Forcing myself out of the car, I make sure my gun is secure in the shoulder holster hidden beneath my jacket before I walk up to the back door. I make sure I have at least one weapon on me at all times. You never know when shit will hit the fan, and I’d rather be the one with a gun than without one.
Lifting my closed fist to the door, I knock three times in quick succession. A moment later, the door is pushed open, and Diego, Christian’s right-hand, greets me. He looks more like a bear than human; huge, and muscular, with a face full of hair. His arms alone look like tree trunks, reminding me I should probably spend a little more time in the gym. Every inch of exposed skin is either tattooed or scared from the hundreds of fights he’s been in.
“Zane,” He says gruffly.
I nod my head to greet him. “Diego.”
He gestures toward the hall. “Boss has been waiting for you. He’s in his office.” As if the boss would be anywhere else. Girls rush past me completely naked, but I don’t even glance their way. I lost my appetite for other women years ago. I used to fuck girls that looked like Dove, but even that wasn’t enough. There’s only one fucking woman for me. And if I can’t have her, I won’t have anyone.
When I reach the door to Christian’s office, I don’t even knock. There’s no point, not when he’s expecting me. Opening the door, I find him sitting behind his desk, a glass of amber liquid placed in front of him. His face is blank as always, refusing to give away any emotion.
I’ve worked for the Sergio family since I was a teenager. He somehow got me out of prison even though I was supposed to spend a few more years behind bars. He saw something in me and let me work for him. Slowly, I worked my way up, and now I’m one of his most trusted men.
“You’re late,” he says. I want to tell him it’s five fucking minutes, but I don’t feel like arguing tonight.
“Do you have a job, or did you just call me in here so you could bust my balls?” I slam down into one of the seats in front of the mahogany desk.
“I like you, Zane, you don’t walk in here with fright, or like a death sentence awaits on the other side, and you have a sense of humor.”
He smiles or at least attempts to. It looks more like a grimace than anything. Christian is considerably older than me, and I think he lost the ability to smile before I was born. His black and gray hair is slicked back, and his face looks weathered, but that could be simply from doing this shit for years.
I shrug. “It’s not like you’re going to kill me. I’m the one dealing out death. Plus, I doubt if you wanted me dead, you would do it here.”
He grabs his glass and takes a gulp of the liquid before setting the crystal glass back down. He stares at me intently—other men would be intimidated, but not me—and says, “First, I wanted to let you know that things with the Castro family are tense. They’ve been intercepting some of our drugs and undermining some other deals. If things continue the way they are, I might have a few jobs coming up for you. I’ll need you to handle those more silently than normal. No one can know that I’m the one calling the hits.”
“Okay.” That’s a far cry from my normal job because usually Christian likes everybody to know who is responsible for the deaths I deal out. He’s known for being ruthless and killing for petty reasons. Once you’re on his shitlist, your days are numbered. So, I won’t deny that I’m a little curious, but not enough to ask any questions.
“That won’t be a problem. Give me a list, and I’ll get the job done.”
“Besides the Castros, it seems like the Rossi Family is looking for a fight as well.”
“Rossi, as in Xander Rossi?” I say, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. Xander doesn’t look for fights, and most know better than to fuck with him.
Christian frowns and takes a large gulp of his whiskey. He finishes the glass and slams it down onto the desk before grabbing the bottle and pouring himself another. “Yeah, the one and only.”