by Bethany-Kris
Not tonight.
“Not interested,” Camilla said, turning back to the bar. She waved at the bartender down the way to make her another drink. Not that she needed it. “Maybe another night, August.”
“Seriously?”
Slowly, Camilla turned back around. “Yeah, why?”
“Camilla, that guy is topping six feet, and we both know you love tall. He’s got blue eyes, dark hair, and a killer smile. He’s built because guess what? They play hockey. All of that is entirely you’re type, but you’re not interested. Bullshit.”
She passed the guy another look, and lingered on his handsome features a bit longer to take inventory. Nothing August said was a lie. The man was built, blue-eyed, tall, and entirely her type when it came to hooking up with somebody.
His height, eye color, and haircut also reminded her of Tommaso.
Just like that, Camilla wasn’t interested. All it took was a single reminder of Tommaso, and she wanted the real thing much more than some one-night stand replacement.
“He’s not him,” Camilla said quietly, “and I’m just not interested, you know?”
August’s brow furrowed, and for a second, Camilla wondered if her friend had heard her over the club’s loud music. “Who?”
Apparently, she had heard.
Camilla shrugged. “Tom.”
“Wait, so you mean to say if the guy was blond, and dark-eyed then you might have a different opinion?”
“Nope, not at all.”
August lifted a single brow high. “Wow. Didn’t think I would see the day.”
“Shut up.”
“Still not ready to face the music, huh?”
“Shut up,” Camilla said, drawling the words out the second time. “Go dance with his friend, August, before another girl shakes her ass at him.”
“Hey!”
“For what it’s worth, you’ve got the best ass in here tonight.”
Her friend smirked. “And don’t you fucking forget it. Don’t leave without me, huh? I’ll go home with you. We can do breakfast tomorrow.”
“Don’t ruin whatever plans you were making with what’s-his-face just for—”
“I’m going home with you.”
Firm.
Absolute.
No room to argue.
Camilla nodded. “All right.”
“And hey, text the guy back, Cam.”
“How do you even know that’s who was texting me earlier?”
“Lucky guess,” August said, smiling wide. “Plus, I saw you over here staring at your phone like a zombie again. Figured it was probably about the same thing as earlier. We both know Tom is the only person making you act like that lately.”
“Shut up.”
August laughed. “Text him back.”
Ugh.
“Fine.”
“You don’t have to make this whole thing so hard on yourself, Cam. Just … welcome it.”
“I don’t even know what it is, August.”
Her friend snorted, and then waved her off. “You’re the most fucking impossible, clueless girl ever. I mean, I love you, but you really are that difficult, Cam.”
“Lies.”
“Mmm, nope. I’ll go ditch the guy. We’ll head out of here. Sound like a plan?”
Camilla nodded, but she was already looking down at her phone and typing back to Tommaso as August walked away.
Probably aced the project, Camilla typed.
Tommaso’s reply came in thirty seconds later. Congrats. Not even surprised. Smart girl.
Camilla was a lot of things.
Filthy.
Loved.
Fun.
Restless.
Free.
Wild-hearted.
Smart.
Quick.
Out of all of those things, she wondered what it might be like to simply be his.
That scared her.
That made Camilla want to run.
What the fuck was wrong with her?
CHAPTER NINE
“LOOK AT your sorry ass sitting behind that desk, and doing fuck all.” Cross stood in the office doorway with his arms folded over his chest, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “This a new thing for you—sitting in the Capo’s chair—or what?”
Tom laughed as he stood from the chair. “It’s a new development, yeah.”
“Since when? You weren’t the one behind that desk the last time I was in Chicago.”
“Five months ago or so.”
“Since you came back from New York, then?”
Tom nodded. “About then, yeah.”
“Are you liking it?” Cross asked.
“Do you like acting as your father’s underboss?”
“Two entirely different positions, man.”
“My question remains the same.”
Cross chuckled. “It’s a lot of work. Busy days, I guess.”
“Same here.”
“I bet.” Cross stepped into the office, and slammed the door closed behind him. “I figured while I’m in the city, I should come over and say hello. See what you were up to since you don’t know how to use a fucking phone.”
“I call you.”
“Once in a blue moon. I think you talk to my sister far more than you talk to me. I don’t know if I should be offended about that, or not. I mean, considering you’re supposed to be my friend and all.”
“Offended or jealous? You do know they’re not the same thing, right?”
Cross barked out a laugh. “Fuck you, you prick.”
Tom rounded the desk, and grabbed hold of Cross’s reaching hand. Despite what Cross said, Tom did call him every couple of weeks just to chat. He still missed his friend, though. The two gave each other a quick one-armed hug before letting go.
“It’s good to see you,” Tom said.
Cross shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “We should do something, Tommaso. I’m going to be in the city for a couple of weeks before I’ll head back to New York.”
Tom cocked a brow. “A good week and a half of that will be spent with you on a gun run, right? I know the run for the cartel is coming up. A deal Theo made in exchange for two shipments of cocaine next month.”
“So?”
Cross posed the question so flippantly that it made Tom want to laugh. His friend had no idea the constant silent fight he had been having with his father for months now about guns and running them.
For as hard as his father tried to keep him away from the gunrunning side of the Outfit’s business, Tom still got word of what was going on every once in a while. Usually, one of his uncles would let the information slip when he asked the right questions.
“Not sure a gun run would be smart for me to get in on right now,” Tom admitted.
Cross scoffed. “What, like sitting behind this desk all day is doing anything for you? You can’t tell me that it is, Tom.”
No, it really wasn’t.
“Fact remains, Cross, I am way too busy right now to be up and going for something like that.”
“You sure?”
No.
“Yeah,” Tom forced himself to say.
Cross rocked on his heels, saying, “Suit yourself, but the offer is still open should you want to take me up on it. I’ve got a couple of days before I need to get on the road, you know.”
“Don’t you have a partner for these runs?”
Cross always used a partner, or he should be using one. It was one of the first things the two had learned when Theo taught them about the business of gunrunning. A partner could make all the difference in a good, clean run, or a failed one. A partner could save your ass in more ways than one, honestly.
“Haven’t used a partner in a year or more,” Cross said, shrugging.
“Kind of playing with fire, isn’t it?”
“I don’t have patience for people’s shit, man.”
“Or they don’t have patience for yours.”
“Same difference,�
� Cross grumbled. “Is the fact you’re busy the reason you haven’t headed back to New York to see my sister, or what?”
Tom smirked. “That’s real smooth of you, man.”
“Wasn’t going for smooth.”
Yeah, Cross never did.
Blunt to a painful point.
Never failed.
“Cam’s not asked me to come back,” Tom admitted. “I mean, we talk and whatever, but that’s not come up yet.”
“You need her permission or something? It isn’t obvious she likes you, or what?”
“It’s obvious. I’m not blind or a fool.”
“So, it is a permission thing.”
“Something like that.”
More like, he needed to know Camilla actually wanted him there. Tom didn’t need to be wasting his time, or hers. When she let him know something worth knowing, then he would make an effort.
Cross’s gaze darted to the clock on the wall. “You busy right now? We could grab some food.”
Today was supposed to be payday for Tom … in a way. Whatever money the crew had made over the last week needed to be on his desk before night fell over the city. It was his rule, and he didn’t allow his guys to bend it, no matter what. He had learned over the last few months that if he gave any of those fuckers an inch, they would not hesitate to take another mile.
Even so, Tom didn’t want to refuse Cross’s offer.
Cross stood still, waiting for an answer.
“Well?” his friend asked.
“Do you mind ordering it for here?”
Two birds, one stone.
Cross passed a look at the flat screen television. “There anything good to watch on that?”
“Any channel you want.”
“Find me a game to watch. I’ll order pizza.”
Tom headed for the couch that faced the television. He dropped down on one end, and Cross took a seat on the other. Both used the coffee table as a footrest while Tom flipped through satellite channels. Cross’s voice carried over the noise of the television as he ordered from his favorite pizza place in Melrose.
“That’s going to be cold by the time it gets to here,” Tom told him.
Cross wordlessly pointed at the microwave across the office. Soon, his friend had hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket.
“So, hey,” Cross said.
Tom looked over at him. “What?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go on that run with me?”
“Don’t tempt me, Cross.”
“You should go.”
“I should,” Tom agreed.
“But will you?”
Tom chuckled. “That’s the million dollar question.”
It was a while later before Tom’s crew started filtering into the warehouse one by one to pay their dues for the week. Half of his attention was on counting the money while he ate pizza. The other half was on the hockey game.
“Fuck, come on,” Tom groaned. “You know that was a damned goal, you asshole.”
“I saw the playback,” Cross argued, never turning around. “It didn’t go over the line all the way.”
“It did.”
“Nope.”
“See you on Monday, Skip.”
Tom waved a hand at Dale to excuse him from the office just as the machine on the desk beeped to say it had finished counting the bills. Dale had just reached for the door when Tom looked down to see the number on the cash counter.
He hesitated.
Took in the number again.
And again.
“Dale, you’re short,” Tom said.
Instantly, Cross reached for the remote on the couch, and turned down the television. Tom discarded the piece of pizza he had been working on, wiped his hands down on his jeans, and fished the cash out.
“I double counted, Skip,” Dale said.
His tone sounded weak even if his words came off sure.
Tom didn’t miss it, but he opted to ignore Dale as he started slipping through the bills in his hand. He counted them once, and then twice. Finally, Tom set the money down on the corner of the desk, feeling a numbness settle into his bones at the realization settling through his mind.
There was only one reason Dale would be short on cash.
“What were your pickups this week?” Tom asked.
“The three bookies, and a couple of pickups from the Heights.”
Tom nodded. “You know I’m aware how much cash should have come in from those payments, right?”
Dale cleared his throat. “One of the bookies said he didn’t get the total owed from one of his—”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s the story I was told, Skip.”
Tom yanked a drawer open on the desk, and reached for the weapon inside. He placed the gun carefully on the top of the desk, and stared hard at the man across the room. Dale kept glancing at the door like he was going to bolt. Tom had no intention of letting the fucker get that far—thieves had a habit of spreading, after all.
“Those bookies know to make up what they don’t have because we allow them to keep the other part of the cut when it does come in. All the Capos have a good working relationship with their bookies because we have to. A little bit of trust goes a hell of a long way in this business. Try again, Dale.”
Cross pushed up from the couch, and grabbed a couple of napkins from the desk. Still, he stayed a couple of feet back from the two men conversing, and didn’t try to join in. Tom appreciated it.
Dale, however, couldn’t seem to stand fucking still. His gaze darted in all directions like a wild cat caught in a corner. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, and edged closer to the doorway.
Tom palmed the butt of the gun. “Adriano thought someone might be skimming off the top of his money a while back. He thought some of the payments coming in were a little short, and that’s why he started rotating pickups between different guys. Some of these payments are bottom line, and don’t change a damn dime. Ones like these, Dale, when I already knew ahead of time from the bookies because they call in to let me know what to expect. I bet you didn’t know that, huh?”
Dale swallowed hard. “I—”
“Is it because I’m young that you all treat me like a fucking idiot? Or is it because I was born with more zeroes in my bank account than you’ll ever have?”
Cross snorted under his breath at that one.
Dale inched closer to the door again.
Fuck this shit.
Tom was done talking.
Talking did nothing.
Not in this case.
“A thief is a thief is a thief,” Tom said. “And do you know what the only good thief is, Dale?”
The man didn’t answer.
Cross did. “A dead one.”
Exactly.
Fast as a blink, he lifted the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
It was only after Dale’s blown out skull hit the floor that Tom realized a couple of other guys on the crew were waiting outside the office.
Tom figured this was what his father would call a teachable lesson for all. It was good for these fools to see that he wasn’t playing around anymore, and he wasn’t going to take any of their shit after today.
“Come on in,” Tom told them with a cold smile, “and don’t mind the mess, guys.”
Tom laughed as one of the guys helping to pack up the guns into the false bottom of the eighteen-wheeler fell flat on his ass. The icy ground had no mercy for the men trying to work.
“Want some skates?” Tom called out.
“Fuck you, Rossi.”
“Want a hand up, then?”
“You would just let me drop back down.”
“Likely,” Tom agreed.
“Asshole.”
Tom chuckled when the guy tried to get back up, but only fell once more. February was one bitch of a month. Nearing the end of winter, it fooled people into thinking spring was nearing, but it was never near enough.
He did end up hel
ping the guy up. Another one of the guys working to help load up the smuggled guns starting tossing a salt and gravel mixture over the ground. It would help a little bit, but not a whole lot.
“Shit, can we get out of this cold for five minutes?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Tom agreed.
The group headed inside the warehouse, and Tom pulled down the bay door. It effectively closed the cold outdoors off, and left them inside the heated warehouse. Up above their heads, the heaters turned on full blast.
“Warm up for a bit,” Tom told the guys, “and then we’ll finish up, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Sure, Tom.”
He waved two fingers over his shoulder, and headed for the back of the warehouse. He knew exactly where he would find Cross, and he wasn’t wrong.
At a metal table, Cross had a map spread out. The guy was meticulous on the details when it came to his gun runs. Every single thing was planned out to the finest of details. He planned for anything, and everything.
When something went wrong, Cross had three backups on hand to fix it. Tom respected that, and frankly, he had learned a lot from his friend’s ways when it came to gunrunning. It was just too bad he would likely never get to put it to use.
Cross glanced up from his work as Tom approached. “Still not up for going with me on this run?”
“After that mess last week, you should know I really can’t leave my crew for too long.”
“It’d only be a week, maybe. I’m sure you’ve got someone to handle them for that long.”
He did.
Lou. Adriano.
Plus, Tom could delegate tasks. The guys on the crew would be kept busy, and then they wouldn’t have even a second to find themselves in shit. Still, he heard his father in the back of his mind warning him, and drawing clear lines in the sand.
Gunrunning was one of those lines.
“Not this time,” Tom said.
Cross nodded at the guys near the front of the warehouse. “Thanks for helping them, anyway. An extra pair of hands is always needed.”
“It was good—like old times. You know, back when we first learned how to do some of this shit with Theo.”
“You think? It’s definitely not my favorite part of the job.”
“Hey, you’re the bigwig gunrunner now, Cross. You don’t have to worry about dismantling weapons or packing up guns. You get all the money and glory while they do the grunt work.”
