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)
I didn’t bother with what that was. More often than not, my definition of “big” was different from his. To Roselli, any deal that would make him more than ten grand was considered big. Most mob bosses would laugh if they heard about that. It was amazing to think that this guy was, in fact, a Don. He just didn’t function as one. Every time I heard him blabber on about fifteen or twenty thousand bucks, I missed his father. If Emilio had been still around, he would have slapped some sense into his asshole son and passed along his title to someone worth carrying it.
Rocco, Julian, and I met up outside Roselli’s mansion, under the cover of darkness. From his driveway, I could hear girly screams and giggles, along with the occasional splash of water. I groaned. It wasn’t that difficult to anticipate the scene we were walking in on. Roselli was in the water with three beauties. There was a lot of splashing and groping going on, and no swimming suits as far as I could tell.
That was good in the case of the woman, and really, really bad in the case of Roselli.
“Think anyone would notice if we shot his tiny dick off?” Julian muttered.
“Shut up,” Rocco ordered, stepping ahead of us.
Roselli looked up when we approached, his weasel-like face showing mild interest. “Girls, the party’s over,” he announced, heading for the stairs out of the pool. “Get the fuck out.” He had such a way with the ladies.
His housekeeper hurried toward him, a thick white robe in his hands. She handed it over and went back inside as the three of us gathered around him.
“I’m still getting heat from Gambini about Baxter,” Roselli remarked. “Anything new about him?”
“Not really,” I spoke first. “We’ve been asking around on the street. No one’s heard anything.”
“Keep me posted,” he added, toweling water off his face. “Gambini’s been busting my balls about him.” An asshole like Baxter wasn’t much of a loss, but Don Gambini didn’t get to where he was today by letting something like this go.
“I’m curious about that big thing you mentioned last night, boss,” Rocco said, deftly changing the subject. “Is there a big shipment coming in?”
“Not for about three weeks,” Roselli answered. “It’s something else. That barmaid at The Rusty Bucket.”
“What about her?” Rocco’s eyes narrowed.
“I want you to take care of her.”
For the first time in at least a decade, I jumped at the benign meaning of that phrase. Maybe because I’d been thinking of Maggie a lot lately, along with exactly the kind of care I’d like to apply to her body.
But then his meaning hit me. It was like someone stabbed me in the gut and twisted the blade in the wound. None of us said anything, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see my buddies freeze in shock.
Roselli wanted Maggie out of the picture? No mafia boss would ever use the actual words “kill him” or “kill her.” They preferred more subtle phrases like the one Roselli had used.
“Why her, Don Roselli?” Rocco saved me from the trouble to pose that question myself, plus, he managed to keep his voice neutral. “We’ve been going to her bar for months, and she seems pretty decent.”
“You mean you think she’s hot.”
Rocco shrugged, not denying it.
“Does she represent a threat of some kind?” Julian asked. I was glad they were here, keeping things calm, not escalating the situation and making it worse.
Which is exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to pull my knife and sink it deep into Roselli’s stomach.
“You’re not here to question my decisions,” Rocco grunted. “You’re here to carry out my orders.”
“Does she owe you money?” I broke my silence.
Roselli turned his anger on me. “What part of that’s an order didn’t you get?”
Rocco stepped in. “It’s just that you usually tell us why we’re doing things. I’m confused, too. If she’s a threat, let us know what kind so that we can do the job right.”
Rock’s words were measured and respectful, but they just seemed to rile Roselli up more.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, his squeaky voice and his angry expression tempting me to throw that son of a bitch in the pool. “I told you to take care of her! Stop second-guessing me and fucking do it already! Get out of here and don’t forget to collect from Myers Saturday.”
Fuck this shit.
It was hard to turn away from the man who’d just ordered a hit on Maggie. I had half a mind to go back there and gut him, like my first instinct had been. Julian put his hand on my arm, urging me forward.
Shit.
The only thing that helped me keep my anger in check was confusion.
For Roselli to be dodging our questions was strange to say the least. For him to not provide a reason for us doing something this permanent was even more unusual.