Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
He was determined to put Maggie in the ground, so he could keep his father’s fortune. He had attempted to do that once already. The second time, it was up to me and my boys. And, although we had to have a little chat with her, going after that woman was not an option.
If I hadn’t stepped in when Keeler and Portis held up her bar, I wouldn’t be in this position. I would’ve gotten to know her—and she likely wouldn’t even be here. That thought stopped me in my tracks for a moment. Roselli sent those assholes to take Maggie out. But it didn’t play out, in my opinion. Nick was an idiot and a cheap bastard, but even he knew better than to entrust those morons with an important job.
To my mind, that was just a weird twist of fate that started us down this path. Now she was my friend. My boy liked her. My friends did, too.
Which meant we had one hell of a problem on our hands.
To me, it was important that we stuck to our everyday routine. I didn’t want to make Roselli suspicious. For the moment, he had to believe we were actually going to carry out his orders. The following day, this routine included collecting from Bob Myers, owner of Napolitana, a restaurant in Manhattan.
Myers was a typical degenerate gambler. Nine times out of ten, he would lose money. The one time he’d win, he’d brag about it for a week, before gambling some more. He’d been repeating this cycle for the past couple of years. That was when he borrowed money from Roselli for the first time. I liked his restaurant—his chefs could do amazing things with hand-rolled pasta. Whenever I walked into that place, the smells alone were enough to make me want to eat about half its menu. It was too bad Myers was in charge of that otherwise decent restaurant.
Cars speeding down the road behind us, Julian, Slater and I went down the stairs to Napolitana’s basement. Being the first to enter, I swept the large area spreading out in front of me. About two dozen people in white uniforms and big hats were standing near the kitchen counters. Using their knives, they were chopping vegetables, fish, and meat. Some waiters were coming in and getting out, with huge trays in their hands. In the upper left corner, smoke was pouring from the rotisserie. Myers was on the far side, talking to one of his cooks.
Our gazes meeting, I read fear in his face. His Mediterranean complexion turning pale, he had a hollow gaze in his gray eyes.
“Hey, Bob.” I slowly closing the gap between us. “How’s business?”
“Not great,” he spoke in a weak voice and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been struggling around here.”
“I’m curious,” I addressed him in an ironic tone. “If business sucks so bad, what do you pay these people in? Tablecloths? Or is it wine?”
“Look, guys,” he requested, his gaze traveling from me to Slater and Julian on either of my flanks. “I know I’ve missed a payment or two, but I’ve got a lot of expenses these days. My son’s getting married in a couple of weeks; you know how expensive weddings are. Also, my daughter’s graduating from…”
“Yeah, yeah…” I interrupted, my imposing stature dwarfing his tiny 5’7” figure. “Come on, Myers. You know the drill. Give us the money, so we can get the fuck out of here.”
“I don’t have it, I’m afraid,” he claimed, the beads of sweat under his hairline betraying his tension.
“Don’t make it more complicated than it has to be, Myers,” Slater spoke in a calm but chilling voice—a special talent of his. “You know how this goes. You pay on time? Everybody’s happy. You don’t? Roselli’s pissed and he sends us to collect, one way or another. You said your son’s getting married soon. You don’t want to miss your boy’s wedding, do you?”
At that point, a thud from behind me drew my attention. I whipped my head around, and spotted two men just past the entrance, holding rifles. That stupid prick.
The first bullet crackled through the air. One of them whistled past me and got lodged in the wall in front of me, Myers whirling around to flee. I lunged to the right, not in the mood to take a bullet today.
I landed hard on my chest and rolled across the floor as every chef in the place screamed and ran around like idiots. Slater had a good position behind a stainless-steel refrigerator, but he held his fire, not wanting to hit one of the cooks.
Good. Decent Italian food was really hard to come by.
A spray of bullets hit a counter near me and suddenly, I was covered in bits of carrots and cucumbers. A bullet ricocheted off the edge of a pillar on my left with a deafening bang. I looked over and my heart sank. Julian hadn’t been able to find cover, so he was crouched behind that pillar, and it was too small to shield much of him. Fuck.