blubbering mess, and she wouldn’t become so frail that I’d fear breaking her.
Breaking something smaller than me was not in my nature, nor was it my intention. But I knew she was going to be as mad as hell, and there was no doubt I was going to have a vicious fight on my hands.
The thing about hands, though? Just like feet, they can be tied up, rendered useless. The man about to walk into my office might as well been named “Thread.” He called Mari, the girl he was after, Strings, so it was fitting.
Right on time, a knock came at my office door.
“Come in,” I said, sitting back in my chair.
No one entered into my personal space unless invited. I had trusted two people in this world completely, my father and my brother. My father was gone, and my brother might as well have been. Therefore, I trusted no one. Which led me to touch the gun I kept close. It was strapped underneath the desk, ready if I needed it.
“Boss,” Harry Boy said, entering. “Raff said you wanted to see me.”
I looked him over from head to toe before inviting him to sit. The money he was making from working for me was working for him. He’d ditched the flannels and jeans—that attire didn’t go over with me, even if my business was unconventional—and had started getting his suits custom-made. I knew a guy who knew a guy. Harry Boy was clean-shaven and smelled of a fine cologne instead of something bought at a drug store. He had respect for the job, for his purpose, which I encouraged in all of my men.
“Sit,” I said, motioning to one of two open seats in front of my desk.
He fixed his suit before he took the seat. He looked at me and I looked at him.
“Did you meet with Rocco Fausti?” I said.
“Today. All looks good with your investments.”
Rocco Fausti was the son of Luca Fausti, one of the most dangerous men of the Fausti family. Rocco and his brothers were just as dangerous if you crossed them or anyone they considered theirs. However, if you wanted someone to triple your money—or even more—Rocco had a brilliant mind for it. My father was fond of saying that he could turn a penny into a million dollars.
There was a reason why I sent Harry Boy to the meeting with Rocco. Even though the Fausti family mostly stayed out of business matters that didn’t concern them, if wars were erupting between families, or new leaders were trying to make a name, that sort of thing, they kept tabs on the situation.
I was sending Rocco a message: No need to check on me again. I have things under control. I even have a lawyer who’s dealing with my legal shit.
There were multiple wars going on (or was it just one?), and no one knew who was starting them. All of the five families were blaming each other. At the end of it all? A dead end. So everyone assumed the one they’d originally accused had done the crime against them.
My gut told me that someone was starting shit between them on purpose. Whoever did me a “favor” by killing Cormick was going to come looking for payment in the form of a favor sooner or later. And whoever killed Cormick had done it for a simple reason: Favors were highly valued in this life. It was good to keep them close to the vest, ready to pull out when that golden “get out of jail” ticket was needed.
Whoever killed Cormick was above average, though. He’d made it look like me. Which also meant that he was starting shit with me, too. A man must kill when he must, and I never took a life that didn’t deserve it, but whoever had killed Cormick Grady had set my war on his terms.
Harry Boy cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been staring at him. I sat forward a little, setting my hands on the desk. “I’m pleased with the job you’ve been doing.”
“I do my best.” He smiled.
“That you do.” I nodded. “But here’s the thing, Harry Boy. My old man always felt the need to meet the families of his workers. I’m keeping that tradition. It makes things more personal. You understand.”
“I do.” He nodded. “But my family—”
“Your Mam and Da live in Scotland now. Your two brothers are there with them. We’ll get to them later.” I waved a dismissive hand.