Darkness follows me wherever I go.
It’s like a cloud that hovers over all aspects of my life, and of my family’s lives.
But I guess I deserve it. I’m not a good person. Never claimed to be.
Good people haven’t seen the shit I have, and they certainly haven’t done the things that have earned my position in the family. I’m ruthless. I take what I want when I want. It’s why I’m the enforcer of the darker side of the family business. I make sure debts are paid. I take care of problems.
And the Russo family are becoming a fucking problem.
They’re moving in on our turf, trying to trade in shit they have no clue about, and it’s time I taught them a fucking lesson. We’ve been patient with them, assuming once they realized it’s a lot harder to trade in illegal tech than it looks. Alas, they’re idiots who need to be shown the consequences of their actions.
That’s how I ended up here on the rooftop of a parking lot, waiting to meet Angelo Russo. He thinks he’s meeting with Storm, my brother, but he doesn’t deal with shit like this.
Storm took over for Dad when he retired, and he’s been carefully balancing our business interests between the two sides of the law, walking a fine line between light and dark, good and evil, and if it weren’t for the Russos, we would be thriving.
Frost Industries is bringing in more money than ever before. But the more money we make, the more shit I have to deal with, and the more vulnerable we all are.
The cold Chicago wind whips past me and I tug my jacket tighter around myself. It’s too fucking cold for this bullshit.
I check my watch and groan.
The fucker is late. The funny thing about criminals is that they have a terrible habit of never being on time.
That is where having a combination of legitimate and illegitimate businesses comes in handy. We never fully morphed into scumbags like Russo.
I fight the bark of laughter bubbling in my throat. We would never be like Russo, because we would never deal in the same shit they do.
Russo has his finger in every pie. Guns. Pussy. Drugs. Human trafficking.
A violent shudder shakes my bones. They sicken me. Storm feels the same. That’s why he gave me the go-ahead to take them out like the vermin they are.
We may be criminals, but we don’t trade in lives. Having two baby sisters has meant we’ve always had a conscience. We want to rid the streets of Chicago of filth like Russo, no matter what means come to that end.
We have to be smart about our takedown though. Going in half-cocked wouldn’t end well. And I’m not willing to risk the lives of my people.
Storm runs a tight ship. Everyone who works for us has their role, and they jump through hoop after hoop before we trust them. In return, they get a secure job, good pay, and protection for them and their loved ones. If they come to us with a problem, we’ll fix it for them. We don’t force loyalty. That’s how you bring your organization down from within. We earn it.
I blow out a long breath. This motherfucker better get here soon.
I’m here to propose a truce. A bullshit truce, but a truce, nonetheless. I’m going to offer to partner up on a shipment of tech, something Russo so desperately wants to get into, and something our business thrives off.
The offer is too good to be true, but if we can wheel them in with an attractive-looking partnership, then we will be able to infiltrate their organization from within and bring them down.
Our tech guy, Everett, is the best in the business. He’s the reason we started trading in tech to begin with, and in turn, he is the reason the family is doing so well. He writes code in his sleep, which means we always have something to sell.
But he needs an in. Their software is nothing special, his words not mine, but they are heavy in firepower, and that’s why we need the illusion of an alliance.
I check the time again. He’s twenty minutes late and at this point, I know he’s not coming.
What a waste of time. I have better things to do than wait for him. I could have spent my night balls deep in one of the women I have on rotation. Would have been a damn sight better than standing on this godforsaken rooftop.
I turn to leave, annoyance seeping into my blood. Maybe Russo caught wind of our plans. Or maybe he’s just a paranoid bastard.
Flashing lights blind me. Red and blue filling the night and my vision.
Fuck.
The motherfucker set me up.
“Rayne Saint James. Get down on the ground,” a voice blares from the police cruiser.
I consider making a run for it. I’m a big guy but I’m certain I can outrun a couple of beat cops.
But for what? To get shot at? I don’t fucking think so.
The Saint James family has the best lawyers in the country in our pockets. Whatever they think they have won’t stick any better than any other bullshit charges the cops have conjured up over the years.
And all Russo’s done is sign his own death warrant. I wanted to take him down before, but now I want his fucking head.
