He stalks back and forth in front of me like a man possessed, his eyes wild and his energy thermonuclear.
I’ve never seen him like this. Compared to the rest of my men, Stavros is a mouse.
Then again, love can turn even the sanest man into a raging beast.
I should know.
“How could you let him have her?” he shouts, red-faced. “She’s mine!”
His words echo off the bare cement walls, rising up to the rafters high above and scattering like pigeons startled into flight.
It’s a good thing we’re alone in this warehouse. Otherwise, he’d already be bleeding for disrespecting me like that.
“Take a tone like that with me again, and you’ll regret it.”
He stops short and looks at me, wide-eyed. Wringing his hands, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I just…I can’t live without her. Sloane is my life.”
I have no idea how that woman brainwashes men into falling at her feet like slobbering fools, but it’s a gift, I have to give it to her. If she ever decided to organize her own syndicate, the rest of the bosses would be in dire trouble. A crooked finger from her, and all our soldiers would desert us in ten seconds flat.
“Take a breath, Stavros. Have a seat.” I jerk my chin at a nearby chair.
He collapses into it and props his elbows on his knees. Dropping his head into his hands, he groans. “The Irishman. The Irishman. I hate him so much!”
I say drily, “You’re not alone in that sentiment.”
He lifts his head and looks at me beseechingly. “Why can’t you just kill him?”
“Politics.”
That’s one way to describe it. Another is that my manhood would be chopped off and thrown into a blender by my woman, then fed to stray dogs. But I’m not about to tell him that.
Besides, there are ways around it.
“That’s not to say it won’t happen. Just not at the moment. And it can’t be by me.”
His expression turns hopeful. “So I could do it? I could kill him, and it would be okay?”
The thought of him getting close enough to lay a finger on that wily Irish bastard is laughable, but I don’t want to discourage this kind of enthusiasm.
“Not only would it be okay, I’d give you a year off from tithing.”
Energized, he leaps to his feet.
“But not a word to anyone that you received permission,” I warn, gazing at him steadily, the threat of violence in my eyes. “Disobey me on that, and you’re done.”
He babbles his thanks, rushing over to kiss my hand.
I want to swat him away, but I don’t have the heart to kick him when he’s down.
Falling in love has made me fucking mushy.
We exchange a few more words, then he leaves, looking like he’s floating on cloud nine. Had I known he’d be so eager to shed Irish blood, I would’ve had assignments for him far sooner.
When he’s gone, I lock all the doors and turn off all the lights. Then I head to the back of the warehouse to the hidden stairway.
A button recessed in the floor operates a swinging door disguised as a section of brick wall. The door swings slowly open on silent hinges, revealing inky blackness beyond. I walk forward a few steps, feeling around on the wall for the button to close the door.
I hit it. The door swings shut behind me. I’m plunged into darkness.
I hit another switch, and a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling illuminates the staircase landing. I’m surrounded by unpainted drywall on three sides. The fourth side is open, with a pine staircase descending into more darkness.
I trudge down the stairs, flick on the light at the lower landing, and head over to the metal cage.
It’s not big, but it is strong, made of reinforced steel bars sunk into concrete top and bottom. Inside the cage is a toilet. On the floor sits a plastic gallon jug of water and an empty plate. On the thin mattress, a man lies on his back.
He turns his head toward me, squinting against the light. He’s a young Latino male, just shy of thirty, whom the rest of the world thinks is dead.
He might as well be.
I lean a shoulder against his cage and smile down at him.
“Hello, Diego. I understand your friend and former second-in-command, Declan O’Donnell, is a spy. I have a proposition for you.”
