“Thank God,” she cries, grabbing a hold of her daughters and hugging them to her. “He’s alive,” she smiles, closing her eyes.
A phone rings; I glance at the one I’m holding not realizing the sound is coming from across the room. Riggs lifts his phone to his ear, walking toward the kitchen and away from everyone to take the call.
Mike turns the television on again and the scene outside the prison fills the screen. The SWAT team pulls correctional officers and medical personnel from the building before charging in with machine guns. It didn’t take twenty minutes for the media to get the information and the reporter’s voice booms over the images.
“We can now confirm that the G-Man is one of the casualties. Wait a minute,” he pauses, lifting his hand to the earpiece, he remains silent until his eyes widen and he tells the world what we already know. “We can also confirm that mob boss, Victor Pastore, is alive. I repeat, Victor Pastore is alive. However, we don’t know what started this riot here in Bennettsville or the cause of death of the G-Man.”
“Kitten, give me a kiss, I gotta’ go,” Riggs announces, tucking his phone into his cut before lifting his eyes to mine and tipping his chin. “You coming, Bianci, or what?”
Adrianna pulls out of her mother’s arms, spinning around to pierce me with a worried look. I avert my eyes to Riggs, watching as he squeezes my sister’s ass in front of everyone, kissing her quickly before lifting his head and snapping his fingers.
“Chop, chop, bro, Jack’s waiting,” he orders, pausing in front of Grace. “Keep the cannoli’s.” He winks at her.
“Be careful, Riggs,” Lauren calls, biting her lip nervously as her eyes find mine.
“Mike,” I ground out. Frustrated, I ran my fingers roughly through my hair, torn between sitting vigil like I probably should and running with Riggs to see where Jack was at with this.
“Yeah,” he says, stepping beside me.
“You got this?” I question pinning him with a stare, watching intently as he glances over his shoulder at the women I was asking him to watch over.
“I’ve got Grace, Nikki, Adrianna and your sister but I ain’t making promises about Gina.” He narrows his eyes glancing around. “Where’d the old lady go?” he shrugs his shoulders and meets my intense gaze. “I’ve got this, they’re just as much mine as they are yours,” he declares.
“Good answer, Mike,” I tell him, patting him on the back as I brush past him and pull Adrianna toward me.
“You still going to deny wanting a Harley and a leather jacket?” she whispers, staring up at me, cocking one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“I’m going to tell Jack what he’s been waiting to hear then I will take you home.” I covered her mouth with mine. “Make sure the kids are sleeping when I get back and I’ll give you a better ride than any Harley ever could.”
“Promise?”
“Reese’s, I swear it.” I promise her.
“You mob folk move too slow,” Riggs complains, rolling his eyes as he waits for me by the front door. I let go of my wife, turn my gaze to Riggs and stab him with a glare.
“Let’s go, badass,” I hiss, slapping him upside the head as I walk past him.
It wasn’t until we were in Riggs’ truck, peeling out of Grace and Victor’s driveway, when he broke the news to me.
“Jack’s in Bulldog mode,” he says, stepping on the gas.
“Did you tell him Vic was alive, and the hit was done?”
“Couldn’t get a word in between the growling, cursing and the seven times he asked me where the fuck Blackie was. Like I’m that son of a bitch’s keeper or something,” he sneers. “Why the hell do you think I brought you along? You can give him the news about Vic while I go find Blackie and pull him off Lacey before Jack shoots him and I have to bury his body.”
Ten minutes later we are pulling into the Dog Pound, parking the truck next to the ten or so motorcycles that line the front of the building. The overhead lights are on illuminating the property, signaling the clubhouse was very much alive and on high alert.
“Remember the plan,” Riggs hisses, pulling open the door.
“Riggs, it’s all over television, they gotta know by now…” My words trail off as we enter the clubhouse and the television is blasting the confirmation that Vic was alive and the G-Man was dead.
“Shit,” Riggs mutters.
Jack turns his gaze to us, looking over Riggs’ shoulder.
“Looks like our man Vic got the job done,” Jack says pointedly.
“Did you have any doubt?” I counter, shoving my hands into my pockets. There is a lot to be said about Vic. I myself, have put labels on the man but no one can deny he was a man of his word when it came to business.
Like everything else, Vic’s last hit was just as epic as his life.
“Church,” Jack bellows. “Now.”
Staring at Jack, another powerful ruler, I cross my arms against my chest, watching as his men, dressed in leather, file into their chapel on command. I took in the way his jaw was clenched, the storm plowing through his eyes and his hands balled into tight fists.
The difference between him and Vic was obvious to my eyes. Vic was a mystery, you never knew which way he was going, what he was thinking, he was calm and cool always, but Jack wore his torment on his sleeve. When the shit was about to hit the fan, everyone knew because he morphed before your very eyes into the Bulldog. His anguish, his anger, his torment was just as visible as the patch sewn into his cut, declaring him the president.
Riggs reappeared, coming down the stairs with Blackie following behind him, fitting his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.
“Fucking hell,” Jack seethes.
“Jack,” Reina scolds, giving a slight shake of her head.
“What happened?” Blackie questions, ignoring Jack and looking to the plasma screen hanging over the bar.
“We are live in front of Bennettsville Federal Prison with the warden, Richard Olsen. Warden, can you give us an update on the situation?”
“As you have already reported there have been two casualties. I can now disclose the names of the two inmates who have died. One is, Owen Richards, and the other is Thomas Gregorio also known as the G-Man. The riot squad is diligently working to secure all inmates back to their cells and safely remove the correctional officers that were on active duty when the riot broke out.”
“There is a lot of talk about Mr. Pastore and the G-Man being rivals, can you comment?”
“We have apprehended Mr. Pastore and have brought him into solitary. That is all the information we have at this time.”
“It’s over,” Blackie says, eyes glued to the screen.
“It’s just getting started, brother,” Jack corrects. “Chapel. Now,” he orders, before pointing a finger at me. “You. Stay here. Don’t fucking move, Bianci.”
I glance around the room, spot Reina and Lacey in the corner.
I left my women to sit with Jack’s women.
What the fuck?
I step around the bar, snatch a bottle of bourbon and take a seat at the bar. Lifting my eyes and my glass to the mug shot plastered on the television.
“Here’s to you, Vic,” I toast, throwing back the shot.
Victor Pastore.
The mobster.
The legend.
Chapter Thirty-One
“He’s fucking gone,” Blackie comments beside me, glancing down at his left hand, rubbing his thumb over the spot on is finger a wedding band once lived. Slowly, cautiously, his eyes lift and turn to me. “It’s over,” he repeats. “That motherfucker can’t touch another soul.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as I studied him, trying to figure out if he was asking me or telling me. Not having the heart to burst his bubble I let him hang on to the retribution Vic has given him by killing the G-Man a little longer and turn my gaze to the other end of the table.
If they were still drunk from the restaurant, they hid it well with the attentive stares they fed me.
“Where’s Stryker?” I question, tipping my chin to the empty chair in the corner.
“He went home with some broad,” Linc answers. “Been calling him but his phone is off.”
“He didn’t have a chance to charge it. I took it from him from the can to the restaurant,” Wolf explains, averting his eyes back to me. “We’ll clue him in but why don’t you do us all a favor and clue us in.”
“Riggs, pull up the G-Man’s mug shot,” I order, leaning back in my chair, stealing a glimpse of Blackie out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were still transfixed on his ring finger but slowly he comes around, turning those tortured eyes onto me.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Riggs screeches, sliding his phone across the table at me. “That ain’t no coincidence, Prez.”
Leaning forward, I reach for the phone but Blackie beats me to it, closing his paw over the iPhone, flipping it over to stare at the G-Man’s photo. Many of us had a lot riding on Vic getting the job done, we were banking on it to clear our consciences, but for Blackie it was closure on Christine’s death. With the G-Man gone, Christine could finally rest easy in his eyes and the burden of guilt would lessen for him too.
“I fucking knew it,” Blackie spits, dropping the phone onto the table before viciously raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been beating myself up, driving myself mad trying to figure out what the fuck Charlie had up his sleeve.”
“You two assholes better start talking,” Pipe grunts.
“We’ve been trying to piece together Charlie Teardrop’s connection to Brantley and where his bank roll has been coming from,” I recap.
“Sending that schmuck into the Bastard’s clubhouse turned out to be a dead end,” Riggs adds. “He cries as much to them as he does to us, always looking for a handout.”
I turn the screen toward everyone sitting at the table and enlarge the image of the G-Man’s mugshot.
“Three teardrops,” I reveal, passing the phone to Pipe for a better look. “Just like Charlie’s.”
“What’re you saying, Bulldog? This motherfucker built his club while being backed by the G-Man?”
“That’s exactly what he’s saying,” Blackie answers for me. “The G-Man funded the rebirth of the Corrupt Bastards which means he planned something with Charlie, something big, something that would give him control over every operation we’ve taken from him.”
“This can go one of two ways,” I begin. “Either Charlie will pull a Jimmy Gold, and take control over all the G-Man’s assets and operations, go buck wild and get high on power, trying to turn these streets into his. Or, he will avenge his ally’s death because the G-Man dying wasn’t part of his plan.”
“Either way, we’re fucked. Charlie and his club will be pushing in on our territory,” Pipe finishes.
“Everything we’ve buried over the years working with Vic will be resurrected. The drugs will pollute the streets, our streets, and the body count will double in size. I’ve lost one woman, got the blood of a bunch of innocent kids on my hands, not looking for anymore grief, Jack,” Blackie protests, clenching his fists as he closes his eyes and tries to gather his composure.
“Wait a minute,” Wolf demands, slapping the palm of his hand against the wood of the table. “Wait just a goddamn minute. The mob took out the G-Man, Pastore whacked that son of bitch, not us. How can we be so sure this cocksucker will retaliate against the club? This shit ain’t our gig.”
“You’re forgetting, Vic didn’t just avenge his underboss’ death by killing the G-Man, he avenged Christine’s too. He made that motherfucker pay for every fucking funeral we were responsible for under Cain’s ruling,” Blackie rasps, pushing his hair away from his face.
“Even if we’re not the target Vic’s family most definitely will be,” Pipe says pointedly. “And as much as I hate playing nice with them Italians, Vic did what he promised he’d do. He was as loyal to our club as any of us that wear a patch,” he huffs, turning his gaze back to me. “So is that poor bastard outside this door.”
“You’re giving Charlie too much credit. I don’t think the cocksucker knows jack shit about us being in cahoots with Vic on the hit.”
“If I was Charlie, I’d want to make a play, a move that both avenged the G-Man’s death and gained me control,” Blackie says, not paying attention to anyone as he works out the thoughts in his head. The room grows silent and we all watch as his eyes narrow and stare blankly at the table. “I’d look for the common link between the club standing in my way and the organization that killed my ally,” he continues, raising his head and piercing me with a look.
Glancing around the table, Blackie’s words slowly sink in, not only for me but for everyone sitting around this table, everyone except Riggs.
“Why don’t I go grab our boy Ronan, send him into the clubhouse to see what the fuck is going on?” Riggs starts as he fiddles with his phone. “Throw that bitch into the fire and see if he comes back with any intel. If the Bastards are looking to strike, their clubhouse will be up in arms with the news coming in that their boy was murdered.”
We remained silent, causing his head to lift and his eyes to scan all of our grim faces.
“What? Did I miss something?”
“If I was Charlie, I know exactly who I’d go after,” Blackie continues gravely.
“Me?” Riggs screeches. “What the fuck do I have to do with any of this? No offense guys but this shit you’re talking about went down before my balls even dropped!” He shouts incredulously.
“You married the mob, boy,” Pipe mutters. “Black’s right, this is all you, brother.”
Riggs’ shoulders slump as he shakes his head in disbelief. It doesn’t take him long to snap, something wild born in his eyes as he glares at me.
“Tell me what to do,” he growls.
“Relax, brother,” I try to calm him down, but he slams his fist against the table and rises to his full height, knocking over the chair he was sitting in.
Don’t fucking tell me to relax,” he shouts, pointing a finger to Blackie. “You lost your wife over this shit and I’m sorry, man, real fucking sorry but I almost lost my Kitten and my kid too. I lost fucking Bones. My people did their fucking time for this club. I won’t let anyone else I love hurt over the fucking patch on my cut.”
He swallows hard, his jaw ticking with anger as he glares at me.
“Tell me what to do, Jack,” he insists. “Tell me how I keep them safe from this hell we all chose.”
Leaning forward, I plant my elbows on top of the table and rub my hands along the scruff covering my face.
“Tell me!” He shouts. “Or so fucking help me, Jesus, I will just start fucking shooting them motherfuckers until their threats don’t exist, until their blood pours out and their bodies turn cold. Tell me!”
“Time to make nice with the oil diggers, Richie Rich,” I mutter, pulling my hands away from my face. “You pack up Lauren and the kid and get the fuck out of here until I or any one of the men at this table tell you it is safe for them to come back here.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” I nod.
“And the rest of them?” He questions. “Bianci’s family, what about them?”
Pulling off his hat, he throws it onto the table and points to the door.
“You put me on that man out there, told me to protect him and his family,” he argues.
“I will handle it,” I say, giving him my word, turning my attention to the nomads across the table. “One of you go grab Ronan, send him to the Bastards and see what he comes up with. The rest of you, eyes open—wide fucking open,” I grunt before looking back at Riggs. “Call the folks, Riggs, and whatever you need to do to get your family out of here you let us know and we’ll make it happen. But before you do that, go get your brother-in-law so we can fill him in.” I slam down the gavel.
The chairs scrap against the floor as everyone, except Blackie, solemnly move to file out of the room.
&nb
sp; “Bianci,” Riggs calls from the doorway. “Get your ass in here.”
Bottle in hand, Bianci strolls in and takes a seat across the table from me.
“You rang?” he questions, narrowing his eyes as Riggs sits to his left and swipes the bottle out of his hand, guzzling bourbon as if it would erase everything we told him.
Bianci keeps his concentration on Riggs as I proceed to tell him what we suspect will happen with the Corrupt Bastards, and to my surprise he doesn’t even flinch at my words.
He grabs the bottle from Riggs and taps his hand on the table, demanding his brother-in-law’s attention.
“You do as he tells you, take Lauren and Eric to your parents’ house and you wait it out. You stick to her and that boy like glue and don’t let anyone fucking near them,” he says, not as a threat but as his brother-in-law, as his family.
“You hear me?” he questions.
“I hear you,” Riggs assures, taking another swig from the bottle.
I watch as Anthony nods his head, accepting Riggs’ vow to keep his sister and nephew safe before he turns his cold blue eyes to me.
Fucking Ice, no, glaciers, stare back at me like this is my fucking fault.
“Appreciate the heads up but I ain’t the one who should be sitting at this table with you and we both know that.”
I hold his gaze as I pull a toothpick out of my cut and shove it between my teeth.
He’s right but I’m not ready to break bread with Rocco Spinelli.
“Victor knew this would happen, he prepared for it by putting Rocco in charge of his organization. Now, you need to respect that and get on board before you have a blood bath on your hands, one you can avoid,” he informs, leaning back in his chair as he shrugs his shoulders. “Since, I’m so good at being the go-between, I’ll take you to the boss.”
Leaning into Riggs, he pulls the bottle from his hand and takes a hefty gulp of the poison, cringing as it burns his throat. He tips the bottle toward me and swallows.
“But motherfucker you’re driving because I’m wrecked,” he declares, throwing back his head as he takes another shot.
Blackie turns to me.
The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition Page 181
