CHAPTER THREE
Angel
"THAT GIRL'S A trip," Bones said as we left the restaurant.
I was thinking more like gorgeous, sweet, and brave, but "a trip" described her pretty well, too. "Who the fuck goes to Africa by themselves? She could have been killed, or worse." The assholes down there don't have a code. They don't have someone like my father making sure lines aren't crossed. But Markie had survived over a year down there, and that was damn impressive.
"I don't know, but that's some crazy shit. What made you invite her to our table?" he asked.
I looked at him like he had lost his mind. "You did see her, right?" I'd always been a tits and ass guy, and Markie's curves worked her sundress in a way that made me want to wrap my arm around her narrow waist. "I stopped to check her out, and she thought I was the restaurant manager, come to let her know her table was ready."
"You're shitin' me?"
"I swear."
He threw back his head and laughed.
"Yeah. Funniest thing I've heard in a while. She got all embarrassed and holy fuck! Did you see her dimples?"
"She's hot, I'll give you that," Bones finally admitted. "But she's just a broad, and you're actin' crazy. Fix your shirt and tie. Are you taking these guys to a meeting or to a strip club?"
"Huh?" I followed his gaze, and sure enough, my tie was loose, and my collar button undone.
When did that happen?
With no time to worry about it, I fixed my appearance and we hurried on our way. Before we turned the corner, I glanced over my shoulder to find Markie standing outside the restaurant with an open pizza box in her arms. An elderly couple talked to her as they each reached in and took a slice. Markie called a mother and two small children over. What was she doing? Did she plan to share with the entire airport?
Her long blonde curls cascaded down her back and, as she slipped a rogue lock behind her ear, I wanted to run my fingers through it.
What the hell's wrong with me?
Bones nudged me. "Never met anyone like her before."
Still transfixed by the natural girl-next-door beauty before me, I stole one more eyeful of her soft curves and her dimpled smile.
"Nope. And we probably never will again."
A little pang of regret pierced my chest.
* * *
Bones and I made it to the waiting area only minutes before my father's associates. The two Italians and one orange-haired Irishman dressed like wiseguys, complete with hard-ass attitudes, barely grunted in greeting. We collected their bags, and then the family limo took us on a tour of the strip before stopping in front of a five-story glass building, one of Father's office buildings. The driver let us out, and Bones checked in with the guards before leading us to Conference Room B.
Six black high-backed ergonomic chairs surrounded a rectangular stone table. A fifty-two-inch flat-screen television hung on one wall, just above a built-in glass-door refrigerator stocked with bottled waters and sodas. Large tinted one-way windows looked out over the strip and gave us a scenic view of the hills beyond. I offered up refreshments and took a seat as Bones stood guard by the door.
When my father entered the room, everyone rose to their feet like he was the goddamn president of the USA or something, rather than capo dei capi (or boss of bosses) of Vegas. Standing about six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair and features, his very presence demanded respect. Where Bones and the other bodyguards intimidated, my old man practically crackled with power. He was known for being a hardass who didn't suffer fools or put up with bullshit, but I couldn't blame him. He'd worked his ass off to rein in the crime syndicate of Vegas and the second he dropped the whip, the bastards would turn on him.
He introduced himself to his guests and took his seat at the head of the table. "Angel, check the room."
I'd created a handheld device, about the size of a thick cell phone, that could pick up wires, taps, or pretty much anything with the ability to record or transmit audio or video files. I slid it out of my pocket and ran a quick scan of the room. According to the readout, everyone in the room had a cell phone and two people had tablets. I showed it to Father and he nodded and gestured for me to retake my seat seat.
He turned his attention to the suits. "Did you bring the plans?" That was my old man... cut the shit, get right down to business.
"Yes, of course," the Irishman replied. He pulled papers from his briefcase and held them up uncertainly.
Father gestured for me to take them. Curious, I grabbed the pages and studied the design.
"A bomb," I said. Not like the tricky little shit I was working on, but a bomb nonetheless.
"Not just any bomb," the ginger replied, pointing to the plans. "Controlled impact. Small radius, so it takes out the victim without doing a lot of damage to the surroundings. These sensors here and here help it to activate when someone approaches, and we found a way to produce it cheaper and faster than anything on the market. If you take a look at the production schedule, I'm sure you'll see..."
He droned on, but my focus remained on the implications behind the sensors.
"Angel, what do you think?" Father asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Morally speaking, the bombs were fucked up, but this was business. "It is economical, and the design is simple; production would take no time at all."
"Exactly," the ginger said.
Father glanced at the paper in my hand. "Look at it again. Would we use it?"
It was a bullshit question since he was the sole determiner of what we would and wouldn't use, but he must want my eyes on it for something. I studied the design once more, committing it to memory.
"How precise are the sensors?" I asked.
The ginger's brow furrowed. "As you'll see in the bottom left hand corner, the range is--"
"I didn't ask about the range, I asked how precise the sensors are."
He blinked.
Dumb ass. "Say I put this on a car and a child goes running by. Does it sense the movement and blow up the kid? Or is there a way to calibrate it for a specific size or even weight of a person?"
The ginger shared a look with the two Italian men before shaking his head. "We were determined to keep costs down, and what you're talking about would be much more innovative and expensive to create."
I handed the papers back to the ginger. "No, we wouldn't use it. Our family is precise, and our hits are clean."
The men looked at me like I was speaking fucking Greek, so I broke it down into terms they could understand. "We always get our man. With this bomb, there's no guarantee of that, whereas if I'm lookin' through the crosshairs of my sniper rifle when my bullet splits the skull of my target, I'm certain. If I'm starin' the son-of-a-bitch in the eye when my pistol pumps two rounds into his heart, I know the job's done. If I slide my knife into his throat and carve him a second smile, I can go home knowing the bastard isn't gonna recover to come lookin' for me. Personally, I'm a little too hands-on to place a bomb and hope it gets the job done."
"There you have it." Father stood, letting us know the conversation was coming to an end. "The Mariani family frowns on collateral damage, so that is a concern, but we also make sure our hits are dead. Still, we might have a use for your devices. Now that Angel has seen the specs, we'll discuss it and have an answer to you within the week. I have another meeting I must get to, and my security is calling the limo. They'll be waiting downstairs to take you wherever you need to go. Angel will walk you out."
And with that, Father shook hands and vacated the room.
Open-mouthed, the trio stared after him. They'd flown across the country and were no doubt expecting more than a five-minute chat with the head of the Las Vegas families. To be honest, I'm surprised they even got that much of his time. After a moment of stunned silence, the ginger packed up his paperwork and the three wiseguys followed me and Bones down the hall, the tension radiating from them betraying their outrage.
"Well, that was awkward," Bones said, as we watched them climb into the limo.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "I don't even know what that was."
My phone rang. Knowing the old man would be calling to debrief me, I clicked on my bluetooth and answered.
"You'll recognize those devices if you see them?" Father asked.
Any new tech or weapons our guys picked up in the city found its way onto my desk. "Yessir."
"Good. Let me know the minute they surface." He disconnected.
"Everything okay?" Bones asked.
"He wants me to be on the lookout for the bombs."
Bones's eyebrows rose. "You think one of the families will buy them?"
"Father does." The certainty in his statement made that clear. Still, I couldn't imagine someone being stupid enough to purchase that shit. Why would any of the families need bombs? Was someone planning to overthrow my family? The crime families had been prospering under Father's rule. Why would someone want to challenge him?
Bones shook his head, probably wondering the same things I was. "What the fuck is wrong with people?"
That was the million-dollar question I had no answer for.
With the rest of the afternoon free, Bones and I headed to the gym in my condo building.
When I'd graduated from high school, Father had given me the keys to a two-bedroom condo (one room for me, one for my bodyguard), located in a high rise just off the strip. He owned the building and controlled the security, but having my own space at least gave me the illusion of freedom while making it clear he expected me to stay in Vegas. There'd be no escaping the future my blood had bought me, but Father had granted me a measure of independence... one he could control, surrounded with people he could trust.
The building had its perks, one of which was the professionally-equipped gym. Bones took working out seriously, and the minute we stepped out of the locker room he morphed into some sort of fitness Nazi hell-bent on pushing me until I bled or coughed up a lung. But between the cop shooting and my father's shady business associates, I desperately needed to purge my brain, even at the expense of my body. I let him push me for almost two hours before I collapsed into the Jacuzzi, sore muscles sizzling as they hit the water.
Bones--looking no worse for the wear--strutted toward the pool and dove in. I waved him off, giving him my blessing to swim laps like some demented Olympic hopeful while I recuperated. I wanted to head upstairs, crawl into bed, and sleep for a week, but I had obligations. The twins would never forgive me if I bailed on them, and Bones had plans for us to go club hopping afterward.
Cold water splattered on my face, and then the level of the Jacuzzi raised over my chin. "You almost ready?" Bones asked, sitting across from me.
"Ready for what?" I asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. We had at least an hour and a half before we had to leave.
"Costume shopping."
I sure as hell wasn't wearing a costume. "Bones, today's Halloween. I doubt there's going to be anything left."
He climbed out of the Jacuzzi and walked toward his bag. "That's a chickenshit answer if I ever heard one. You know I got connections. Matter of fact, my friend Angela runs a costume shop, and she's been sending me pictures of their remaining inventory for the past hour. They got all kinds of shit left."
Bones had friends who did everything. The man was as connected as the goddamn Internet. He rustled through his bag, grabbed his phone, and headed back over. "Think I'll go as Sexy Zorro this year. What do you think?"
He positioned his phone in front of my face, flooding my vision with the image of a man dressed in black, shirt unlaced down to his navel, spandex tights that showed way more than I wanted to see. His hat and mask covered more than his outfit did. I smacked the phone away.
"You know I can't unsee that shit, right?"
He laughed.
"And we're taking the twins trick-or-treating first? I don't think they're old enough for Sexy Zorro. Hell, I'm not old enough."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll keep it G-rated for the kids, but after we drop them back home all bets are off."
"I got an idea. I can go as a responsible man taking his younger siblings out before babysitting his best friend all night," I suggested.
"That look is tired; you wear it all the time," Bones whined. "Live a little."
"I dressed up last year," I reminded him.
Bones and I had dressed as old school mobsters, complete with fedoras, cigars, and Tommy guns. My parents had both laughed at the sight and, to be honest, the getup had been kind of fun.
"Those were some outfits." He smiled, tossing me a towel. "We gotta do even better this year." He cocked his head and a wide grin spread across his face. "I think I know just the thing."
"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good," I said.
Bones threw back his head and laughed. "You're right, it's not good. It's great. We are going to look so badass!"
Since badass was much better than sexy, I swallowed back a grimace and followed Bones to the locker room, wondering what the hell he was up to.