AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Pain in the fucking ass.”
Letting out a long breath, I run my hands through my hair in frustration. Then I almost laugh as I recall the day she pulled it so hard, I thought she’d scalped me. Except it’s not funny.
What the fuck am I going to do?
The broken frame on the floor catches my attention, and I go to it. I pick it up and shake the shards of glass still stuck to the picture of my brother and me. It was taken at least two years ago in front of the house. I’d come home to offer him a deal on a shipment of coke coming in from the border.
He didn’t like the fact that it wasn’t meant for us necessarily. Or more like, that I was planning on going to Jersey to relieve Gianni of that particular transport. I did it anyway. The fucker was going to sell that shit in New York without permission. Which meant Tony would have been robbed of his fee if I hadn’t intervened. My “little gang of street thugs,” as my uncle called us, made three million off that shit even after I paid Tony his due.
“Damn it, Tony.” I shake my head and swallow hard in an attempt to dislodge the sudden knot in my throat. “Why did you have to fucking die?”
After the raid on Gianni, my brother took the blame for it. That’s why Joaquin banned him from Jersey. He should have just killed him, but that wasn’t like Tony. He bowed his head and did what he felt was right to prevent a war between the families.
Now it’s my turn to do what’s necessary.
I’m not sure what that is right now. But what I do know is that I’m shaken to my core and antsy as fuck. My hands are twitching to do something. Carina lit a fire inside me, and there are only two ways I’ll find satisfaction.
Fuck her or kill her.
My blood boils in my veins as I realize that when it comes to that woman, I’d love to do both.
I take a shard of glass and squeeze it hard enough to slice through my palm, hoping the pain will numb some of the anger. It doesn’t.
After tugging out my cell phone, I dial Gunn.
“Why the fuck are you calling me when you should be banging your wife?” he answers briskly.
“Meet me at Ray’s.”
“What the fuck for?” he asks.
“I’ve been thinking. We’ve let too much shit go. It’s time to make some house calls and remind people that New York belongs to the Sinacores. I need to know whose loyalty I can count on, and who needs to fucking disappear.”
I hear what sounds like him rushing to dress.
“Finally, some fun. But I feel inclined to remind you I’m not a member, Luca.”
“You are now. Welcome to thefamiglia.”
* * *
“A week. Just one more week, please.”
As if I haven’t heard this all night. The exact phrase repeated to me, almost like all these fuckers got together and rehearsed what to say when the boss comes around.
“You’ve had plenty of weeks, Danny. Since before my brother’s passing.” I walk around the fifty-year-old deli shop owner, then sit beside him.
His is one of the most popular joints in Queens. Though it’s after hours and he’d already closed, he and two of his employees are still here preparing food for another busy day. That is, until three of my men relieved them of their duty, and Gunn and I entered the building.
The deli is not the side of his business that requires him to provide a cut. I would never do that to a business that has nothing to do with my world. It’s the meth lab he’s been allowed to run in the basement he owes back tax on.
“Time’s up,” I tell him.
“I ain’t got the money, Luca. Give me a few weeks. Two, tops. I’ll get it to you.”
Gunn takes a bite of the German potato salad he helped himself to when we arrived. He’s leaning against the counter, his booted foot propped on the half wall behind him. “This is good shit, Danny. Good shit.”
He licks his lips as he pushes off and comes to join us at one of the small tables, grabbing a neighboring chair and turning it so that he straddles it when he sits.
