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“You’re our second in command because you deserve it,” Nolan quickly reminds him. “It’s definitely not because of your connections.”
“Besides you lot, I don’t have any connections.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Ray asks. “I’ve got a whole team of spies locked onto the four remaining Italian families. Hell, even Roman and Leo have been so kind as to lend me some of their expert assassins. But we haven’t found shit.”
“But we know there is shit,” Aiden says.
“We can smell it,” Shane adds.
Slowly, Ray’s smart black eyes drift over to me. “Do you smell shit?” he asks.
“I think we might have stepped in some,” I sigh.
“Do you think it’s the Italians?”
“It has to be.”
“Fuck,” Ray curses.
Quietly, I hear everyone echo that sentiment.
We’re all thinking the same thing.
This could get ugly.
Over the past month, our political connections have been reaching out to us with some troubling news.
According to them, a steady stream of tips have been coming down the pipeline, and each one has the same theme.
The Kilpatricks and the Barinovs are responsible for those bombs that went off all over the city three months ago—not directly responsible, of course, but as a direct result of our feud with the Greeks.
That’s been enough to draw a whole shit load of extra attention onto our affairs, which is more dangerous than any mafia rivalry ever could be.
We can fight wars, but not even we can fight the government.
The only saving grace is that apparently there isn’t any actual physical evidence connecting us to those terrorist fucks; only those anonymous tips.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t entirely matter. The feds are desperate for someone to blame. They need a public enemy to decry, to investigate, and unless we give them someone soon, all of that attention will be turned on us.
It could be a death sentence.
… And we don’t even know who the fuck is leaking our business.
But we have a good guess.
Only our allies know about what happened between us and the Greeks. And of those allies, none have acting as secretive or as suspicious-acting as the Italians.
But they are supposed to be Ray’s field of expertise, and he hasn’t been able to find shit. Not yet.
That’s why he’s on the hot set.
The clock is ticking.
In this room are men who are used to getting shit done. So, what happens when one of us can’t get the results we need.
A shiver skates up my spine.
