusing it into staring my grandfather down.
I’m not sure how many minutes pass before he finally looks away. “Fine,” he says. “The name is Giacomo Puzo.”
“Who the hell is he, and what did he do to our family?”
Grandfather sinks down into his leather office chair. “He’s trying to nudge into our territory. He’s been talking to our suppliers in Mexico, and I don’t take kindly to it.”
I blink, drawing in a slow breath. “Fine. Giacomo Puzo. I’ll take care of it.” I turn, walk toward the door.
“Vincent?”
I look over my shoulder, raise my eyebrows.
“I’ll need proof.”
“Won’t his obituary be proof enough?” I ask, resisting an eye roll.
“Bring me his pinky finger. Along with that goddamned gaudy pinky ring he always wears.” He wrinkles his nose. “I hate the fucking thing. Does he think he’s a goodfella or something?”
“Fine. Consider it done.”
I’m not cutting any fingers, but I’ll get the fucking ring. That’ll be good enough.
I leave the office, walk down the hallway past the reception area and to the elevators. This is my grandfather’s front—the legitimate business he hides behind. Bianchi & Sons Imports. We’re coffee importers. The finest Arabica beans from Columbia.
It’s good stuff. We make a lot of money.
But it pales in comparison to the money we make from drugs.
And now, apparently, people.
A shudder runs down my entire body. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I steel myself. All part of the plan. I’ve got to go along with it, just for a while, and when the time is right I’ll take it down from the inside. I’ll do right by my family.
My real family. Savannah and Michael. My dad and mom. And Falcon, too, I guess.
My grandfather may share his DNA with me, but he sure as hell doesn’t count.
Why he decided to branch into human trafficking is beyond me, but we won’t be doing it for long.
And Giacomo Puzo?
I won’t kill him.
But he’ll die one way or another.
Puzo is easy enough to locate. He’s one of those sleazy two-bit mobsters who thinks he’s smarter than he is. He is also an attorney in a downtown law firm. I don’t dare go to his place of business. Nope. I need his home address.
My private investigator has a location for me within half an hour.
He runs a drug ring in the back of a dry cleaner in downtown Austin. A gambling ring as well. I could get in the game, but that would be too easy.
I need to talk to the guy first. I can probably make him skip town…but not before I get that damned ring.
I go downstairs and text my driver to bring the car around.
Yeah, I have a car now. A black Mercedes with bulletproof windows. And a driver. His name is Fred. He wears a chauffeur’s hat and everything.
I give Fred the address, and forty-five minutes later, we roll into an affluent suburban community to a custom home. The house’s façade is a combination of brick and natural stone which is complemented by large, arched windows. A grand double-door entrance is framed by classical columns and topped with an intricate wrought-iron balcony. The roof is adorned with decorous dormer windows, and the walls are lined with climbing ivy.