Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Working from home, I’m surrounded by an army that’s ready for war.
Dario has converted my living room into his personal office space. Whenever I have to pass through the living room to get to the sliding doors, I almost break my neck, tripping over all the fucking computer cables.
Renzo has practically moved in, and I can’t do a fucking thing without the man breathing over my shoulder.
I’m on a call with Paulie. I sent him to Houston to get information on Todd’s whereabouts.
“About a year ago, he was in a pretty bad car accident,” Paulie informs me. “Apparently, he was released from the hospital two months ago, and no one has seen him since. Word around town is he’s gone to his cabin to recover.”
“Find out where the cabin is and check it out,” I order.
“On it, boss.”
As I end a call with Paulie, I glare at Renzo. “Stop babysitting me.”
“I will once the Slovakians have been taken care of,” he mutters, his eyes locked on the screen of his laptop.
“Christ,” I grumble as I walk out of my office.
Heading through the living room, I glance at Dario. “Find anything new?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Just the usual bullshit.”
Exiting the house through the sliding doors, I walk to where Marcello is giving orders to the men to search the city for the Slovakians.
“Tell your informants they’ll make good money if they give us a solid lead,” he says to the men.
As they walk away to carry out the job, Marcello turns to face me. “Milo called. The funeral is on Monday. He’s on his way back.”
I nod, feeling a stab of grief. “As soon as he’s here, prepare to leave. I want to go to the truckyard.”
“Yeah, I’m worried about the shipment that’s going out today. I’ve told all the drivers to carry weapons and changed their routes.”
Over the past few years, Marcello has taken on the position of the underboss of the Vitale family. It’s an unspoken agreement between us.
The gates open, and my eyes flick to the SUV as it comes up the driveway. I watch as Milo climbs out of the vehicle before walking to us.
“Everything’s ready for tomorrow,” he says, his face grim from the grief of losing his best friend.
Lorenzo was always the quiet one between the two, but since his death his silence hangs heavy around us.
Placing my hand on Milo’s shoulder, I give him a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“We’re heading to the truckyard,” Marcelo informs him.
The burner phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. Opening the message from Samantha, the corner of my mouth lifts.
Samantha: My mom just whacked my dad with a spatula. Just so you know, I take after her.
MMM: You’re telling me I should hide all the spatulas?
Samantha: Just giving you time to back out.
MMM: Never.
Samantha: I have a question.
MMM: What?
Samantha: So there are security cameras in all the rooms at Paradiso. Does that mean you watch people having sex?
MMM: I go out of my way to avoid it and have employees who take care of that part of the business.
Samantha: Shoot. Here I was, hoping you have some juicy stories to tell me.
As the smile on my face widens, I glance at Marcello as he walks to the guest house where I keep my stash of weapons in an underground armory.
There’s also an entrance into the armory from my office in the main house, which doubles as an escape route.
The phone vibrates in my hand again, drawing my attention back to my conversation with my girlfriend.
I’m taking advantage of calling her that before she finds out who I am and dumps my ass.
Samantha: Just kidding. I have to go and save my dad from my mom.
MMM: Talk to you later, baby.
When I tuck the device back into my pocket, Marcello comes walking toward me with an armored vest. He hands it to me, saying, “Just in case there’s another attack.”
I take the vest from him and shrug it on. While I adjust it around my chest, I head to the sliding doors. “Give me five minutes then we’ll leave.”
“We’ll be at the G-Wagon,” he replies before walking to where Milo is having a smoke break.
I go into the house and find Renzo breathing over Dario’s shoulder for once.
“I’m heading out,” I inform them.
Renzo’s head snaps up. “Where to?”
“The truckyard. I have a shipment of cash going to Castro and Diaz. It can’t wait. I need the medical equipment.”
“I’ll tag along,” he says.
Not bothering to argue, I nod and head back outside.
“Marcello, grab an armored vest for Renzo,” I say when I reach the men.
Milo finishes the cigarette, and pulling his gun from behind his back, where he keeps it tucked into the waistband of his pants, he checks the clip.
Renzo shrugs his jacket off and unhooks the chest holster that holds his two Colts. When Marcello returns with the vest, he puts it on and tucks his weapons into the slots.