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I ignore Rush as I get another drink. He’s right. I could diminish my power a little by sending my men in. Rush wants that; Tony, too. They prefer me staying out of the line of fire.
I’m aware that there are nicer ways to end these new enemies. I could shut down their ways of making money, turn others against them, buy them off, but I don’t want to.
I’m exactly what Rush doesn’t believe me to be: a bad man, a monster, one who knows the only way to keep Rose safe is to treat the other monsters with something they understand: violence and death.
It’s not just for them. It’s for others who might be thinking of turning. It’s a fucking message, a way of cleaning up.
“Take Genevieve out tonight.” I pull a piece of paper from my pocket. “This is Gianni’s place. Dinner, pool, and then back to where you’ve been staying. You’ll be safe, but be careful. You need to keep that girl safe. For Rose.”
Rush makes a face. “The whole evening with Genius? She’s loud.”
“Buy earplugs,” I say. “Do it.”
I finish my drink, and Rush sighs as he leaves.
I’m lying to him. Rush is a killer. He’s got mafia blood, a reckless edge, but he’s the one with the gooey center. He’s not a monster. He’ll never be a mafia king, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want that. He’s also going to be as safe as if he’s in a bunker, both him and the girl. I’ve made sure of that.
I turn to Tony. “Shall we?”
* * *
“If you’re here to talk me out of it, I’m not listening.”
Whatever I was going to say vanishes.
Rose stands there, a vision of every fucking fantasy I didn’t know I had, like a walking dominatrix wet dream.
She wears black shiny pants that fit like a second skin and low-heeled boots. Her top covers her throat to fingertip and leaves nothing to the imagination. Her nipples are hard, those fine tits perfect and almost visible. Give the woman a whip and a mask, and I’m about ready to try my hand as a fucking sub.
Then, she tumbles it down into a new fantasy of fucking her with her pants lowered enough to reach her, thrusting that domination right back into her as she frowns and pouts.
“Is this okay? I didn’t know what to wear.”
Where the fuck does she buy these things? “If you want to blue ball men to death, I’m fucking thinking you’re lethal.”
“Niko.” She smiles like I just said she’s the prettiest girl at the ball. Then her eyes flash, her lips curving higher. “You look lethal yourself. Mainly because I’ll kill any women who try and touch you. I’ll have to find my gun.”
“Rose, you say the sweetest things.”
I’m in black too, our outfits similar. I draw her in against me and push down the neck of her shirt to kiss at her collar. “I have your gun with me.”
She doesn’t ask how. She knows I’ve got ways.
When I release her, I brush her mouth with mine. I want to talk her out of it, but the asshole in me likes it more knowing I can’t, that she wants to be with me. That the darkness breathes in her, too.
That’s a damnation all its own.
I hand her the loaded gun, and I check my Kimber along with all the backup bullets.
“Let’s go, Rose.”
* * *
The slaughter is easy.
Some of the guests go down by my knife. One succumbs to the fucking hatpin Rose has on her; she stabs the man right through the jugular, and I finish him.
The actual targets are mostly easy. Some fight, but that’s not the problem. I need to find where the bigger players are, where Popov is meant to be.
