Page 34 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

And my son killed him.

But who was my informant meeting? We didn't have anything scheduled, but that isn't really how it works. A source has something, he finds a way to get that intel to you. I’m not under any illusion that I am the only one he supplied information to. These men work for the highest bidder. Was he playing both sides of the fence? Did he have something for me and was trying to get to me? He knows I’m on the hunt for the person behind the strategic moves against Syndicate shipping operations.

Normally he would have called and set up a meeting. “With Redthorne Holdings only three blocks away, I have to think he was trying to get to me.”

It’s all an assumption. The only cold hard fact I have is my son killed my informant and I want to know why. That fact also points toward my son being the man I’ve been hunting for months and isn’t that a twisted piece of irony.

Son against father.

Fire rumbles through my veins. I hate assuming.

“I can already tell where your head is going.”

I flick the long tube of ash off my cigarette and take the last drag on it before crushing it underfoot. Leaning my head back I blow the last of the smoke out and just stare up at the sky. “When in our line of work is anything ever simple?”

Drake gnashes his teeth before he speaks. “It would be a miracle,” he deadpans.

“Exactly.”

My gut clamps around the poison gurgling in my stomach.

“You’re thinking the same as I am brother, but let’s gather more evidence and facts before we call it. Just because your son is doing shady shit doesn’t mean he’s the one doing the damage to your shipping business.”

“It’s him, Drake. I just don’t have the proof.”

“You want to tell Rafael and the rest?”

“Let me get the solid proof. All I can tell Rafael is that we have Bratva working in our territory leaving their calling card. He won’t want to move on anything until there’s solid proof. There’s no room for error here.”

“Calling card? Explain.”

I pull out my last smoke. At this rate, I might as well get a fresh pack before heading home. I snap the case closed and pull out my lighter.

“The hit style.” I pause and light the end of my Marlboro. “My father taught it to me and then taught it to my son. Check the man’s wounds. Two at the base of his throat from the front and one dead center in the forehead. The kiss of the Volkovs.” I touch each place as I fill him in on the details.

Drake walks over to the coroner and palms him a few bills. When they turn their backs, he pulls the zipper down and snaps a picture.

My phone pings a couple of seconds later with the dead man’s kill shots.

I look at the screen. I’m right. It’s the Volkov killing signature. You see a dead body in the street with three bullets like this, you know who to fear.

I put my phone away and scan the faces of the crowd for a younger version of my own face. But Nikolai isn’t who I spot.

“Know him?” I ask and jerk my chin toward a man with a shirt that doesn’t fit over his expansive middle and looks like he sleeps in his clothes.

Drake plucks my half-forgotten cigarette from between my fingers and puffs on it before handing it back. “Yep.” He releases the smoke. “This night just got interesting. Three words describe Detective Randall Vickers. Dumb, dirty, and expensive.”

Vickers stands near the yellow tape, talking to a uniformed officer. I don't know the man, but I know the type. Willing to do anything for a hefty sum and morals that scrape the bottom of a scum-filled pond. He’s exactly the kind of badge we turn and use to our advantage, only according to Cora this one is playing for another team.

“Cora said she tried coming to the cops before she hit up our wish box. I’m betting he’s the one who sent her packing knowing men would follow her home.”

“Cold fucker.” Drake takes another hit on my cigarette and I do the same, killing it underfoot.

“What do you know about him?"

"Vice for twelve years before they moved him to Homicide. Anyone with enough cash to blow owns his loyalty which shifts every few years. We used to have him on our payroll and then he became unreliable. I think we both know who owns him now.”

My jaw sets.