Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I turn and look the big man in the eye. “No, Leon, you’re fucking not.”
He flinches and looks at the man in the cowboy hat. The office is full of sunlight. Martin’s eyes stare from under the slight shadow of his hat. “Now, ain’t that something. How’d you come by that name, sir?”
“It was relatively easy to acquire, Martin,” I tell him, and he flinches. I grin. “Michael could’ve gotten it himself if you lowlife fucks hadn’t bullied him. Threatened him. Made him believe you’re worth fearing.”
Leon steps forward. The burly idiot smashes one fist into the other. I feel my knuckles aching. Not from the frat house, that surreal night. From a fight on the ice. Some bastard tried to catch me, so he got caught. I almost want to tear into this motherfucker. Maybe I’d lose. I don’t care. He threatened my child’s grandfather, future father-in-law, and oldest friend, but I have a plan. I must get out of this without injury—for my woman, child, and team.
“Don’t play stupid games,” Leon says. “Big whoop. You got our names. It don’t change the fact I’ll beat you and your boy blue if you don’t cough up the cash.”
“I’d listen to him if I were you,” Martin says, chewing that toothpick like he’s in a movie. “If you think he’s impolite now, just wait until he gets angry.”
“You’ve fucked up, both of you,” I growl. “Michael told me what was happening. He told me two men came to him and claimed to be with the mob. The thing is, I’ve got connections in the mob. When I showed them the video, they weren’t pleased. Not pleased at all.”
Martin flinches and looks at Leon. Leon’s doing a worse job of hiding his panic. He knows that size doesn’t matter with the mob, but maybe I need to drive the point home.
“They’ll put a bomb on your car. They’ll kill you when you’re sleeping. You’ll never see it coming with them.”
“Bull. Shit.” Martin finally spits his toothpick out. His hands are shaking. He’s old and weary, and Leon looks bloated. Maybe he’s not as strong as he looks. Perhaps he’s just used to picking on innocent people. People who have never had to get bloody. “You’re a goddamn liar.”
“Hear that?” I say, smiling, strolling over to the desk. I do this casually, but I’m also aware they might lose their cool here. Maybe they think they can use one of us as a human shield. I stand near Michael, drumming my fingers on the desk. “The engine? Don’t you hear it?”
Outside, a car is pulling up. Michael looks at me and swallows. I wrap my hand around the paperweight on his desk. It’s heavy. If I need to… Hell, I would if I could do it and get away with it. That’s low of me, but it’s the truth. This is family. Michel. The man who will hold my child in his arms and maybe see his own eye color reflected back at him.
I turn, tossing the paperweight from hand to hand. Leon is shifting from foot to foot now. Martin is at the window, tilting his hat rim as he presses against the glass. “Holy fuck. Who are those guys?”
“The big man is a representative of Leonardo Esposito. Have you heard of Leonardo Esposito? He was recently involved in a gang war on the East Coast against the Russian mob, the Bratva. He won, by the way. The two men are also representatives of the mob.”
That was easy to discover online—lots of news stories about it. All I had to search for was “mob East Coast violence.”
Martin turns to me, removes his hat, and holds it like a beggar. “No, no, no, man. You’re joking.”
When the door opens, Leon throws himself right at the men. It’s a blind rage that makes me wonder if he’s on something to do something so reckless. Or maybe it’s just panic. Whatever it is, luckily, the two private contractors are well-trained. They surge forward in matching blue suits, their gold chains glinting, their shiny Italian shoes catching the light. They bought everything new this morning, just for the job.
They throw Leon against the wall. The third man, taller, leaner, wearing a much more expensive suit, casually waves a hand. The other two are from the West Coast, so they won’t talk, but the leader’s actually from New York. “Sit him down, and you…” He snaps his fingers at Martin. “Sit.”
Martin nods and rushes toward the desk. The so-called mob boss, Frank, walks around and sits opposite. He glances at me. “You said there was a video.”
Michel is already doing a good job selling the act, hands clasped in front of him, gaping. Or maybe it’s not an act. Leon is still struggling, kicking and grunting, but the two men throw him into a chair and hold him there. He’s about to rage again when Martin shouts, “Stop it, you Lennie Smalls fucking moron!”