by Stone, M. T.
“What’s going on?” Victoria asks, coming to my side.
“We took a hit last night,” I reply with growing anger. “After the guys left here, they got back to the club and a bomb went off right after the kid pulled into our parking spot. He was killed, and both Felix and Tiny are in the hospital. Felix is critical,” I relay, wondering just how much C-4 was needed to penetrate the vehicle. For the kid to be killed, there had to be enough to blow through the steel-plated firewall. “The kid just turned eighteen in March.”
“That’s too bad. He seemed like a nice kid,” Victoria adds, slipping her arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze.
“Why don’t you get dressed?” I suggest. “I would like for you to go with me to the hospital.” The fact that the bomb had been onboard the whole time that we were in the car is freaking me out a bit. I was most likely the ultimate target, so the fact that it didn’t detonate while I was present could only mean one thing—Victoria is as important as she has implied. Whoever did this must have had instructions not to hurt her.
“Sure,” she replies with a shrug before returning to the bedroom. “At least you have a fresh set of clothes. I’m in for a long walk of shame if you want me to go like this.” She picks up the dress that has spent the night on my bedroom floor and shakes it in a vain attempt to release some of the wrinkles. “You wouldn’t happen to have a hair tie, would you?”
I chuckle and retrieve a brush from the bathroom. “I tend to wear my hair high and tight, so no, I don’t own any hair ties. We’ll stop off at your room so you can change clothes and freshen up. I’ll give you five minutes.”
“How generous of you,” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll hurry. If I were in your shoes, I would want to get to the root of this as quickly as possible.”
“Yeah. While you do that, I’ll give Frosty a call to get a damage report.” Frosty is the mechanical one of the bunch. He’s the guy behind the scenes who keeps everything working for us. Whenever anything needs a little attention, he’s the one I call. He was actually the one who did all of the bulletproofing on the Escalade, so he’ll have a good idea of what it took to blow through it. I remember thinking that it had been overkill since he added over fifteen hundred pounds to the weight of the vehicle.
Once in her room, she heads toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right out. Make yourself comfortable.”
I look around for the best place to sit for a private conversation. After calling his phone three times, Frosty finally picks up. “You must’ve just heard the news,” he says in a groggy voice. “It’s really bad, boss.”
“Yeah, I listened to Tiny’s message. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him so shaken up. What happened?” I ask, anxious to hear a firsthand account instead of just voicemails.
“I didn’t see them pull up, but apparently, right when they came to a stop in the normal parking spot, the bomb was detonated,” he says, clearing his throat. “It blew so hard that a bunch of glasses came crashing down onto the bar and two of the front windows shattered.”
“That had to be one hell of a blast,” I comment, trying to imagine what could cause that amount of damage.
“Yeah, it had to be two or three pounds of C-4,” he says with conviction in his voice. “It dislodged the stainless steel plate and completely shredded the ballistic nylon and Kevlar. I used ten layers to replace the floorboards.”
“Yeah, I remember giving you shit for going completely overboard,” I admit, feeling a huge wave of regret. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Well, Boss. There really isn’t any way to protect against something like this unless you want to ride around in a military-grade SUV.” There is silence in the air as we’re both obviously contemplating where to go from here.
“Is there anything left of it?”
“It’s not salvageable, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies frankly. “Does your insurance cover car bombs?”
“That’s a damn good question.” I shudder at the thought of being a target of such a powerful weapon. “That’s going to be an awkward conversation with my State Farm agent. Well, we’ve got to run. Would you call around and tell everyone to lay low today? I’m not sure the club is safe, so I’ll tell Stan to stay closed.”
“I’ve been thinking about this situation, and I think I’ve got some grave news for you,” Victoria informs me right after I hang up the call. The expression on her face says it all. The normal look of unshakeable confidence has definitely been shaken. She looks like a queen who has suddenly realized that her kingdom is falling all around her. Something is seriously wrong. Her look turns contemplative before she finally speaks the tortured words. “I have a feeling my father has made his choice.”
Victoria
After a lifetime of small wounds, I fear that my father has just shoved a sword through my chest. Why couldn’t he give me another week or two to prove myself? After receiving a message from him yesterday that I was wasting my time as well as his, I called him back and gave him a piece of my mind. I was angry, not only at the current situation, but at everything that has been building up over the past twenty-eight years. I have done everything he has asked. It wasn’t my idea to attend Harvard and become a real estate attorney. I would’ve been much happier moving to Milan and studying fashion merchandising. Now, after jumping through all the hoops for him, he appears to be casting me aside. He didn’t even remember that it was my birthday. That fucking prick.
“My last name is Riccolo,” I tell Devon bluntly. “Victoria Lynn Riccolo.” He has been sporting a long, concerned face since he got up, but his jaw literally drops with my admission.
“And Victor is your father? Capo dei Capi?” He shakes his head and looks as if his world is crashing down around him. He suddenly realizes that my father is the head of The Syndicate. Capo dei Capi means the boss of the bosses. “Fuck. How did this happen?” he asks, still in complete shock.
“It’s not what you think. I’m sure he’s not the one who ordered the hit,” I assure him. “He’s just not allowing me to protect you any longer.”
“You . . . protecting me?” he asks with a flash of anger in his eyes.
“Yes. The Irishman was going to take you out that day in the club. But I called him out on it. That’s actually why I got such a quick escort to the door.” I watch his expression change as I explain how things actually went down.
“That’s the first thing that has made sense all week,” he says, shaking his head in amazement. “But how did you know?”
“Capo dei Capi knows all.”
“Why did you save me?” he asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Because of this,” I reply, bending down to pull his file from my briefcase. I hand the two-inch-thick folder to him. “You’ve been under surveillance since the moment you arrived in this city. At first, The Syndicate was impressed with all that you were accomplishing, but then the money you extorted from businesses started to cut into drug sales. Every dollar that goes into the hands of government officials is one less dollar on the street.”
“So that’s what you meant by stepping on toes?” He continues to shake his head in disbelief.
“You can’t come in and change everything without consequences,” I explain once again. “Last night was a warning regardless of where it came from. I won’t know where it came from until I have a chance to sit down with my father. Regardless, it means that we no longer have his protection.”
“He’s still protecting you,” Devon counters. “Otherwise, that bomb would’ve blown with you and me onboard.”
“I’m not so sure he wants you dead,” I tell him, not knowing for certain. The subject of Devon DeLuca has been a strained one ever since his file first landed on my desk. After going through everything, I saw Devon as a way to compete with my half-brother for the throne. There is no chance that a woman would ever be put in charge of The Syndicate, but if I teamed up with a man like Devon, it would give me a fighting chance. “I’m reall
y sorry that kid was killed.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to call his mother later. She’s a fucking crack head, which is why I took him on in the first place.” His eyes grow dark again. “His name was James Tucker. He was only sixteen when I caught him stealing from me, back when I first started renovating the club. Once I saw his background, I set up a room for him in the back and gave him a job. He straightened out once somebody gave him a chance. We should go over to the hospital and check on the others.”
We walk in silence to the elevator and it continues as the elevator descends to the lobby. The crease between his eyebrows is evidence of the strain he’s suddenly feeling. It’s rough when you realize that you aren’t king of the hill but just the king of an anthill that can be crushed beneath the heel of the real king at any moment. His reality for the past two years has been one of unchallenged authority, but that’s only because the true authorities haven’t come calling until now. How he handles himself in the coming days will prove whether he is capable of transforming into a true leader or whether he becomes just another speck on the bottom of my father’s heel. I’m hoping he can pass the test because last night was absolutely incredible.
Chapter 7
Devon
The daughter of Victor Riccolo. That’s beyond my wildest suspicions, but it also explains a few things. In the mafia world, Victor is equivalent to God. Most people agree that he exists, but no one I know has ever seen him. I find it hard to believe that he actually has a daughter, much less one who would come to my little part of the world in order to save my ass. Nonetheless, I’m glad she did. I underestimated the problem I had with the Irishman and his cronies. I assumed that it could be dealt with down the road once we started moving blow, but obviously, they weren’t going to give me a chance to get started. Lesson learned. Always be proactive. Even though I’ve always heard that from my relatives, I guess it’s something that only truly sticks once it’s learned through real experience. It only takes one near-death experience to cement the idea that the best defense is a damn good offense.
“Are you okay?” Victoria asks after we settle into the back seat of the limo.
“No, but I will be.” I reach over and pat her on the knee. “Thank you for telling me who you are and for saving my ass.” I try to downplay the fact that I’ve been hit hard by this because the last thing I want to show her is any form of weakness.
“I’ve seen potential in you right from the start,” she tells me with a sparkle returning to her eyes. “How many mafia descendants have an MBA? You’re the best of both worlds.”
“So are you. How many mafia princesses have a Harvard law degree?” I smirk at the thought of it.
“Touché.” She slaps my thigh. “See, at least I haven’t been lying to you. I told you that I was a princess.”
In the underworld, she is a princess of the highest order. If Papa Joe were still alive, I would be giving him a call later to let him know all about it. He’s probably the only one in my family who would appreciate how big this is. Only the thought of the kid’s death and my pals being injured dampen the moment. That and the fact that Victoria claims that we are no longer under her father’s protection. Even though I had no idea that I was ever being protected. There is definitely a lot of gray area in this world.
Upon arriving at the hospital, we are escorted directly to Tiny’s room. “About time you show up,” he grunts, propping himself up in bed and throwing me a scowl.
“Sorry, bud. I had my phone on vibrate.” I walk over to the bed and give him a slap on the back. “Have you heard how Felix is doing?”
“Better than the kid. That’s all I know,” he replies with a grimace. “You two an item now?” he asks, nodding to Victoria.
“Just some casual sex at this point,” she pipes up, approaching the bed. “But he’s pretty good, so who knows?” She shrugs casually.
Tiny grimaces again as he laughs hard enough to shake his belly. “Don’t make me laugh like that. It’s painful.”
“Well, it’s good to see you doing all right. After we check on Felix, I have to figure out what we’re going to do for a vehicle. It sounds like I have some repairs to do at the club too. Frosty figures they used two or three pounds of C4.”
“Yeah, no shit. My ears will be ringing for a month.” He shakes his head. “Fucking Irish bastards.”
“Are you sure that’s who it was?” Victoria inquires without hesitation.
“That’s my guess, but I have no way to prove it,” he replies with a puzzled look crossing his face. “Who the hell else would it be?”
“Well, I agree that the Irish had a score to settle, but there are others with interests to protect here. So I wouldn’t be too quick to jump to conclusions.” She turns to me with a deadly serious look. “This is exactly why I’ve been telling you that you need my help.”
“Yeah, I see that now. After sampling the merchandise last night, I think you and I will be doing lots of business together as long as we can agree on the price. Let’s go check on Felix.”
* * *
Felix was still sedated, so after a short visit, we called another car. While waiting for our ride, my head is buzzing with thoughts. It really bothers me that I don’t know who is responsible and whether we’re still in danger. That’s most likely the case. Will we have to ride around in an armored Humvee? I reach around Victoria’s waist and give her a squeeze. At least the fact that she’s the daughter of the most powerful man in America makes her the perfect human shield. It’s like having an absolutely gorgeous bodyguard.
“The reason Dad started The Syndicate was to consolidate control over the northeast corridor,” she whispers. “Turf battles were out of control in the late eighties and early nineties. So that’s why Dad doesn’t want his territory being split up again.”
“And watching me gain control has obviously emboldened the Irish to think they can do the same.” I have an immediate realization of what’s been going on.
“Exactly. And the last thing he wants is a weakened organization like those of the past. When Escobar went down, it allowed Dad to seize the entire supply chain. My mom’s family runs the largest coca plantation in Colombia.”
“So you’re Colombian and Italian?” A combination that would explain her feistiness.
“Colombian and Sicilian, as my father would say.” She flashes me a sly grin. “It was a marriage made in drug trafficking heaven. It produced one feisty daughter and the purest blow you will ever get your hands on. We control the entire supply chain from planting to distribution.”
“Yeah, I’ve never had cocaine like that,” I slap her ass. “By the way, you left so many marks on my neck that I had to wear a tie today.”
“You look good in a tie.” She pops up on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss. “It’s not truly great sex if it doesn’t leave a few marks.”
“I’ll remember that. You’re just lucky I can take it since I’m a purebred Italiano.” I give her a wink. “And a Taurus besides.”
“Yes, my big, strong Italian Bull. I must say you exceeded my loftiest expectations.”
Another black limo pulls up and I take her hand and escort her to the car. I definitely miss seeing the kid and my Escalade. “When I find out who killed him, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
“I have no doubt that you will settle the score,” she replies with a confident look in her eyes. “I’ll help you any way I can. In the meantime, we need to discuss the product you tried last night.”
“I’m sold on the quality, so the only issue is price,” I reply, knowing that an east coast supplier is going to be at least five bills higher. “I can get all I want out of LA for fifteen a key.”
“You’d be paying fifteen for shit,” she counters with the anger I had anticipated. “With us, you can start with pure for twenty-one. You cut it by a quarter and I guarantee you’ll still have a better product than what you can get out of LA.”
I click the button to ensure the divider is all the way up. “Don�
�t need any prying ears. Nineteen and I can work with you. Do you know anything about levamisole?”
“I know it’s a cattle de-wormer that’s showing up in most of the cocaine supply,” she says with a snarl. “I can’t believe people are adulterating such a wonderful drug with something so vile.”
“I love how you talk about cocaine as if it’s the nectar of the gods.” Her complete sincerity makes me laugh, even in the face of such adversity. “It’s because it increases the rush so coke can compete with meth.”
“Compete with meth?” she gasps with wide eyes. “That’s like a Ferrari trying to compete with a Subaru Impreza just because it can go zero to sixty in four and a half seconds. The two are not interchangeable.”
“They are interchangeable, though, when your only goal is getting high. That’s why they started smoking crack instead of snorting coke, and now they’ve moved onto meth,” I explain. “By making coke a little more lethal, we can take back the market share and it won’t kill as many people as meth.”
“Well, I don’t want you cutting it with that unless you let the distributors know about it,” she replies, obviously not on board with the idea. “If I found out I was snorting that shit, I’d honestly kill someone.”
“The masses that we will be dealing with aren’t coke snobs like you, babe.” I smirk and give her a squeeze. “If they get a better buzz, they’ll keep coming back. Trust me. I’ll lay out the facts for the distributors and let them choose for themselves.”
“Okay, so we’re settled on twenty a key?”
I know she’s right about the purity of the crap out of LA. “We can start at twenty, and as volume grows, we’ll renegotiate.”
“You’ve got a deal,” she replies with a smile, holding out her hand to shake mine.
I’m not exactly sure how all of this will work, but I know that my cut will be based on how much adulterating I do prior to passing it off to the distributors. Starting with pure, there is so much room for creativity that I’ll be able to bank some serious coin. Especially once word starts to spread that my shit is a better high than meth.
