Page 8 of Chris

Gian dragged in a heavy breath and rested back in his chair to steeple his fingers together. He didn’t look at either of his sons, but Chris didn’t need to see his father’s eyes to understand what he was thinking when that name came into play. Oh, sure, their family was on friendly terms with the Marcello Cosa Nostra in New York. The largest mafia organization in North America, it was always better to be on their good side.

His father’s reaction, no doubt, was because he wondered what the issue was. With the Marcellos, it couldn’t be something small. They went all in, or nothing at all. There was no in between for them, and it was one reason Chris respected them as much as he did in the grand scheme.

“And?” Gian asked.

“They need a retrieval done,” Dare said, “which seems simple on the surface—it’s my team’s specialty, right?”

“It seems to be their focus, yes.”

“Except there are details that make it problematic for this job. And beyond those issues, I have another problem.”

“Which is what?” Gian demanded. “Because my suggestion, Dare, would be to give the Marcello family whatever they want, and get them off your ass. They are not the types to be fucked around, and they won’t stand for you to jerk on their chains, if you understand what I’m saying here. Take it into account when dealing with them.”

“I am,” Dare muttered, “that’s not the issue.”

“Well, what is?”

“The auctions, Gian.”

“Ah,” his father said in a sigh, massaging at his temples with his fingers. “Right, those are next month.”

“And the main team—the one I’d use for this job—are being sent out to Russia next month for a prison assignment. We need someone to scope the target out first, and gain as much information as we can get before we gather who and what we need. Then, we can grab the target, but not before. Maybe two months, or a little less. I don’t have someone who would be appropriate for this job except Corrado and Alessio.”

“I can do it,” Chris said.

He didn’t regret saying the words, sure. All eyes in the room turned on him as soon as he said it. And even the man on the phone quieted at the declaration.

“What?” he asked.

“You haven’t done a job for The League since you were nineteen,” his father said.

“It’s like riding a bike,” Chris returned, “you fall off, and get back on.”

Right.

Like riding a bike.

Mostly, Chris spoke up because he didn’t want his twin to be bothered and that fucking ingrained need inside his being to take care of Corrado, and look out for him—even when his twin didn’t have a clue he did it—was bred deep.

He blamed genetics.

And his father.

“That’s … going to be my suggestion, actually,” Dare said, his voice filtering through the speaker again. “Because with your influence and name, Gian, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to infiltrate the organization where we believe the target is located.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Gian asked.

“When can you two get to Vegas for a proper briefing?”

Gian gave Chris a glance.

He shrugged.

“Christmas is soon,” Gian said.

“Right after New Years?”

Chris nodded to his father. “After the new year is fine.”