“Give me her number.” After I’ve had a moment to calm down, I finally take a seat and decide to work out a plan to see her again. I can’t fucking let her go, especially not after the way I treated her.

“It’s her husband’s number.” The tic in my jaw twitches again, and I grind my teeth at his words.

“The fucker’s dead, right?” My eyes bore into Johnny’s as my words come out with enough bite to let him know I’m still on edge. He starts to answer verbally, but then decides just to nod his head. I keep staring at him, letting him get a good fucking idea of how pissed I am when he refers to that prick as her husband. “So he’s not her fucking husband.”

“Alright, boss. You got it. I just-” he stops himself and looks at the floor before continuing, “I just have his number. Not hers.”

“What’s her name?” I’m a fucking fool for not even getting her name.

He shuffles his feet, but keeps his eyes on me. He knows better than to back down, even if I am pissed off. I don’t have pussies working for me. I don’t fucking like weakness. “I don’t know.” My rage is getting the best of me. Of course he doesn’t fucking know. He probably doesn’t even know her dead husband's real name.

“What’s his number? Give it to me.” Johnny immediately takes out his cell and pushes a few buttons. My phone, still on the sectional, beeps with a text.

It’s my doll’s dead husband’s number. Perfect. I call it right away. Why? I don’t fucking know why. I immediately hang the fuck up on the first ring. What the hell is wrong with me? What am I going to say? Hey, sorry I fucked you like you were some slut. Didn’t mean to take advantage. Fucking hell, I’m losing my touch. “I’m gonna send this over to Tony.” Tony will tell me everything he can about this number. From who it belonged to, to what that fucker ate for breakfast the day he died. More importantly, I'll find out who his widow is.

“Johnny, how many of these fucking drops do I have to sit through today?”

“We’ve got three more lined up, boss,” he answers.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I can’t shake my irritation. I need to calm down before shit gets out of hand. I roll my shoulders, throw my scotch back and pour myself another.

“Your ma having dinner tonight?” Johnny asks me like he has no clue. Must be his fucking nerves getting the best of him.

“Relax, I’m just a bit wound up.”

“What’d she say to you that’s got you on edge?” he asks.

“She didn’t say a goddamn thing, Johnny. I’m just curious.” He raises a brow in question.

“Her pussy that good?” he asks with a smirk.

“You really wanna push me right now?” That wipes the smile off his face and puts one on mine. I laugh at him and pour him a drink. I walk over to him, a glass in each hand. He takes his drink from my hand and gives a small nod in thanks. “Salute,” I say, clinking my glass with his

“Salute.” He takes a small sip and winces as the burn stings his throat. I chuckle and gulp back the rest. I shake out my arms and already feel a bit more relaxed. I throw my feet on the table and get ready to text Tony.

“What’s the cheers for, boss?”

I grin and press send on the text. I adjust in my seat and lean my head back on the sleek, black leather sectional. “Just found my new girl.”

His brow furrows in confusion and then disbelief, but he’s quick to straighten out his face. He takes another sip and walks to the window to look out over the field. It’s Sunday, but there’s nothing going on today. Team’s on break, I take it. “Been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s been a bit. I wanna take her on though.”

“She into that?” he asks with very real curiosity in his voice.

“Nah, I doubt it; that’s not how I like 'em. I enjoy breaking 'em in.” I groan and adjust my dick, which is already getting hard again just from thinking about taking a belt to her lush ass. Fuck, I didn’t even get a chance to truly enjoy her body. I smirk to myself, thinking of how I’m gonna punish her the second I get her alone for leaving like she did.

Johnny says, “I’ve been thinking about trying a thing or two, in the bedroom.” He looks out the window like he’s thinking real fucking hard about it. I snort at him, but before he can respond there’s a hard knock at the door. I run a hand down my face and then through my hair. I can’t wait to get this shit over with so I can go to Ma’s and finally eat something. As Johnny opens the door, my phone goes off on the coffee table. Perfect fucking timing. I don’t want to deal with whatever prick owes me money. I lean down to pick it up, and as I do all hell breaks loose. A fucking bullet whizzes by my head, right where I just was.

Johnny’s scuffling with the fucker who’s screaming for his life at the door. Johnny pushes him down, laying all his weight on top of him, with one hand over his mouth and the other on the silencer attached to the gun. I’m real fucking aware of exactly how the gun is pointed, so I stay out of the line of fire as I jump over the sofa and make my way to the two of them. Johnny’s a pretty big dude. He’s all muscle, broad-chested, and this puny fucker doesn’t stand a chance. He’s putting up one hell of a fight though.

My hand reaches into the waistline of my pants, but my gun isn’t there. Fuck! I don't have my gun. I always fucking have my gun, but I belatedly remember removing it so I wouldn't scare off my doll earlier.  I look over to the door and it's on the other side of the room.  The worst fucking place possible. I keep low to the ground with my eyes on Johnny and this dumb shit. You gonna take a shot at me, you better fucking make sure it takes me out.  Johnny carries reverse. I know right where his piece is.  I come up from behind him and let him know it's me. 

"Grabbing your piece, Johnny."  In one swift move I've got his gun pointed at this fucker's head.  He looks up with his eyes wide and finally stills, ending the struggle.  "Keep your hand on his mouth and grab the gun."  

The guy’s eyes dart from me to Johnny.  I can tell he's figuring out that he's going to die right about now.  He loosens his grip on the gun and starts shaking his head and screaming something through Johnny's hand. It's not “help,” like I expected it to be. Even if he could scream out for help, no one's coming for him. I've had this suite for years. This wouldn't be the first time some chump thought he'd just kill me instead of paying his debt.

His muffled voice utters a sound that gets my attention. "Johnny, let the fucker talk."  

Johnny looks up at me with sweat covering his brow from the struggle. His face is red, and he's still breathing like he's run a mile.  I jerk my head to the table by the door and say, "Get mine; I wanna switch."  

Johnny rises slowly, grabbing the bastard's gun and walks to the door calmly, straightening out his jacket and tucking his shirt back in. I track him in my peripheral vision, but my focus is on this skinny fuck looking straight into the barrel of the gun I've got pointed right between his eyes. 

"Last words?" I ask, closer to pulling the trigger more than I really should. I shouldn't kill him here. Not with Johnny's gun.  This fucker brought one with a silencer though. So it's his funeral. And I'll have to fix the flooring. But I bought extra wood the last time I remodeled for this very fucking reason.  

"De Luca sent me."  He spits the words out with terrified eyes. I smirk at him. Yeah, that’s what I thought he said. I don’t want to kill him with this gun anyway. So he can talk a bit more. Maybe I’ll learn something new.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I ask him, switching guns with Johnny and motioning for him to give me this fucker's gun. How damn sweet is that? He comes to kill me; I unload his gun in his head. Seems fair enough to me. The only thing that’s unfair is that I’ll have to rip out some of the hardwood flooring and replace it.

The scrawny prick is crying his eyes out. The smell of urine hits me, and I look back at him with disgust. Did De Luca really think he’d get rid of me with this little piece of shit? I squat down to see him better and to put the gun closer to his head. I take a good look at his face and then settle for just reaching into his pants for his wallet. I toss it at Johnny without taking my eyes off this chump. This punk is young and scared for his life, but I don’t underestimate anyone. Not now, not ever. You never know when someone might surprise you. And I don’t fucking like surprises.

Not like that nice piece of ass today. She was a welcome surprise. My dick starts getting all fucking excited thinking about being in that hot pussy again. Fuck. Now is not the time to let my mind go there. Although it does make me wanna end this shit sooner, rather than later.

“De Luca’s pissed about the territory, he wants all yous dead.”

“All yous?” I echo, and arch an eyebrow.

“You need to learn to speak properly, Mr...?” I ask him, but not really. I know Johnny’s gonna answer, and he does.

“Marco, Marco Bryant. Twenty-three, and an organ donor.” Johnny’s confident voice rings out from behind me and ends with a snort. Yeah, these organs are getting donated. I see him pocketing Marco's wallet as I nod my head. Bryant. Just like I thought, he’s not full blood. No way De Luca gives a fuck about him.

“So, Marco. You need to get your shit together. You think De Luca was really giving you a chance?” Marco starts trembling beneath me, and widens his eyes. He doesn’t know how to answer. Fuck, I wanna roll my eyes at this prick. But I don’t take chances.

“Don’t answer; I don’t really give a fuck.” I push the barrel of the gun between his eyes and ask, “You got anything else for me?”

“I’ll give you everything!” His eyes are darting between me and Johnny, and his face is sweating like he’s stranded in a desert in July. Or like he’s about to lose his life. I can practically hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“Everything?” I ask with a smirk. He’s got nothing that I want. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Unless he’s got that chick’s number, there’s nothing I want from him.

“I’ve got a house on the southside and forty grand that’s-” I pull the trigger before he can finish. I miss the bang of the bullet, but it’s better this way. Nice and quiet. I get up quick so I don’t get any blood on my suit.

“Grab the list and see if he was one of the drop-offs. If not, this is gonna be one long fucking day.” I head over to the bar and finally get my gun positioned right where I like it. That’s better.

“Got it, boss. Yeah, he’s one of 'em.” My chest rumbles with a laugh. “Wonder if he has a history of making bets and he got that forty grand by winning?” Johnny laughs as he picks Marco’s head up and starts wrapping it with plastic wrap. Really distorts the fucker's head, but it works well for keeping all the blood from getting everywhere.

“Drop him off at the vet before Ma’s.” Everyone in my family knows someone. My vet was a wonderful addition to my contacts. If you can cremate a hundred and fifty pound dog, you can cremate a hundred and fifty pound corpse.

“You really wanna push it? You know your Ma hates it when you’re late.” Johnny talks while he wipes up the blood. I flip the scrawny bastard over and pull him by his feet away from the mess.

I don’t answer Johnny. I’m always fucking late. She’d be surprised if I showed up on time. I stare at the rag in Johnny’s hand that's soaking up the blood. Damn, it’s a lot of blood. Never gets old. I stand up from the dead bastard and head back to the bar for a drink. Our glasses are somewhere else, but there’s plenty of new ones to fill. And plenty of liquor to fill them with.

This is why I’m the bookie in the family. I didn’t really want to be a part of this shit. But with a name like Valetti, this shit tracks you down. “Yours is up here when you’re ready, Johnny.” As soon as I set my glass down, there’s a knock at the door. Fucking perfect.

I walk over to Johnny and pick up Marco’s legs while he gets his upper body. This fucker looks small, but his dead, limp body is fucking heavy. We’ll dump him in the corner for now. I take a look at Johnny and straighten his jacket.

“You look good, just wipe your face,” I tell him and return to my glass.

“Uh, Dom?” Johnny asks while another knock echoes through the suite.

“What?” I tilt my chin to the door. After that shit, I’m not opening it. I smirk at the thought.

Johnny motions to his hips while looking at mine. I take a glance down. “Fuck!” Motherfucker; fucking Marco ruined my Brioni suit. It cost more than that dumb fuck had in the bank. I look over to his carcass slumped in the corner of the room behind the pool table as Johnny opens the door. With one hand positioned firmly on the butt of my gun, and the other on my drink, I'm listening but I keep my eyes on the dead body in the room.

I’m vaguely aware of the transaction as the pit in my stomach sinks and blood rushes in my ears as their voices turn to white noise. I fucking hate that I was born a Valetti. But it’s sure as shit better than being born Marco.