Page 87 of Waste of Worth

He’d assumed the two were just plain-clothed detectives come to rattle his chains like the many times before. He certainly hadn’t thought the two were FBI as those fucking idiots rarely bothered him unless something big was about to go down.

Dino had just grabbed the handle of the driver’s door when the agent stopped him by saying, “How many businesses do you own in Chicago, DeLuca?”

Christ.

“A few,” Dino answered.

“Do you use all of them for Outfit business, or just the club?”

Dino didn’t know what the agents were getting at, but he didn’t like it. His teeth grinded in his effort to stay quiet, but he still spoke even though he knew he shouldn’t. “What does the FBI have anything to do with my business? Chicago PD getting lazy and they called you in? I’m pretty sure my business is below the level of the Bureau.”

“War on crime?” the taller of the two—Courtly—asked.

Dino scoffed. “Right—the war. Like the war on drugs that actually only created more drugs. Or the war on guns, which only left Chicago with more bodies piling up. If that’s your mode of operation, you people are fucking failing. Miserably. Try again.”

Agent Stanley stepped forward, a strange smile curling his lips. “Keen observation skills you have there, Dino. I bet it does you well as a Capo, huh?”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

The man shrugged. “Didn’t think you would.”

Agent Courtly glanced around the parking lot. “Three-hundred-million this year was dedicated to fighting the war on crime, but of course, we all know that starts at home, right? How much Outfit business is tied to overseas trading and exporting? How much business is tied to importing? We’re just doing our jobs, DeLuca.”

“And I’m done wasting time on this today,” Dino replied, opening his car door.

He had just slid inside his vehicle when Agent Stanley grabbed the edge of the door, keeping Dino from closing it completely. The agent didn’t even grace Dino with his attention when he demanded he let go, given he wasn’t under any sort of arrest and they had no reason to be bothering him.

“Thought we’d give you a heads-up,” the agent said quietly. “Maybe give you a chance to do something worthy with your life.”

“What are you talking about?” Dino barked.

The agent looked Dino right in the face, and smiled. “Seems someone is out to make a mess for you.”

What?

That question seemed to be the story of Dino’s life lately.

Instead of asking the agent to explain himself again—he knew damn well he wouldn’t get a decent answer—Dino pulled hard on his door, forcing the man to let go or get all of his fingers broken when it slammed shut. Thankfully, the fool let go, leaving both agents standing outside of his car as Dino started the engine, backed out of the parking space, and pulled away with tires squealing against the pavement.

But even as he drove away, his mind was frozen.

He was stuck on the whole encounter, as strange and random as it had seemed. He was one person who knew all too well that no matter how odd something seemed, coincidences did not exist in their life.

Dino could still hear the agent’s words all too loudly in the back of his mind.

Someone is out to make a mess for you.

What did that mean?

What in the fuck does that even mean?

Dino decided he would have to figure that out later, because at that moment, he had far more important things to consider. Like the fact the agents had specifically thought to mention his club, and the business that he conducted inside.

That was more important.

That was something he could handle immediately.

Hitting the call button on the steering wheel, the car’s Bluetooth turned on, chiming loudly with instructions.