Devon

I give Jacques a call, thinking that some beef bourguignon might make me feel better. The club seems especially cold and lifeless without the aroma of his cooking drifting through the air. After hanging up with him, I try to reach out to James’s mother. She doesn’t have a phone, but I’m able to track her to a local homeless shelter. After a brief conversation, it’s apparent that she isn’t coherent enough to comprehend what I’m telling her. Years of abusing her mind and body have left her a shell of a woman. Giving up on her, I know it’s up to me to make the proper arrangements. I’ll call again to invite her to his burial. Maybe then she will understand.

“You really cared about that kid,” Victoria comments after I stash my phone in my pocket. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s strange, but I think it did more for me than him,” I reply honestly. “Helping him felt really good for some reason. I guess it’s because I didn’t have a selfish motive for doing it.”

“I’ve always heard that the best way to make yourself feel better is to help others.” She bites at her top lip, lost in contemplation. “I wish I could’ve helped my mom. I used to hear her crying at night.”

“About what?”

“Being in a loveless marriage and thousands of miles from her family, I imagine.” She clears her throat and wipes a tear from her eye. “She would never discuss it with me. She didn’t want me to know what Dad was doing. But I wasn’t a fool. I knew he was out carousing while she was stuck home raising me. Each time I heard her cry, it hardened me. I grew to hate my father for the way he treated her.”

“I’m sorry.” I slip my arms around her and pull her close. “I’ve never understood why people stay together when they don’t love each other.”

“Her family was his primary supplier, so it was a marriage of necessity.” She sighs. “My mother paid the ultimate price for his success.”

“What happened?” I ask, assuming her mother had passed.

“Dad’s doctor kept prescribing pills to combat her depression,” she says with a crack in her voice. “One night, she took the whole bottle before going to bed. I found her the next morning.” The tears begin to flow in earnest, rolling down both cheeks.

“I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” she whispers through the tears. I continue to hold her tightly, allowing her to soak my shoulder with what appear to be long-held tears. “He destroyed our lives,” she struggles to say, still overwhelmed by tears. “That’s why I want the business. Turning it over to Eduardo would be the final blow.”

I can actually feel tears welling up in my own eyes, now understanding what’s at stake. “I will help you any way I can. Just let me know what needs to be done.”

“Thank you,” she gasps, squeezing me hard. “Somehow, I knew I could count on you.”

“Maybe you read in my file that I have a thing for curvy Latino-Italian women?” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No, I just got lucky on that one,” she replies with a giggle. “For years, I was so angry that I actually wanted to kill my father, but now I just want what is his. But if he chooses Eduardo over me, I think I’ll have to kill them both.”

“I would be afraid if I were them,” I respond, witnessing firsthand the hatred in her eyes. “Jilted family members can be the most formidable adversaries.”

“You have no idea,” she seethes.

* * *

It’s six o’clock and the suspect is still at large. The spread that Jacques has whipped up eases the tension momentarily, but the thought of not finding who attacked us keeps coming back to haunt me. Just as the food is being served, a friendly face comes bouncing through the door. Tiny is back.

“After scanning me from my lips to my asshole, they finally let me out of there,” he jokes as he approaches our table. “I think they were milking me for all they could get.”

“Well, after going through a blast like that, I’m sure there’s a lot of potential for damage. Good to see you, bud.” I reach out my hand to slap his. “Felix is doing better?”

“Yeah, he was giving me shit before I left so he’ll be fine.”

“That’s good. Grab a seat. This stuff looks amazing.” I shove out a chair, inviting him to join us. “Of course, you are probably full from all of that good hospital food.”

“Oh yeah, that green Jell-O really hits the spot.” He laughs.

My phone rings and it’s Sandman. “Tell me something I want to hear,” I tell him, hoping for good news.

“We’ve got him, Boss.” I can tell by the tone of his voice that he actually has him in his possession. “You want me to bring him over?”

“Yes. Is he cuffed or anything?” I ask, not wanting to give him any chance of getting away.

“Fuck yeah, the dude is cuffed and stuffed. Got a deuce deuce in his ear, so he ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He snorts.

“All right, lets put the word out for everyone to gather up. I’ll let the chief know that you guys won the prize.” A grin crosses my face as I hang up with him. I knew from the beginning that if anyone brought him in, it would be those guys. As a group, all those eyes and ears know exactly what’s going on out there. “See, that’s why it pays to have them on our side,” I tell Victoria, gloating a bit.

“I’m impressed,” she admits, pulling up her phone to send a text message. “Dad claimed ignorance on this whole deal, but he always knows what’s going on behind the scenes.” She finishes sending a hastily written text, which I assume is letting him know that we’ve caught the guy.

“So, do you think this had something to do with the Irishman?” I ask, despite her earlier assurances.

“At this point, I have no idea.” She narrows her eyes and sets her phone face down on the table. “If he’s Irish, that’ll be a clue, I guess.”

“That Victor threw you under the bus?” I can’t imagine him doing that to his only daughter.

“He has a way of always twisting things,” she replies. “In his mind, he’s probably doing me a favor by cutting me out of the loop. Either that or he’s still pissed that I’m down here.”

“He didn’t want you to help me?”

“Hell, no!” She throws her head back in laughter. “I was supposed to find a way to get rid of you, then Eduardo could take control of your crew. When he found out that I had ulterior motives, it was either him or Ed that got in touch with the Irishman.”

“Fuckin’ Irishman,” Tiny comments between mouthfuls.

“Well, at least we’ve survived the first wave,” she replies. “We might just prove to him that I’m worthy of leading The Syndicate in spite of his shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?” I snort. “Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in years. I think my third grade teacher was probably the last one who used it.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you were full of shenanigans in third grade.” She narrows her eyes. “Now eat your dinner. You’ll need your strength.”

All I can do is smile and shake my head. She is so damn cute, and yet, I know that beneath her beauty beats the heart of a tiger. It’s obvious to me that she would be the perfect person to head The Syndicate—with my help, of course. Her father must not know her very well if he is in doubt of her abilities.

Victoria

As people begin filing into the club, I can tell that Devon is getting a little anxious since the Sandman hasn’t shown up with the detainee yet. Even though he seems glad that it was the gangbangers who caught up with him, he seems a bit unsure as to whether they will get him here in one piece. He is so intent on making an example of this guy so it sends a strong message throughout the ranks. He nods to me and his eyes light up as a white panel van passes the front window. He then hits the safe behind the bar to retrieve his revolver. Within a minute, Sandman and Razor come bursting through the door with a fair-skinned redhead in tow.

“He looks pretty goddamn Irish to me,” Devon fumes before taking the stage. “Bring him up here,” he says, spinning the cylinder of his revolver for the gathering crowd. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this shit right now.”

“You can’t expect me to just stand by if you’re thinking of turning this into an old-fashioned lynching,” police chief Evans pipes up, approaching the stage.

“You’re welcome to stay or leave,” Devon responds with a venomous hiss. “It’s your choice.”

Chief Evans stands there for a second or two, biting his lower lip before taking a seat in the front row. This is Devon’s score to settle, and things will be going down exactly how he wants them to go. The handcuffed prisoner is handed over, and Devon leads him to the center of the stage. A hush falls over the crowd as they take their seats and wait for him to speak.

“Is there evidence that this is the man who strapped a car bomb to my SUV?” he asks, cutting right to the chase.

“Yes,” Razor says, beating Sandman to the punch. “My cousin recorded it on his new iPhone 7 so it’s crystal clear. He’s your guy. You can check it out for yourself.”

“Who sent you, son?” Devon asks, flopping open the cylinder of his revolver to show the young man the single bullet resting inside. The man’s eyes dart back and forth between Devon and the crowd. He then looks over at me as I begin streaming the scene using Facetime on my phone. This is the type of footage that will convince my father that I have found a worthy associate. The man remains silent, so Devon spins the cylinder before placing it to the man’s head. “I’m giving you one last chance. Who sent you?”

The young man shakes his head just slightly as a large bead of sweat trails its way down the center of his forehead. “I acted alone,” he states in a thick Irish accent.

“Really? This wasn’t retaliation for my taking out the Irishman?” Devon asks, pushing the muzzle of the gun against the side of his head.

“No, sir.”

Devon pulls the trigger, and the snap of the hammer causes the guy to drop to his knees. “Get up!” Devon tugs on his arm but he stubbornly remains seated. Tiny gets up and joins Devon on stage, lifting the man’s other arm, forcing him to stand. Devon opens the cylinder and inserts a second bullet on the opposing side before spinning it and slapping it closed. He cocks the hammer and asks the man again. “Your final chance. Who sent you?”

The young man looks directly at me. I can see the man’s lip trembling through the screen on my phone. There’s a look of utter fear in his eyes and his forehead is now shimmering with beads of sweat. He knows that Devon is serious. He knows that he has reached the end of the road. Both of the man’s lips begin to quiver violently as he begins to speak. “There is only one person whom I answer to.” He looks out into the crowd.

“Who is it?” Devon grits his teeth together, wanting an answer.

“The only one I—” His answer is cut short by the sound of the Plexiglas window behind me being blasted from its frame, immediately followed by a literal explosion within the young man’s chest. The man collapses between Devon and Tiny as the bullet ricochets off the brick wall behind them.

“Oh, my God.” The words fall from my lips as I lower my phone. I glance at the screen and see the grimace on my father’s face. I have to wonder if this young man was somehow under his control. If so, I probably just hastened his death. I click the power button without saying a word.

“Are you guys okay?” I run to the stage where both Tiny and Devon are splattered with blood.

“What the fuck was that about?” Devon’s eyes turn dark as he stares at me intently. “Did you have something to do with this?” He turns back toward the crowd and looks toward the window that was shot out. He traces back to the bullet mark on the wall. Crouching down, he quickly assesses the angle. “Chief Evans, get every man you’ve got over to that parking garage just down the block. That’s where the shot came from.”

“Yes, sir,” he says with a sigh. “We’ll get right on it.”

It’s already too late, but I’m not going to say anything. That shot was most likely taken from the back window of an SUV and the shooter is already two stop lights away from the scene. This one won’t be hanging around like the last one did. That’s the only part that doesn’t make any sense to me. Why was this guy still hanging around town? That’s not a mistake my father would make unless he wanted him to get caught for some reason. None of it makes any sense.