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“Good,” Roman grunted. One look from security through the peephole had them ushered in without ceremony. Roman could already tell it was a shit operation. What kind of self-respecting criminal allowed a dozen people to walk into something illegal without at least checking for weapons?
Roman had just instructed his men to fan out when a skinny guy with a shaved head and some truly terrible tattoos on his face rushed over. “I’m Louis. Welcome to my establishment. I—” He broke off, his bloodshot eyes going wide. “You’re Vincenzo Romano. Hey, man. Good to meet you. I’ve heard good things.” He thrust out a hand.
Roman looked down at it, not moving.
The man looked around nervously. “Ah, you here for the fight? Got some good ones tonight. Real vicious bastards.”
“I wasn’t aware dog fighting was going on here,” Roman commented casually. “I also don’t recall leasing out my property to you, Louis.”
Louis picked at one of the scabs covering his arms. He laughed nervously. “I sublet. Me and my boy, Calvin, have an understanding.”
“Calvin Canty?” Roman asked, receiving a yeah in response. He turned to Salvatore, who nodded his head, already typing on his cell. Roman was familiar with Calvin. And Calvin was about to be in deep shit. Subletting was not a thing when it came to Roman’s properties.
“What’s with the box?”
Roman turned when he heard Abel question Louis. There was a cardboard box in the middle of the crowd. There looked to be about fifty people in a rough circle, all waiting to watch two innocent animals tear each other apart. Roman also made out a bookie and a rudimentary bar with brew on tap. “The box?” he prompted when Louis didn’t say anything.
“Huh?” He peered to where Roman was now pointing. “Oh, that’s the appetizer. Kittens. We always let the dogs loose on some kittens first. You know, get their blood pumping. They rip up some fluffballs and they’re raring to go.” Louis rubbed his hands together, laughing. “Makes for a better show.”
“A better show,” Roman repeated, his lips barely moving.
The other man was oblivious to Roman’s silent rage. “Yep. And a better show means better money.” He nudged Roman with his elbow. “Not that you need more of that. I hear you’re loaded.”
“Oh, I’m loaded all right,” Roman agreed. “And so is this.” He pulled out his gun, shooting Louis in the foot with no further preliminaries. “Watch him,” he ordered Salvatore, ignoring the pansy-ass shrieks coming from the bleeding man. “Abel, with me.”
He and Abel walked into circle, disregarding the people who were already scattering from the gun shot. “The party’s over,” he yelled. “This dog fighting ring is officially closed.”
“What the fuck?!”
“Go to hell!”
“Boo!”
Roman listened to the voices yelling at him, taking note of the people who scampered away like rodents and those who stayed to shout obscenities. He gripped his gun tighter, wanting to shoot every last one of the fuckers. But he didn’t have enough bullets.
“I suggest you all leave. Now,” Abel shouted.
“Who the fuck are you?” a stupid person yelled back from the crowd.
“Your worst nightmare,” Abel told the hero. He pulled not one, but two guns from the holster beneath his jacket. He aimed them directly at the man, who backed away so fast he fell onto his ass and crawled the rest of the way around the corner like a crab. Abel grinned at Roman. “Badass. I always wanted to say that.”
Roman left Abel to his badassery, peering into the box. It was damp and flimsy, and already falling apart. It would have provided no protection from animals trained to kill. He found two kittens. Both were very fluffy, but that’s where the similarities ended. One was white with gray tips on its ears, feet and nose. The other was jet black. They were tiny and shaking so badly that the box was moving.
Roman reached in and scooped them up, tucking them close to his chest. “Easy there,” he told the now hissing babies. “You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you.”
He continued to croon to them until their shaking stopped, trusting Sal, Abel and the others to watch his back. Only when the pair of brothers—he discovered after a quick look—had settled and fallen into an exhausted sleep, did he look around to take stock.
Louis was still crying on the ground, clutching his bleeding foot. There were a handful of other men left, but all were eyeing them warily. “I suggest you all fuck off,” Roman said to them as he passed them on his way over to Louis. “Now. You won’t get another chance.”
When the five men ran to the door, Louis shouted. “Don’t leave me here! Come back!”
Roman ignored his words, glaring down at him. “Where are the dogs?”
“Wha-what?” Louis stuttered.
“The dogs!” Roman yelled. The kittens mewled, and he forcibly calmed himself. He didn’t want to scare the clearly traumatized babies. “The dogs,” he repeated quietly. “Where are the dogs you were going to make savage each other?”
“Why?” Louis asked, sweat streaming down his face.
