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“You must, because you keep saying my bid to build the Olympic stadium is still being considered.”

“It is. I told you that you’ll be awarded the contract. Just sit tight.”

Nico stirred his espresso slowly, then placed the spoon on the saucer. “I do not sit tight, Thomas. I ask questions and expect answers. I make demands and expect action. This city, your office, owes a great deal to me, my family, and I will not sit tight, capisce?”

“Nico,” O’Connell leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m doing all I can. The guys from the IOC⁠—”

“Stop making excuses. This is your city—my city—and I will have that contract, Thomas. Make it happen, now.”

“Listen, they’re doing a forensic accounting into the background of every company who placed a bid before awarding it. They flagged you because you don’t have enough legitimate businesses. They don’t want a repeat of what happened in Milan.”

Yes, Nico knew what had happened in his hometown. A few mafia-backed construction companies had over-inflated their costs and made a fortune while transforming Milano into an Olympic-ready city. Nico planned to do the same in Toronto.

And he wouldn’t be put off or handled by some bureaucratic puppet who should know better. Nico had waited patiently for seven months with the promise that the contract would be awarded to him. He was done waiting. No one was taking this seriously enough. Perhaps it was time to remind O’Connell who he was dealing with.

Nico let his voice harden to a razor’s edge, menace in every vowel and consonant, as he leaned in. “I don’t give a single fuck about Milano or any forensic accounting. The stadium is the biggest contract and I will have it.”

“And you will. Patience, Marzano.”

In a blink, Nico picked up a fork off the table—and slammed the tines into the mayor’s hand. The fork’s handle wobbled grotesquely as O’Connell’s screams reverberated off the old paintings and exposed brick. The mayor’s security detail took a few steps forward, but Filippo was there, blocking the way. “You do not want to do that,” his cousin said quietly.

Nico just sipped his espresso and watched as O’Connell cried and bled all over his cheap poly-blend suit. With his good hand, the mayor pulled the tines from his skin and howled in pain all over again. Quickly, he grabbed a linen napkin off the table and pressed it to the wound. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the fuck! You just stabbed my fucking hand! You fucking lunatic!”

“And I will stab it again,” Nico promised, “if you don’t watch your fucking mouth.”

“You’re insane.” O’Connell cradled his injured hand to his chest. “I told you that I will make it happen.”

Had the mayor not learned his lesson? Nico eyed the steak knife on the table longingly. Maybe he would try it next, if Thomas didn’t start doing exactly as Nico asked. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and let his disgust and irritation show. “I do not want you to tell me to be patient. I do not want to hear about what happened in Milano. What I want, Thomas, is for you to convince the IOC to give me that contract. Immediatamente, capisce?”

“O-okay.” Blood was now soaking through the napkin wrapped around O’Connell’s injured hand. His shoulders were trembling slightly. “I will. I swear it.”

“See that you do. Now, get the fuck out of my sight.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, then motioned to Filippo.

O’Connell was shown out and Nico downed the rest of his espresso in one swallow. Wait, wait, wait . . . it was all he heard these days. From the man who’d drugged Sofia, to the stadium contract, and even Bennett Verreault, everything was taking too long. Nico fucking hated it. He was fed up with waiting.

There had to be someone on the IOC committee he could bribe. And the money would come out of whatever he’d been prepared to pay Mayor O’Connell.

Filippo slipped into a vacant chair at the table. He pushed the mayor’s cup and saucer out of the way with a sneer. “Chi mente una volta, mente sempre.” He who lies once, always lies.

Nico loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. “I’m tired of this. Have Sergei investigate the committee. Let’s find someone to push this through for the right price.”

“Good idea. Though O’Connell won’t like that.”

“I don’t give a shit what O’Connell likes. He had his chance.”

Filippo took out his phone and unlocked it. “Oh, speaking of Sergei. He has those addresses you wanted.”

Nico’s mouth curved slightly. Progress, finally. He’d asked Sergei to locate the home addresses for the five Reign players who drove the kind of car they caught on camera. One of these five had drugged a Marzano and would pay for it. And Nico wasn’t ready to eliminate any of them because he happened to be one of Bennett’s friends.

Nico picked up his demitasse cup again. “Va bene. I want them. We will break in and see what we can find.”

Filippo texted for half a minute, then rested an elbow on the table. “This will be fun. It has been a long time since we broke into houses together, cugino.”

“Remember the time the cat made you nearly piss yourself?” He smirked. “You almost shot that poor kitty.”

“Vaffanculo! You were scared too.”

“Cazzata. I was never so jumpy.”