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While I chew, I prepare chamomile tea.
I glance at Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi, then think about the short time I’ve spent here.
So far, my stay has been enjoyable. It’s a million times better than being at home with my family.
I hope I get to visit for a while before Damiano follows through on whatever plan he has for me.
Chapter 9
Damiano
When Carlo brings the SUV to a stop at one of my warehouses, I shove the door open and climb out. Straightening my jacket, my gaze sweeps over the area before I head toward the side door.
The moment my men see me, they straighten up.
Tommy rushes toward me. “We found the fucker trying to deal in Mott Haven. There were five other guys with him, but the fuckers put up a fight, and we had to kill them.”
Nodding, I walk to where the drug dealer is sitting on the floor. My men have restrained him with zip ties and already gave him one hell of a beating.
Stopping a couple of feet from the prisoner, I say, “Dealing in the Bronx and Brooklyn is ambitious. What made you think it would be allowed?”
The man lifts his head, and when his eyes lock on me, they widen with fear.
Immediately, he starts to ramble, “We were just told to sell in those areas. They offered us good money for the work. Please, I have a family. It’s tough out there. I just wanted to make a quick buck.”
When I continue to stare at him, he starts to sob. “Please. I’m just a bottom feeder. A man by the name of Leroy gave me the job. That’s all the info I have, boss.”
Letting out a sigh, my eyes flick to Tommy. “Find Leroy.”
“Yes, boss.”
“So I can go?” the dealer asks, his tone filled with hope.
Not sparing him another glance, I turn around and walk to the side door.
“No! Wait! Wait!” he shouts right before a gunshot rings through the air.
Reaching the SUV, I open the passenger door and pause to say, “I want more men cleaning the streets. If we wipe out the bottom line, it will cut into Miguel’s profits. Hit the fucker where it hurts most.”
“On it,” Carlo mutters.
Climbing into the SUV, anger and frustration simmer in my chest.
I want Miguel’s drugs out of my fucking city.
I pull my phone out and go into the group chat with the other heads of the Cosa Nostra. I start a video call, and when only Angelo, Franco, and Renzo answer, I frown.
“Where’s Dario?”
“He’s probably at the ballet company,” Renzo replies. “He’s been busy with the upcoming show.”
Right.
“There’s a meeting at my club tomorrow at nine.”
“It’s a Saturday,” Renzo mutters.
“Your point being?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
