Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Yeah, that seemed just fucked up enough to be typical for me.
Great.
That was just great.
It was going to be a long ten weeks.
Chapter Five
Santi
"This is fucking unacceptable," I growled, slamming my coffee cup down on Lorenzo's kitchen table.
"I agree," Lorenzo said, shrugging, unbothered by the outburst. He was likely used to it. We were a "Family" full of hot tempers. "And this is why I wanted cameras outside your apartment building years ago," he reminded me.
He'd wanted to put them outside, in the hall by our door, in the stairwell, and in the lobby.
Brit had called it an invasion of privacy.
I'd agreed because it seemed completely unnecessary since no one had ever bothered with me before.
But that was back when our father ran shit.
When our old man was in charge, he kept the more unhinged Lombardis and the Espositos happy, while ticking off the much more sane and controlled Morellis and D'onofrios.
When Enz took over, and the power shifted, I should have reconsidered the offer. I'd been too wrapped up in my own shit.
And Brit had to pay for me dropping that ball.
It wasn't just me dropping the ball, though.
The company who did the security at my apartment building had as well.
Because the cameras had been down not only for the killing, but also the three days before and after.
Which was what we'd all just learned after Enz had gone back and forth with them since the assassination, trying to get the footage.
It was only after he'd sent his rabid dog, Brio, over to the company, that he actually got an answer.
That the cameras were down.
That no one had caught the car.
"Want me to go have a chat with the doorman?" Brio offered from where he was perched on the counter, legs swinging as he unwrapped a chocolate bar.
I was getting to know Brio well enough that his "chatting" often came with a lot of bloodshed.
"I think he was telling the truth," I said, shrugging. "He's a solid guy. If he knew more, he'd have said more."
"So all we have is a nondescript black SUV with blackout windows," Lorenzo recapped. "Which is fucking nothing since all the families have black SUVs with dark tint. Including us," he added.
"It was fast," I recalled.
The street must have been clear of traffic.
One minute, we were arguing, the next five bullets were slicing through her body.
By the time I turned my head, they were peeling off.
"And the plates from the bodega cameras came back as expired," Emilio said.
"This isn't anyone's first rodeo," Brio said, shrugging. "Only an idiot uses their real plates on a job."
"Yeah," Lorenzo agreed. "That's the problem when trying to track down a pro."
I'd been so angry after the drive-by that I'd been ready to take out every last member of each of the Families.
It had taken more than a couple sit-downs with my brother to convince me that we couldn't go that route. We had to at least figure out which Family had put out the hit. Then we could decide if we were going to take them all—or just the perpetrators—out for it.
But we'd hit nothing but dead-ends when it came to tracking down any leads.
You'd think with everyone and their mother having security cameras these days, that they'd catch something. But, as we'd found out, most of the security cameras in the area were inside the buildings, where the crimes were more likely to take place. The only reason the bodega had them outside was because they kept having their windows broken by some asshole kids.
"And shit is so volatile now," Emilio started, "that we can't even do some poking around the Lombardi and Esposito operations."
"We're going to figure it out," Lorenzo said, looking at me. "It's just going to take longer than we anticipated."
"Ah, can I come in?" Gigi, Lorenzo's woman, asked, pausing in the doorway.
"Yeah, we are pretty much finishing up," Lorenzo agreed, giving her a tight smile.
"Good. You've been working too hard. And keeping Santi too late," she added.
"Yeah, how is that going?" Lorenzo asked. "With the Morelli girl," he clarified.
"My apartment has never been messier," I declared, getting a laugh out of him.
I had a cleaning lady. Not the same one I used to have. Lorenzo had insisted on my using someone he hired, someone he had vetted, someone he knew could be trusted.
But between her visits, things were getting a little rough. Or, at least, rougher than I was used to.
Brit had been a meticulous housekeeper.
I had always been pretty tidy myself.
The changes could be seen as soon as you walked in the house. The shoes were in a pile next to the door instead of tucked away neatly in the cabinet that existed solely for shoes. There were pillows on the couches. There were blankets tossed over them most of the time. Board games weren't inside the coffee table storage space, but scattered on top instead. There were cups or bowls in the sink and random electronics scattered around.