Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“The books,” Lorenzo said, holding up the stack of papers he’d been looking over. “They’re not… lining up with what we expect from the area.”
“Something wrong with the kick-up?” I asked, stiffening, pissed that the man I’d worked with when I’d been there was not giving the boss his cut.
“From what we can tell, no,” Emilio said. “Something is wrong with the actual intake numbers. At least, that’s what it seems like. We can’t be sure. We don’t have anyone we trust completely up there to see for sure.”
“So, you’re sending me back,” I said, careful to keep any disappointment out of my tone.
I mean, Maine was nice enough.
In the on-season.
When the weather was nice and the little town we operated in was alive again.
But in the shittiest part of winter?
Internally, I let out a little sigh, reminding myself it wasn’t for forever. It likely wouldn’t even be for long. I just had to suss out what the fuck was going on with the money. That was all. A week. Two, tops.
“I know you’re probably not happy about it,” Lorenzo said, shrugging a shoulder. “But you know the area and that operation best. I’d rather it be you than anyone else who would take twice as long to figure out half as much.”
“I get it. I won’t say I’m looking forward to all that fucking snow again, but I don’t mind.”
“If you wanna be a dick, drag one of those brothers of yours up there with you,” Emilio said, shooting me a smirk, knowing that my brothers and I had always had that sibling love-hate shit going on.
“Oh, you know me. I always want to be a dick to them,” I said, smirking. “But I’m gonna drag Gavino’s grumpy ass up there with me,” I decided.
He’d cock-blocked me the week before.
I felt he’d earned a trip up to a dead, snow-drenched town for a few weeks to think about his actions.
“Oh, that’s gonna be a fucking nightmare,” Lorenzo said, smiling.
“For him,” I agreed. “I’m gonna enjoy the fuck out of his misery,” I decided, suddenly not resenting the job much. Or at all, really. “You want me to leave soon?” I asked.
“Well, judging by the forecast,” Emilio said, wincing, “you’re probably going to want to get on the road tonight.”
Even better. Gav wouldn’t get a chance to weasel out of the job.
“What’s the forecast?” I asked, though, thinking of my car and its small, sports car tires. The kind that would fishtail me all over the road in just a dusting. And would have me wrapped around a tree in anything deeper.
“Twelve to eighteen,” Emilio told me. “Tomorrow night.”
“Alright,” I said, thinking of the SUV I kept parked at the house in Maine, knowing it would need a jump and an oil change, but would get me where I needed to go even on bad roads. “I’ll let you know when I get there,” I told them, saying my goodbyes, then making my way toward Gav’s apartment.
He was still trying to find his place in the Family since he’d gotten made. Which meant he didn’t live in the best of areas, or have the nicest of places to hang up his hat.
“Why are you here?” Gav asked as he pulled open the door to his eight-hundred square foot apartment, all white walls and the kind of furniture he had to have picked out at some big box store. Black, too streamlined. Completely devoid of any character or sense of style.
As for Gav himself, the family resemblance was strong with all of us. Tall, fit, strong jaw, stern brow, dark hair. The only real differences between us was the fact that I was inked up where he wasn’t and he had dark blue eyes, courtesy of our dead mom, where I had dark brown, almost black ones.
“We got a job,” I told him as I moved inside, already making my way to his coffee pot. It wasn’t the longest drive in the world—just under ten hours if traffic congestion was low—but it was already late, and we’d be driving all night. I was going to need some caffeine.
“What kind of job?” he asked, eyeing me as I moved around his kitchen like I owned the joint.
“The kind that means you need to pack a bag. Got any long underwear?” I asked, shooting him a smirk over my shoulder as I waited for realization to dawn on him.
“The fuck? Maine?” he asked, shoulders slumping a bit. “Why? Why me, more specifically,” he asked.
“Emilio suggested I bring one of you,” I said, shrugging.
“This is about that fucking redhead, isn’t it?” he asked, shaking his head at me.
“Pretty much.”
“She was the fucking niece of the boss of the Irish fucking mob, Cesare.”
What can I say?
I had a type.
Off-limits.
Off-limits was my type.
“And maybe I would have made the right decision, but telling her I had a micro-dick was out of fucking line, you asshole.”