I’ve stayed away from Vitale Health and Paradiso because I don’t want the Slovak mafia attacking me at my companies where innocent people can get hurt.
Working from home, I’m surrounded by an army that’s ready for war.
Dario has converted my living room into his personal office space. Whenever I have to pass through the living room to get to the sliding doors, I almost break my neck, tripping over all the fucking computer cables.
Renzo has practically moved in, and I can’t do a fucking thing without the man breathing over my shoulder.
I’m on a call with Paulie. I sent him to Houston to get information on Todd’s whereabouts.
“About a year ago, he was in a pretty bad car accident,” Paulie informs me. “Apparently, he was released from the hospital two months ago, and no one has seen him since. Word around town is he’s gone to his cabin to recover.”
“Find out where the cabin is and check it out,” I order.
“On it, boss.”
As I end a call with Paulie, I glare at Renzo. “Stop babysitting me.”
“I will once the Slovakians have been taken care of,” he mutters, his eyes locked on the screen of his laptop.
“Christ,” I grumble as I walk out of my office.
Heading through the living room, I glance at Dario. “Find anything new?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Just the usual bullshit.”
Exiting the house through the sliding doors, I walk to where Marcello is giving orders to the men to search the city for the Slovakians.
“Tell your informants they’ll make good money if they give us a solid lead,” he says to the men.
As they walk away to carry out the job, Marcello turns to face me. “Milo called. The funeral is on Monday. He’s on his way back.”
I nod, feeling a stab of grief. “As soon as he’s here, prepare to leave. I want to go to the truckyard.”
“Yeah, I’m worried about the shipment that’s going out today. I’ve told all the drivers to carry weapons and changed their routes.”
Over the past few years, Marcello has taken on the position of the underboss of the Vitale family. It’s an unspoken agreement between us.
The gates open, and my eyes flick to the SUV as it comes up the driveway. I watch as Milo climbs out of the vehicle before walking to us.
“Everything’s ready for tomorrow,” he says, his face grim from the grief of losing his best friend.
Lorenzo was always the quiet one between the two, but since his death his silence hangs heavy around us.
Placing my hand on Milo’s shoulder, I give him a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“We’re heading to the truckyard,” Marcelo informs him.
The burner phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. Opening the message from Samantha, the corner of my mouth lifts.
Samantha: My mom just whacked my dad with a spatula. Just so you know, I take after her.
MMM: You’re telling me I should hide all the spatulas?
Samantha: Just giving you time to back out.
MMM: Never.
Samantha: I have a question.
MMM: What?
Samantha: So there are security cameras in all the rooms at Paradiso. Does that mean you watch people having sex?
MMM: I go out of my way to avoid it and have employees who take care of that part of the business.
Samantha: Shoot. Here I was, hoping you have some juicy stories to tell me.
As the smile on my face widens, I glance at Marcello as he walks to the guest house where I keep my stash of weapons in an underground armory.
There’s also an entrance into the armory from my office in the main house, which doubles as an escape route.
The phone vibrates in my hand again, drawing my attention back to my conversation with my girlfriend.
I’m taking advantage of calling her that before she finds out who I am and dumps my ass.
Samantha: Just kidding. I have to go and save my dad from my mom.
MMM: Talk to you later, baby.
When I tuck the device back into my pocket, Marcello comes walking toward me with an armored vest. He hands it to me, saying, “Just in case there’s another attack.”
I take the vest from him and shrug it on. While I adjust it around my chest, I head to the sliding doors. “Give me five minutes then we’ll leave.”
“We’ll be at the G-Wagon,” he replies before walking to where Milo is having a smoke break.
I go into the house and find Renzo breathing over Dario’s shoulder for once.
“I’m heading out,” I inform them.
Renzo’s head snaps up. “Where to?”
“The truckyard. I have a shipment of cash going to Castro and Diaz. It can’t wait. I need the medical equipment.”
“I’ll tag along,” he says.
Not bothering to argue, I nod and head back outside.
“Marcello, grab an armored vest for Renzo,” I say when I reach the men.
Milo finishes the cigarette, and pulling his gun from behind his back, where he keeps it tucked into the waistband of his pants, he checks the clip.
Renzo shrugs his jacket off and unhooks the chest holster that holds his two Colts. When Marcello returns with the vest, he puts it on and tucks his weapons into the slots.
When everyone’s ready, we pile into the G-Wagon, and with Milo behind the steering wheel, we head to the truckyard.
The drive is tense, and we all keep our eyes peeled for anything suspicious.
“Are you changing the routes?” Renzo asks.
“Yeah. Marcello already took care of it,” I answer while turning my attention to my friend.
“Good.” His eyes meet mine. “I’ve arranged a small army to guard you and your men at the funeral. Just let us know when it is.”
“Thanks, brother.”
Milo’s voice is somber as he says, “It’s Monday at eleven a.m.”
Renzo nods before glancing out the window again. Before silence can settle around us, he asks, “So, what’s going on between you and your PA.”
“We’re dating…kind of,” I mutter. When Renzo’s eyes flick to me, I add, “I wear my uniform from Paradiso, so she doesn’t know who I am.”
“What the fuck?” A frown forms on his forehead. “It feels like you’re leaving out a huge fucking chunk of the story.”
I let out a sigh and mutter, “She came to the club because she’s trying to deal with something that happened to her. One of the men she was paired up with fucked up, and I took over. It’s been a month, and we’ve grown close since.”
“So she thinks her boss and her partner at Paradiso are two different men?” He chuckles while shaking his head. “Brother, that’s some fucked up shit.”
I let out a sigh. “Trust me, I know.”
“How the hell are you going to explain this to her? I’m pretty sure the woman hates you.” He glances at Marcello and Milo. “Right, guys?”
“Yep,” Milo mumbles.
“I’m hoping she’ll fall in love with me and forgive me for deceiving her.”
Renzo lets out a bark of laughter and almost wets himself next to me. When he catches his breath, he says, “Good luck with that.”
Milo stops the G-Wagon near the warehouse, and as I climb out, my eyes scan over the fleet of trucks.
Everything seems to be in order, and heading into the warehouse, it’s to find my men hard at work. They’re filling mattresses with counterfeit banknotes before wrapping the mattresses so they look brand new.
I walk over to the piles of counterfeit notes and check a couple while Marcello talks to the drivers, making sure they know which routes to take.
“The new printers are better than the old ones,” Renzo comments.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s almost impossible to tell the difference between these notes and the real thing.”
When the men start to load the shipment into the trucks, I head outside, and crossing my arms over my chest, I watch as they fill the trailers with mattresses.
Renzo takes up position next to me and asks, “What are you going to do if Samantha freaks out when she learns you’re both men?”
“I’ll kidnap her and keep her until she forgives me,” I mutter.
I feel Renzo’s eyes on me. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
I meet his gaze. “I’m serious.”
His eyebrows lift. “I can’t see how that will help your case. If anything, it will terrify the shit out of her.”
I know he’s right, but what else can I do, besides letting her go?
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “That’s why I’m hoping she’ll fall in love with me.”
We’re quiet for a while, just watching the men work, then Renzo says, “Hold up. Do you wear the balaclava when you see her?”
I nod, and when he bursts out laughing, I level him with a scowl.
His voice is thick with laughter as he says, “So you’re her masked man?”
Before I can nod, he bends over at the waist, and his laughter echoes over the yard.
“Fucker,” I mumble while a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
He tries to straighten up and grabs hold of my shoulder. With watering eyes, he says, “Okay, so seriously, what does she call you?”
Knowing he’ll get a kick out of it, I mutter, “Mystery man.”
When Renzo drops to the ground, he can barely say, “I’m calling you that from now on.”
“Try, and I’ll shoot you.”
“It’s worth a bullet.”
Shaking my head at my friend, I walk away to check with Marcello whether everything is on track.
