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.

Victoria

Reading the clues on Devon’s face, it’s obvious that he’s still thinking in terms of being part of the supply chain and maximizing his cut. My goal in this negotiation is to see if he is reasonable, if he trusts me, and whether we can work together. He’s had enough shock for one day, but I’m going to have to make my move shortly. He’s going to shit himself once he finds out that the two of us are going to own the entire supply chain.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells at the sight of two big sheets of plywood that have replaced the plate glass windows at the entrance to the club. “Those motherfuckers are going to pay for this.” He opens the door and steps out before the car even comes to a complete stop. He paces back and forth, his eyes darting between the hunks of plywood.

“It’s only a couple of windows,” I try to assure him. “I’m sure they can be fixed on Monday.”

“That’s not the point. It was way too easy for them to strike right at my core.” He shakes his head in amazement. “How the fuck did I let this happen?”

“For some reason, you thought you were bulletproof,” I tell him bluntly. “You were lucky to have a wakeup call like this. It could’ve been much worse.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and punches a number, continuing to pace back and forth in front of the entrance. “Good morning, Chief. We’ve got a problem.” He stands in silence, listening to the other side of the conversation. I’m sure the police chief is already fully aware of the situation. It’s not every day that a car bomb of this magnitude goes off downtown in a U.S. city. Most likely, it’s even a topic of the national news, but we just haven’t had anything on. “Ok, I want you and all the other officers at the club for a two-thirty meeting. I’ll be offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward for catching the bastard who did this. I want him caught today.”

“I can show you how to protect yourself,” I offer the second he hangs up the phone. “These front windows should all be bullet-resistant. The Syndicate uses level-ten glass that’s just over an inch and a half thick, but it can handle fifty-caliber rounds. Dad was so impressed that he had the same ones installed at his condo.”

“Fifty-caliber rounds?” He gives me a dismissive look. “I can’t imagine anyone using that kind of firepower around here.”

“You think field snipers are the only ones who favor long-range kill shots?” I ask. “There are huge advantages to being a mile downrange. If you don’t want to get caught, anyway. Most investigators can only cover the first couple of blocks within the initial few hours. If you’re a mile away, you can be packed up and three states away before they make their first pass. All you need is an unmonitored site to fire from, and when you have a mile to work with, it gives you lots of options.” I turn, looking down the street in front of the club. “You’re wide open to hundreds of possibilities here. You definitely need level-ten protection if this is going to be your home base.”

“That sounds expensive,” he scoffs, scrolling through his phone for another number. “I’d rather just catch this fucker and make an example of him.”

“Protection is expensive, but what’s your life worth?” I ask before turning to lead him around the rest of the building. “I’m sure this isn’t your only weak point.” I lead him through the alleyway, which looks secure because of the four-story brick apartment building right next door. There are no windows or balconies facing the alley, so there are no points of access other than the roof. The back of the club, however, is completely exposed. Luckily, there are only a couple of small exterior windows. “You see the damage the explosion did to the outer wall?”

“Yeah, that’s the original brickwork from the nineteen twenties. I wanted to keep it original,” he explains as we walk toward what remains of his Escalade, still sitting in its parking spot. “Fuck, they blew the engine right out of the thing.” His scowl deepens at the sight of blood splattered across the front seats. “An eye for an eye. Someone is dying today.”