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“That’s Armstrong’s daughter.”
“Yep.” My team has been keeping eyes on her too, but I never thought the Don would save her for last.
“She’s got 24/7 protection.”
“As she should have. One of ours too, if I know the Don.” There’s a guy that’s going to need a new position. Best I include that in my planning. “Having a security detail must fuck with her social life.”
“Meh. That one’s a real daddy’s girl.”
“You think?”
“She’s never had a boyfriend. She goes to her classes, goes home, cooks healthy meals and plays hostess for her father’s political antics.”
“Replaced her mother then.”
“Like a little lost puzzle piece.”
There’s a summary page. Natasha Armstrong, twenty-four, blonde, five foot seven, blue eyes, runs every day, potential Miss America or porn star material if she wasn’t studying to become a doctor. She doesn’t look the type—doesn’t need to be the type. Her family has money. The millions they owe Il Consiglio were calculated opportunity costs, not actual cash. A deal may fall through but know this: Il Consiglio still takes its dues where we expended time and our own funds to get a project off the ground. “Never had a boyfriend, you say?”
“As far as I know.”
The bodyguard circles are a small world, and like everybody else, they talk amongst themselves. “What are the chances she’s still a virgin?”
Burley shrugs. “Unless Daddy messed with his little girl…” He flexes his fingers, then cracks the thick digits, a signature ritual I’ve watched him perform a few times before he strangled someone who had it coming. Il Consiglio might be into organized crime, and over the decades have spread to numerous cities with hundreds of members, but there are a few things we don’t abide. “Wanna bet on it?”
I smirk. This one is going to be a gambler until the day he dies. “Ten thousand bucks I say she lost it to some prick in high school.”
Burley grunts and we shake on it. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”
“I’m making a trip to Sicily to wrap up business for the Don there. This little one can tag along, and we’ll see.”
“Bit high profile, don’t you think?” he says as he picks up a photo. “And way too sweet for the appetites I think you have in mind.”
I counter him with the latest update that’s been printed out. “She’s got an internship this summer. We’ll arrange a change of destination. Dominic can keep her socials going while she goes on auction and comes back, safe and sound, once the debt is paid up.”
“You don’t want her dead then?”
“The senator paid for Alex.” And I stick to the rules. You kill one of ours, we take two of yours. The math is simple. “She’s going to need travel documents if she’s traveling with me.”
“I’ll get on it first thing,” Burley says as he reaches for his beer.
I nod as Burley takes a last swig, then twists and crunches the can into a disc. “Thanks for the beer. The missus is waiting.”
Lucky bastard. Every now and again Burley gives away his British upbringing, but this universal truth stands: the woman in his life comes first. He lives with his new wife in a four-bedroom apartment adjacent to mine. There is a connecting door for emergencies, but they have the same security level as my own place. Rosalia, who also works as my household manager, keeps everything ticking over smoothly. “I’ll call my brothers in for a meeting tomorrow to set up everything we’ll need.”
Burley nods and we both stand. I head for the fridge, where Rosalia usually has a meal ready for me, as Burley makes his way to the front door. “Thank Rosalia for dinner.”
“Will do. See you in the morning.”
I’m still staring blindly into the fridge when the front door clicks closed some distance away. My mind is a bit of a mess. This thing with Armstrong has been on my own back burner for years. My younger brother Alex died in a shootout when Armstrong chickened out of a deal and blew the whistle on our cover. I walked away with two bullet wounds, but Alex… Alex died in my arms. To this day I can smell the mix of sweat on his brow laced with the tangy richness of blood as his life slipped away. The memory startles me awake at night and I’ll grapple for my gun, ready to shoot my own image reflecting in the mirrored floor-to-ceiling closet.
They say it’s survivor’s guilt. I say I won’t have peace until I’ve personally avenged Alex’s death. I need to balance out this debt myself, over and above the Don’s retribution. The Don has given me the green light. He must know how much I need to do this. His blessing is a gift and a curse because maybe he still thinks I won’t be worthy of becoming the Capo Crimini, the Don of Il Consiglio, until I’ve put the past behind me.
The fridge starts beeping and pulls me from my thoughts. I close the door without taking out the plate of gnocchi Rosalia prepared. Instead, I walk back to the coffee table where Natasha Armstrong’s file is spread out, ready to be memorized.
Best this girl starts praying. I’m about to rip her out of her comfort zone and show her how the world really works.
And for that, no amount of prayer can ever be enough.
