Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  Toni raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Fair enough. What is it you need?”

  “Were any of you keeping company with the investors last night?” The girls all looked at each other, still bleary. Their frowns seemed to say, What is she talking about?

  Mona said, “We all were. It was what Dino asked us along for.”

  Princess sighed with relief. “That’s perfect. Grab some coffee and get around the counter. We’ve got work to do.”

  While Calhoun drove, Agostini called all of the other investors. Each one of them was evasive, hard to reach, or unavailable. It angered Agostini, but it was exactly what he expected.

  “Boss,” Calhoun said, negotiating the Grand Cherokee around Columbus Circle, “when we get with Mr. Clemson, are we going to be using diplomacy or force?”

  “Clemson’s had Callaghan staring in his face for about forty minutes. He will have considered all the ways to say ‘no’ to us and their immediate implications. I think he’ll be ready to ask what we want and how we’d like it wrapped. We can just wait until he makes an offer with cherries on it. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’m thinking it’s going to take us seeing all of the investors to put this straight. One at a time.”

  “I’m sure that it will.”

  “So, if we can do it with diplomacy, then all well and good. But if we have to put the arm on one or two of them, then word could get to the others.”

  “Yeah. Could get messy.”

  “Sure, and any of those that hear about it, they’ll be thinking to themselves, ‘Well, which of them should I be more afraid of, Yvgeny or Agostini?’ You know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. These guys, they’re bankers. They may do horrifically bad things to hundreds or even thousands of people any day of the week, but they never have to look any one of them in the eye.”

  “No,” Calhoun said, “and they’ve no experience of being on the thin end of it, either.”

  Agostini nodded. “Apt to be unpredictable,” he said. “I don’t know what we can do about it, but it’s good to keep in mind.”

  The morning traffic was frustratingly slow. Agostini admired Calhoun’s ability to stay cool. Driving in this with the day they had ahead, Agostini would not have been calm.

  “Boss, do you think that Yvgeny has been to visit Clemson, or has he just spoken to him on the phone or on Skype, or whatever?”

  “I don’t know. Clemson’s not an early riser, so my guess would be that Yvgeny wouldn’t have had time to get to him, unless he dragged him out of bed.”

  “So, how could he have made such a powerful impression on them? What could he have said to make them all suddenly get all shy like that?”

  “I thought about that. If the situation were reversed, I think what I would do, the fastest thing, would be to call and say something scary about the legitimacy or the credibility of the deal. Make them believe that their money’s at risk.”

  “Ah, that would make sense.”

  “So then, my guess would be that he’d aim to buy them out.”

  Calhoun nodded. “But on the cheap.”

  “Naturally.”

  Calhoun thought a moment. “So their money really would be at risk.”

  “Sure. At risk of Yvgeny gouging it.”

  Calhoun worked the car across the traffic to get off Broadway. “Making them a kind of fire-sale offer, you mean.”

  “Exactly. ‘Take this low-ball now, or your money could be gone by tomorrow.’ That would spook them, all right.”

  Even avoiding the approach to Times Square, they were still making slow progress in fits and starts. “Now,” Calhoun cleared his throat, “that little girl, Princess.”

  His tone was different. Agostini knew that whatever it was he had in mind, he wasn’t comfortable talking about it. It was the same feeling he got from Calhoun and Callaghan earlier where they wouldn’t meet his eyes. He knew that it was about him and Princess. He thought it was kind of funny.

  Calhoun went on, “She’s got a head on her shoulders, knows what she’s about right enough. Do you think she might have an angle on this thing?”

  “I don’t think we can count on it,” Agostini told him, “but it is possible that she can help.”

  “Would you know what she has in mind?”

  “I have a guess, but I don’t know for sure.”

  ”It’s a shame one of us couldn’t stay with her.”

  “Yeah, I thought that, too. What we have to do, though, it could take you, me, and Callaghan.”

  “She’s a bright kid, that one, wouldn’t you say, boss?” There he was again, just like he was around breakfast time, taking care to not watch Agostini, avoiding his eye as he answered.

  “She’s bright, sure, Calhoun. What are you getting at?”

  “Well, I’d say that you’ve enjoyed having her around. Would that not be so?”

  Agostini looked hard at Calhoun. “Where are you heading with this? What the hell is in your mind?

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Agostini was impatient. “Spit it out, man.”

  Calhoun hesitated. They got stuck at a red light. He took a breath and said, “Well, it’s just this. With her being a hostage and all, I’m thinking it could be time soon to be handing her back. I don’t know what’s in your mind at all now, but those are my thoughts and, well, you know. How are you going to feel about that?”

  The light changed and they moved off. Two blocks along, Calhoun made a left.

  Agostini thought, “How are you going to feel?” Is everybody but me going mad? He said, “Calhoun, I’m going to feel like it’s time for the next thing. Now, can we concentrate on what we have to do and get some control of the business in hand? There’s a parking space right there. Park up. Clemson’s apartment is right around that corner.”

  Princess called Trixibelle. “Hey, hon, how you doing?”

  “Princess. Great to hear from you. I’m just fine, thank you, darling. You were looking good last night, I got to say.”

  “Thank you, honey. Now, I need to ask you for some help.”

  “Sure, sweetheart, what can I do for you?”

  Princess arranged to meet Trixibelle for coffee. She picked a little coffee bar near to Professor Miflin’s office in NYU. She wore one of the silky print dresses she’d bought with Pierce’s card. Soft, good with her curves, and alluring without being tarty.

  When she stepped out into the bright lobby, Mikey greeted her with a smile and he asked if there was anything he could do for her.

  “Thanks, Mikey, no. I’m just going to find a cab to take me down to Washington Square.”

  “Ma’am, you just wait right there.” He strode out through the automatic glass doors and stood on a small brick dais. Almost immediately, he stretched up his arm and blew a whistle.

  A cab rolled up to the entrance, and when it stopped, Mikey held the back door open for her. He seemed genuinely pleased to be able to help and he smiled as he waved her off.

  On the way downtown, she called all of the other girls who she had seen with the investors, leaving Jayleen until last. Jayleen was the girl who Cane had been lavishing his extravagant attentions upon.

  Trixibelle was in the coffee shop waiting already, her enthusiasm no doubt fired by the handsome fee that Princess had dangled. After they talked a few minutes, Princess waited while Trixibelle left to go see the professor.

  When she got back, not too long after, Trixibelle was beaming. Princess got her to describe everything that happened and exactly what the professor had said. Then she squeezed Trixibelle’s hand as she left to hail another cab.

  On the way to meet the next girl, she called Agostini.

  “Professor Miflin is back on board.”

  “Princess, that’s great. How did you do it?”

  “Well, the professor had been afraid that he’d committed his money into a scam.”

  “Pretty much what I expected,” Agostini said.

  “He wasn
’t too hard to reassure, though. Turns out he’s a lot more afraid of his wife than he is of losing his money, anyway.”

  Agostini was quiet. Then, in a voice that was low like a whistle, he said, “You are a devious and unscrupulous woman, Princess.”

  “From you, Pierce Agostini, I take that as a compliment.”

  Agostini, Calhoun, and Callaghan stood in the blazing sun on limestone steps by a heavy—and intricate—wood and glass door. The plummy voice on the intercom said, “I am sorry, but Mr. Tranter is not at home just now. Perhaps you could put your card in the mailbox.”

  Agostini took out his cellphone and called. Tranter picked up straight away. “Aaron? It’s Pierce Agostini. I’m trying to get in to see you, and they’re telling me you’re out.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m at lunch until three, at the Four Seasons.”

  “Tranter,” Pierce said, “I’m calling you on your house phone.”

  They waited a couple of minutes and Tranter came on the intercom. “It’s really not a good time, Mr. Agostini. I am most awfully sorry.” Agostini couldn’t see a security camera, but he knew there would be one, probably up in the corner above the buzzer.

  He looked up into the corner. “This really won’t take a minute, and I guarantee that it will be advantageous to you, Aaron. I believe that you’ve been misinformed, but I can show you conclusively that your fears are unfounded.”

  Tranter buzzed them in without a word. In the elevator, Callaghan said, “Can you show him conclusively that his fears are unfounded?”

  “If I can’t, then we may have to show him a more clear and present danger.”

  They were met by a butler in a white, starched shirt and tails, who showed them down a wood-paneled corridor and through a door.

  Tranter stood behind a huge writing desk in his book-lined study, leaning on the polished desk top. Agostini stood with Calhoun and Callaghan behind him.

  “Mr. Agostini.” Tranter couldn’t speak without bustling stationery on the desk, looking down and up again. “I’ve been made aware of some troubling facts. Facts about your organization and about the property of the some of the land deeds.”

  “You’ve been ‘made aware,’ I’m guessing, by one Yvgeny Markov, is that right?”

  Tranter’s face colored up and he cleared his throat. “I don’t see what difference it makes where the intelligence is sourced, Mr. Agostini. Is it true or is it not?”

  “Mr. Tranter. Aaron. Of course it’s not. The man who is putting these stories around is only doing it for him to obtain your options at a bargain-basement price. He’s trying to cheat you, and he means to cheat me afterwards.”

  “Well, now, I only have your word against his.”

  “Aaron.” Agostini spoke softly and looked Tranter in the eye. “Has he shown you documentary evidence to back up his claims?” Tranter hesitated. “Anything, Aaron? Anything in print or from a reputable, verifiable source?”

  He talked Tranter around, but not without some tedious discussion of securitized assets, disbursements, debentures, and collateral. He couldn’t help thinking that Princess’ approach would have been quicker and simpler.

  It was only as they were leaving that they learned Yvgeny had actually visited Tranter, and just a short while before they arrived. “Yes, he was on his way to see Mr. Barney.”

  As they hurried back to the car, Agostini called Princess but got put straight to voicemail. He left a message for her to call him as soon as she picked it up. Barney Blair’s offices were only a block and a half from Park Place Pinnacle, and Calhoun took them as fast as he could.

  He continued to call Princess. As they passed the blue-green glass of the Hearst Tower with the gleaming curved Columbus Center ahead, Princess picked up.

  Briskly he said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m good.” Her voice was faint. “How are you doing?” It sounded like she was running.

  “I said, where are you.”

  “Oh, I’m just near the apartment.”

  “That’s great. Go straight up to the penthouse. We’ll be back real soon.”

  “Great,” she said, sounding thinner and breaking up some. “I’m just going to stop in on Barney; I’m right by his building. I’ll see you back—”

  “No,” Agostini said, “don’t go—” But she’d either hung up or been cut off. He tried to call back, but he got voicemail every time.

  He grabbed Calhoun’s shoulder. “Step on it, can you?”

  “Did I hear that right, boss, that she’s going up to see Barney?”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  Callaghan said, “So, she might be running right into Yvgeny.”

  “Calhoun, get around that damned truck, can’t you?”

  Princess dashed through a break in the traffic and across the four lanes of asphalt. The signal had dropped out on her cellphone, but she was sure that Agostini had been saying something. She wondered whether to call him back as she weaved by a big, matte black SUV.

  At the curb, in front of the upmarket brownstone where Blair Barney’s office was, Princess turned away and looked toward Park Place Pinnacle as she pressed the button to return his call. Busy. He gave her the impression he was on his way back. Almost here, perhaps. She looked down the street the other way.

  As she turned, two strong hands gripped her shoulders.

  At the sound of his voice, Princess froze. “Little mouse.” He was behind her. “How good it is to see you.”

  He turned her around to face him. “You’re looking for your knight in shining armor, I think.” His pale eyes sent a chill down her body. Two of his henchmen stood behind him, and that was his Hummer parked at the curb. She should have realized.

  He held her firmly. “Perhaps you are looking for the wrong knight, or the knight in the wrong armor.” He pulled her closer, towering over her, and he put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight against him.

  “That man, Pierce Agostini—he is no good for you, little mouse. He is gangster. Not even good gangster. You should have proper protector. Strong man, a man strong like wall. Mm?”

  His smile was his most frightening expression yet.

  “Maybe I take care of you now. Mm?” Her teeth clenched as he looked in her eyes. “But you were expecting him along this way, yes?” He turned his head. “Vassily. You and Mikhail, back in the car. Be ready. I wait here.”

  He moved, pulling her with him, back to the wall of the brownstone. “You think he comes here now, no?”

  “No.” She said it as clearly and flatly as she could, while inside, she shook like a leaf in a gale.

  “You do, little mouse.” Yvgeny squeezed her arm in a way that was horribly intimate. His cologne was overpowering her. “I know that you do.” He spoke in a sing-song voice, like he was talking to a child. “You’re so sweet.” He squeezed her arm again and she breathed in sharply.

  “Mm. You smell sweet, too.” Princess felt hot and cursed the treachery of her female body. “Maybe you’re a little sugar mouse. Mm?”

  She tried to stop herself from writhing in his grasp, but her whole body wanted to be away from him. He pulled her against him. His body was hot. Against her soft ass, she felt him uncoil and harden.

  She winced when he spoke into her ear. “I know that you expect him here, because I saw you look up the street this way.” He turned her and himself toward the Park Place Pinnacle. “And then you looked up the street the other way.”

  He turned them back. Pierce Agostini walked along the street toward them with his hands out to his sides. Princess shook her head at him but he kept on coming. “See?” Yvgeny’s voice was an exaggeration of glee. “Yvgeny knew.”

  He held her even closer as he said, “Maybe I should have put you in the SUV, nice and safe, mm?”

  And he whispered in her ear, “Are you afraid of me now, little mouse?” She wanted to jam her heel back into his balls and tell him that she wasn’t afraid of him. The way she was shaking, though, she wasn’t sure it would work.
>
  As he squeezed her, Princess heard the fine, smooth clicks of a gun being cocked.

  Just a few days ago, she probably wouldn’t have known what the sound was. In just a week or so, she’d heard so many that if she thought about it, she might have a stab at identifying what kind it was.

  At the same time, a black SUV—Agostini’s, she thought—stopped right alongside the Hummer. The driver’s door opened and slammed, and Calhoun appeared on the curb side of the Hummer, at the back. His arms were out, holding a gun in the direction of the doors.