Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I may be confused and unsure about my future, but at least I’ve got a bush.
Chapter 35
Allegra
Gian’s black SUV rolls through West Philadelphia. My husband seems almost bored behind the wheel. Ahead of us, another Rossi Famiglia truck’s making lazy turns, while behind, a black sedan’s got a couple more soldiers keeping their eyes peeled.
“We’re in enemy territory now,” he says and sounds way calmer than I feel. “The Russians hold this part of the city. They took it from a bunch of different gangs and organized under their bratva structure. Now those little groups all owe fealty to Jasha Aslanov.”
“And he’s our main enemy, right?”
“Exactly. If anyone knows where those two Irishmen are, it’ll be him.” Gian seems thoughtful as we move through yet another quiet neighborhood. The area seems nice, not the sort of place I’d ever associate with gang turf, but that’s what it is. That’s what the whole city is.
“How are we going to find them?” I ask, feeling the weight of our mission press on my back. “It seems simple, right? Get the guys that attacked my father’s club and win him back to our side.”
“You’re right, it’s easily said. But don’t worry, baby. We have our ways.” He nods at a bar and slows to a crawl. “That’s a Russian spot.”
“Looks pretty normal to me.”
“That’s what they’re going for. They’re not going to advertise their Bratva connections. That’d defeat the purpose of safe house.”
He has a point. And even if they did, the police in this area probably wouldn’t mess with them. I learned a long time ago that the police are only people, and there are a lot more gangsters than there are cops. If the Famiglia’s can promise peace on the streets, if they can make sure most of the drug dealing stays far away from the tourist sections, if they can pick up trash and plant trees and build parks, then the police won’t touch them. Or at least if they did, it’ll only be the lowest end of the hierarchy.
It’s the same with the Bratva. The Russians run their territory like clan chiefs. They make sure everyone’s taken care of, everyone’s happy, while they profit. The police take their cut, get a few arrests out of the deal to keep their statistics looking solid, and the world keeps turning.
“What about the Irish?”
“They’re mostly in South Philly.”
“I thought that was Rossi territory.”
“Mostly, but the Irish still have pieces. Your father runs Old City, while Milano Famiglia has chunks of Center City and North Philly. It worked pretty good like that for a while.”
“Until what?”
“My father died. Renzo tried to keep it together, but it was hard. Eventually, the Russians smelled blood in the water and decided they didn’t like playing second string to the Italians. The Irish joined in. And here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo, feeling sick to my stomach. “With no end in sight.”
“It’ll end. War’s expensive and dangerous. Nobody wants it for long, especially not my brothers. Except for maybe Carlo, but he’s biased.”
“Because he got shot?”
“Exactly. All he wants is revenge. I don’t think he cares about anything else.”
We leave West Philly and drive over the South Street bridge. He turns right down Nineteenth and heads into Rossi territory, back into safety.
“Maybe I can do more,” I say, watching the row homes tick past. “We’ve been so secluded out in Manayunk, it’s like the war hasn’t even touched us yet. But it’s happening every day in here, isn’t it?”
“Every day,” he agrees. “But I don’t want you to worry about all that. You have better things to do.”
“Like what? Buy couches? Plant bushes?”
“No. You should go back to work.”
“You keep pushing that.”
“Because I know it’ll make you happy.”
“And what happens if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not. You know that never happens.”
I smile at him, leaning up against the window. “I’ve been thinking about it. I guess I just want to fix everything first.”
“You don’t need to take everything on yourself, baby. I can carry most of the weight. All I need is for you to be happy. That’ll be enough.”
“Enough for you, maybe.”
“That’s all I care about.” He slows the SUV and pulls it over on a quiet, shady street. Our escort is gone; they left the second we reached the safety of our home turf. It’s just the two of us and he puts a hand on my thigh, looking at me out from under those long, dark lashes of his. I shift in my seat, leaning toward him.
“And what about you? What’s going to make you happy?”
“You.”
“Come on. Don’t be so sappy.”
“I mean it.” He leans in and kisses me. It’s a gentle, probing kiss. “Why does that surprise you so much?”
“It’s just a lot to process. I don’t know how I feel being responsible for another person’s happiness.”