Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I’m glad I did too.”
“I know you meant well, showing yourself to Niall last night. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“But I’ve been thinking.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “The next guy I want to look at is Matteo Ricci, and I think Rocco might be a big help there.”
“You think so?”
“Matteo’s got an interesting business model. Let me talk to Rocco, then I’ll tell you all about it, all right?”
“If that’s what you want to do.” I lean forward and brush my lips across her neck. “Just don’t burn yourself out.”
“Me? Work too hard? Never once in my life.” She kisses me then quickly gets out of my lap. “See you later, boss.”
I laugh as she quickly leaves. That fucking girl. If she had stayed another second in my lap, there’s no way I would’ve let her get up without having a taste of her first.
“I like when you call me boss,” I call after her as she leaves, smiling to myself.
Chapter 27
Valentina
Rocco’s strip club looks like it was a carwash at some point in its history. Beige stucco, enormous gray door, and a bright pink neon sign. The place practically smells sketchy as I push my way inside and find it almost empty.
There’s a stage on the left surrounded by mirrors and with a pole at the front. Another stage is behind the bar, but much smaller, mainly just a pole. There aren’t any girls dancing though. Instead, a tired bartender is cleaning glasses while a young and pretty waitress is doing side work at a table, folding napkins and sorting utensils.
I find Rocco sitting at the bar. His bodyguard is a few spots away, drinking a beer and looking glum. The old Capo greets me with some enthusiasm, and I’m aware that I’m here alone, without backup, but Rocco’s not a dumb man. He knows that if he hurts me, he’ll practically invite Ronan to roll through here and murder just about everyone.
“You’re coming up in the world.” Rocco sits back down and gestures at the liquor bottles lining the back wall. “You want something?”
“No, I’m okay, thanks.”
“Your old man always took a glass of wine. No matter what time of day, he wanted a little red, not too much, just half a glass. Something to sip. I don’t think I ever saw him drunk a day in his life.”
“He knew better than to let his guard down around you vultures.”
Rocco laughs and makes a what can you do gesture with both hands. “You learned a thing or two from him then, I take it.”
“You remember how it was, right?”
He grunts and leans forward on his elbows, looking more subdued. “We called you his little shadow sometimes. Did you know that?”
“No,” I say, trying not to smile at the thought. “Did you really?”
“You were always fucking there. No matter what, if you weren’t in school or something, your dad would make sure you were by his side. We always figured you were the second most powerful person in the entire Famiglia.”
“Come on, now you’re just messing with me.”
“Nah, we didn’t mean it, but that’s what we said anyway. It was funny, you know? Seeing a little girl in some of those meetings? But we got used to it.”
“Looking back, I think Dad probably should’ve let me stay at home.”
“But if he did, where would you be now?”
He’s got a good point. Without all the training my dad gave me, I’d have practically nothing, no workable skills, no use to anyone. “All I know is crime,” I tell him.
And he laughs, because he knows how that goes. “Not that I’m fuckin’ employable either.”
“While it’s fun reminiscing with you, even though you did want to kill me—” I give him a hard look.
“No offense, you know? Just how things were.”
I ignore that. “I’m here to talk about Matteo Ricci.”
Rocco leans back and snorts with surprise. “What the fuck do you want with a murderous thieving scumbag like that piece of shit?”
“I guess you two aren’t on good terms.”
He curses in Italian. “That fuck’s been stealing from dealers all over Chicago for over a year. He’s a pain in my fucking ass, and he doesn’t give a shit what our history might’ve been. He says the Santoro are over and finished, and it’s just business, right? Fuck him, is what I say. What do you want with him?”
“I want to know details about his operation.” I pull a napkin over and start tearing it into strips. Each piece I put down like chess figures on a board. “Manpower. Money. Guns. Locations. Safehouses. I want everything you know.”
Rocco leans close. “You got some plans?”
“I have ideas, yes.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get the old Famiglia back together.”
I stare at him for a beat. It’s exactly what Ronan said—or at least something like it. Why do these men keep thinking I want to build a crime family, and why do they seem to believe I could pull it off?