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“Fine, I see you’re getting bored of me going down memory lane. I’m just a sensitive guy, but I’ll get straight to business,” he says. “You took something that belongs to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
He grins. “Let’s not play these games, brother. The girl was supposed to be mine,” he says. Then he waves his hands. “We used to be brothers, so I don’t mind sharing, but I want something in return,” he says.
I fold my arms to hear out this lunatic.
“I want half of your territory signed over to me,” he says.
I laugh, and he smiles.
“It’s a genius idea, right? You take the other half. I get half of your territory. Tit for tat. It’s a fair exchange with no robbery involved. All is well, and all is forgiven,” he says.
I smile at him. “You’ve really lost your damn mind,” I say.
He looks at his men with an exaggerated expression of hurt on his face. He loves theatrics, and that has always been his weakness. He hasn’t noticed that the guard behind me has moved away to gather backup, and his men are so invested in his mocking words and jabs that they don’t notice either.
“I thought it was a fair deal, but I guess we don’t think the same way,” he says.
Suddenly, my guard reappears with backup, and men line up on the stairs armed with guns, clubs, and knives.
Giovanni looks up, and he claps. “You are a pro at this game, brother,” he says.
I walk toward him, pushing the men standing between us away. “The next time you show your face in my club, I’ll kill you myself,” I hiss, facing him.
He grins. “I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says. He snaps, and his men retreat. I signal my men to let them pass.
“Watch them until they leave the club, every single one of them,” I order my guards.
They leave the room, and when it’s just Donatello, I rip away the duct tape, and he cries in pain.
“A little warning next time!” he cries.
“Shut up,” I say, producing a pen knife from my pocket and cutting the ropes that bind him.
“I swear, I don’t know how they got in,” he says.
I do. Giovanni and I made the plan for this room. He knows every hidden corner and every hidden crevice, even the ones I’ve never told Donatello about.
Getting in would be a piece of cake for him. The more important question is, why? I haven’t seen Giovanni in years. If all he wanted to do was present this ridiculous deal, he could have called or sent his men. He came here himself. There has to be something else cooking.
As Donatello rubs his sore wrists, my phone rings loudly as I get a call. It’s Bunny. “Bunny?”
“The police, they’re in the mansion!” he cries, out of breath.
I inhale sharply. “Where are you now?” I ask.
“I’m in the basement with the men who are hiding the stash. No one is in the house right now. You have to come quickly,” he says.
“On it,” I reply. I end the call and turn to a quizzical Donatello. I was right; Giovanni had only been here to stall us.
I take the wheel for the first time in three years as I drive home in a rampage like a devil himself is chasing me.
“Jesus Christ, at this rate, we might be in heaven before we go to jail,” Donatello snaps as we hit the second curb.
We pull up to the gates, and the turnaround is empty as we drive in. All the guards must be down with Bunny in the basement. There are three police vans parked on the side of the house as we pull up.
“Fuck this,” Donatello mutters as we both step down from the car and race into the empty house.
