by Nina West
“The thought has crossed my mind, yeah.” And for good reason. “It’d be one hell of a fucking coup d'état.”
Miles shakes his head. “You came to us, remember?”
Actually, it was Merrick and Vince who showed up at Empire one night, unannounced, but my father is the one who put the word out, drew them in. Plus, I don’t know how much the older Perris know about that first visit, so I keep my mouth shut.
“If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” Camillo says with the confidence of a man who has his gunsights trained on us daily. “Are we here so we can all die in this room together and give the federal agents loitering in the lobby something to clean up, or can we discuss how we’re going to come together to deal with the cartel? They’re gaining territory by the day. If we don’t do something, soon enough there’ll be nothing left of either of our legacies.”
Behind me, I hear Vince’s teeth gnash. It seems he hates talk of legacy as much as I do.
I steal a glance at Caleb, who gives an almost imperceptible nod.
Three… two… we slowly lower our guns. Merrick and Vince follow suit.
Miles grimaces like he’s chewing on lemons, his leg twitching. He’s itching to jump to his feet and attack, but he stays put, his squinty eyes locked on his father.
“We lost a sizeable delivery this morning on its way to Sacramento. They were waiting in the valley at the drop. Left the five Mambas sitting in a row with their heads in their hands and then set fire to the truck. Burned everything. The money, the merchandise. All of it.”
“Burned the money, too?” Caleb whistles. “That’s a big fuck you.”
And it’s got cartel written all over it. “How’d they get the drop location?” I ask.
“One of the Mambas. His MC thought he was shacked up with a hooker and a bottle of Jack for the night. Turns out he was spending it with the cartel, having his fingernails cut off one by one. His old lady found him in the garage with his arms and legs bound behind him.” Miles swirls the shot of whiskey in his glass once before downing it in a gulp. “His balls were stuffed in his mouth. You know, like a pig on a spit with the apple?” He holds his hand up and mimes an apple being stuffed in his mouth.
Even Caleb cringes.
“And the Mambas wants nothing to do with transporting your product after that.” I don’t blame them. The MC signed up to mule product for big money, not get mutilated as mock feast day centerpieces by a bunch of psychopaths.
“It’s a temporary setback. We’ll deal with them.” Camillo’s lips purse, as if the words forming in his mouth are curdling. “But we are looking to build new relationships. We need other means of transportation and new routes.”
“Let me guess, through our territory.” Using our networks, which are arguably smarter and more efficient than a bunch of goons on motorcycles.
“It won’t be your territory for long once Navarro sets his sights on you,” Leo warns.
“Why would we ever agree to this?” Camillo isn’t looking for a simple alliance. He’s looking to invade. I may not want anything to do with the drug business, but my territorial back is up.
“We would compensate you.”
“Fuck yeah, you would,” Caleb counters, pushing his hands through his hair, sending it into disarray. “But so far all I’m hearing about is how we’re helping you guys. This isn’t an ‘alliance.’”
I’ll give it to my brother, he’s doing a good job of selling the lie that he actually gives a shit if the cartel swoops in to take over, that he doesn’t want out as bad as I do.
Camillo’s eyes narrow as he studies my brother. “Where do you think your uncle is right now?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll find him soon.”
“And we’ll deal with him,” I add, echoing the old man’s earlier words.
“If he’s not already in a safehouse, divulging all your deep, dark family secrets.” Camillo’s lips twitch. “He’s been known to do that.”
“Like I said, we’ll deal with him.” Nothing will stop Bane once he finds them, including the Feds. He’s a wraith in the night.
“You need to make changes to your operation. We can help you with that. And the Mambas MC has charters all over the coast and a connection to guns. Once we get over this little hiccup, they’ll be willing to offer their muscle and firepower for the common good.”
“Even if the common good involves us and Puff’s network?” The Black Mamba MC and Puff’s gang have been at odds over territory for years, and those odds have found them in too many bloody showdowns to count. Them working together sounds about as likely as, well, us and the Perris.
“Business is business. And they don’t want Navarro getting comfortable here any more than any of us do.”
“So? Do we have an agreement?” Camillo pushes.
Caleb and I share a glance. It’s smoke and mirrors. It doesn’t matter what we agree to, because we’re walking away from it all, and no Easton will be left to keep it going once Bane catches up with Peter and his sons.
But, by agreeing to this, we’re effectively handing our family’s empire to the Perris—to Leo Perri, specifically. That is, until the cartel wipes him off the map. As much as I want out of the drug business for good, that’s a prickly horse pill to swallow.
Regardless, this has to look legit.
“We’ll get back to you. We’re lying low until we deal with Peter. And I’ll need to talk to Puff. See if this arrangement is copacetic for him.” Once his missing cousins resurface—most likely in pieces— he’ll be itching to form alliances with the devil himself if it means taking down Navarro’s people.
Camillo nods. “You do that and reach out to Miles when you’re ready.”
“No. Our point of contact will be Merrick and Vince. For everything. Negotiation, communication. Everything.” Caleb’s eyes narrow at Miles. “Them, and only them.”
Miles snorts. “Nice try. I run shit, and nothing gets discussed unless I’m in the room.”
“Then I guess nothing gets discussed, because after tonight, I don’t want to see your ugly face again. And if you don’t like that? Enjoy your pig roast. Maybe they’ll cut your balls off after you’re dead. Maybe not.”
If looks could maim, Caleb’s head would be rolling on the floor beside his feet. “Did no one ever teach you how to play nice in the sandbox for the greater good?” Miles growls.
Caleb rests his elbows on the table, but I know how he moves; he’s primed to grab his gun and empty the chamber. “You raped our mother. It’s taking every fiber in my body to not bury you in that sandbox right now.” His voice has taken on that dangerous edge that is never good.
“That was business.”
“Business?” Caleb hisses.
Merrick, who’s sitting beside him, must sense the brewing storm, because he shifts closer, looking ready to pounce, to restrain him.
“Merrick and Vince will work with you,” Camillo says.
“But—”
“Enough.” He waves away his eldest son’s objections, shooting him a warning look.
The muscle in Miles’s jaw ticks, his venomous gaze shifting between his youngest brothers, a silent challenge to speak up for him.
Miles will get what he deserves, when the time’s right. But here, now, on the top floor of a Vegas high-rise, with Mercy and Michelle above us and the Feds circling below, is not that time.
“We’ll be in touch,” Vince says coolly, seemingly unperturbed by his oldest brother’s lethal stare.
“Good.” Camillo nods to Merrick, who retrieves an envelope that’s folded and tucked in his dress pants pocket, hidden by a suit jacket. He tosses it onto the table in front of me.
“What’s that?”
Camillo taps the paper with his wrinkled index finger. “You have an in-house problem you need to deal with before we meet again.”
Fuck. He means Moe. Much like they delivered the proof of Uncle Peter’s duplicity as a sign of good faith, the Perris are now giving me
a heads-up about our mole. How Merrick keeps uncovering this intel is beyond me. I’m starting to think his guy is better than Stanley. I’m sure Camillo is the one who ordered the archeological dig into us before claiming a side of our bed. They haven’t lasted this long by taking reckless chances, and the Easton name is already risky, what with my father behind bars and my uncle being a traitorous bastard. It’s self-serving on their part—if we’re in business together and Moe talks, we all go down—but still, I’m beginning to appreciate having Vince and Merrick on our side.
“Yeah. We know.” It’s going to be a long, messy night of extracting secrets to find out exactly how badly that fucker has betrayed us.
It’s the last thing I want to spend my night doing. I’d rather spend it with Mercy, making sure she knows that she never has to be afraid of me.
It was a punch to the gut, listening to her cop to those little secret meetings, watching her shake in fear. And knowing that she considered turning on me for even a minute? It felt like someone had reached into my chest and seized my heart and was squeezing… squeezing… squeezing.
But she had a chance to free her dad by fucking me over, and she didn’t take it, and that says a lot.
I trust her. As much as I trust Caleb. I never thought I’d be able to say that about a woman.
Caleb gives me curious frown. Well, he doesn’t know about Moe. Yet. Not now. I shake my head and collect the envelope, tucking it into my back pocket. Between the hunt for our dear family and sitting across a table from our mother’s murderers and not pulling the trigger, Caleb’s already a live wire. Knowing about Moe will only send him into a rage. He needs to keep his focus and his cool.
Camillo eases himself out of the chair with a wince. “Let us know when your end is clear.” Leo, Merrick, and Vince follow, rounding the table and heading for the door.
Only Miles lingers, as if challenging both Caleb’s demand and his father’s edict. He doesn’t want this alliance. That much is obvious.
“Now!” Camillo barks.
Finally, Miles hauls his girth out of his seat, but he does so at a leisurely pace. Caleb and I stand with him, not trusting him to loom over us. “Sorry. Just got caught reminiscing.” The wicked smile that curls his lips sets me on edge.
He’s baiting my brother, testing how far he can push him before Caleb blows. Everyone knows Caleb has a temper.
I knew this meeting was a bad idea.
“Caleb…,” I warn.
“That dinner tonight wasn’t satisfying. I could use something hearty.” Caleb smacks his lips like an obnoxious prick. “Like a plate of some good old-fashioned handmade gnocchi. Anyone have a good hookup for me?”
The air in the room shifts, electrifying like it does just before a storm.
My palm twitches, itching to reach for my gun.
“You know what? I was wrong.” Miles’s sights are set on my brother. “It wasn’t business. That was all pleasure.”
Miles doesn’t even have the chance to take aim with his gun before Caleb fires two shots into his chest, followed swiftly by a single bullet to Leo’s temple. It’s executed without so much as a flinch, as if planned ahead of time.
They’re dead before they hit the marble floor, and then Caleb turns his gun on Camillo.
“Cale!” I shout, but what’s the point? He’s committed us to at least three bodies now. All I can do now is hope the music from the club will drown out the sound of the shots fired.
“It was him or us,” he says calmly, aiming the barrel at the old man’s forehead.
Camillo hasn’t made an attempt to reach for a weapon. The stone-cold fucker’s face barely twitches as his gaze shifts between his two dead sons on the floor and the two standing there, doing nothing as their brothers are gunned down. Do they feel an urge to defend their father? As hateful as mine is, I would have a hard time standing by and watching someone attempt to kill him.
I see the stark realization in Camillo’s snakish eyes. It’s one I’m sure I’ll remember until my last breath. The moment where Camillo realizes that everything he has spent his lifetime building is about to come crashing down, thanks in part to his own flesh and blood, and there’s nothing he can do.
That understanding is followed by resignation. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he says simply.
“Two decades of pent-up hatred and anger for the men who raped and murdered our mother? Oh, believe me. It’s never gone away,” Caleb pushed out through gritted teeth.
“Was this the plan all along? Bring us here and execute us? Right under the Feds’ noses? That doesn’t seem smart.”
Fuck. Moe.
“Pretending to go into business with you is what was stupid.” Caleb takes a step in. “This alliance never would have worked. You would have fucked us over the first chance you got.”
“Yes,” Camillo admits without a hint of shame. “Miles struggled to see the endgame. Vlad’s behind bars; his henchman will find Peter and his sons sooner or later. You two don’t have what it takes to survive in this world. It would be a waste to let it all fall into your hands. Though… it seems you were smart enough to make other alliances all on your own.” His gaze shifts to his remaining sons, who stand quietly as they watch their family being gunned down, tension radiating from their bodies.
Is that a father’s pain or pride that I see in his eyes?
“We’ll take care of mom,” Vince offers, his voice strained, his jaw clenching.
Camillo nods once before regarding his youngest son. “I thought you’d be the one to kill Miles after what he did to your friend, but I should have known. You always were too soft for this life. What a disappointment.”
Merrick’s jaw drops in a moment of shock. “You knew about Ryan?”
“Of course I knew.” Camillo lets out soft, slow sigh. It’s followed by an oddly peaceful smile. “Who do you think told Miles to kill him?”
It takes Merrick a second to process what his father is saying, and another to raise his gun, point, and fire a bullet between the man’s eyes.
Camillo Perri crumples to the floor.
And a woman’s shrill scream echoes through the penthouse.
17
Mercy
We trail Moe into the in-suite penthouse elevator, Michelle’s massive hot pink suitcase in his grip. He may be an FBI informant and part of a hit squad for a crime family, but he’s all those things with gentlemanly manners, insisting on collecting the hefty luggage for her.
“I think you should stay the night. Please? You can leave in the morning. You’ve had too much to drink.” She’s been drinking since we arrived at noon, and that last martini that Moe brought and she chugged was especially potent. “You can stay in my room with me.”
She offers me a weak smile. “Yeah, I’ll bet Gabriel would love that.”
“He probably would.” My joke is delivered with a matching weak laugh. “We can get you another room. We are in a hotel. I’m sure there are a few available.”
We step out of elevator and into the main room just as the heavy pocket doors to the games room slide open. Inside, men are standing and shuffling around the poker table. Men who murdered Gabriel and Caleb’s mother. I’m instantly on edge.
“…wasn’t business. That was all pleasure,” says an unfamiliar gruff voice.
A commotion stirs, with shouts and warnings.
I jolt with the first loud bang. It’s followed closely by a second and then a third.
A wave of shock slams into me as Farley and bodyguard named Max swarm the open door, their guns drawn, and Gabriel shouts his brother’s name.
“Get back upstairs!” Moe barks at us, abandoning the suitcase and drawing his gun.
But Michelle and I are frozen in place. We can’t see into the room, the half-drawn doors successfully blocking whatever horror awaits. Was Caleb just shot? Is he dead?
No, I think that’s him I hear talking. I can’t make out what he’s saying over the pounding blood in my ears, but I recognize t
hat cadence.
Another shot fires, and a gray-haired man drops to the floor in the doorway, his lifeless gaze settled on us. In seconds, a trickle of blood leaks from the hole between his eyes, down along his nose, to pool on the marble tile.
Beside me, Michelle lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
Me? I can’t seem to find my voice.
The pocket door flies open, and Gabriel steps out. “What the hell are they doing down here?” he roars, his eyes wild with panic.
“Michelle wanted to leave,” Moe explains calmly. Meanwhile, his gun is trained on Merrick and Vince.
“They’re fine. Lower your weapons.” Caleb is alive and well and frowning at the floor in the room. Now that the doors are wide open, I see two other lifeless bodies lying there.
My heart feels like it’s going to leap from my chest.
Gabriel shifts his focus away from us for the moment. “This is not what we planned!”
“Maybe not, but the end result is the same.” Caleb nudges one of the men’s shoes with his foot. “Mostly the same.”
Gabriel pushes his hand through his hair as he surveys the bloody mess.
“I told Dad this was a bad idea, right from the start,” Caleb says.
“Well, good. You can tell him that again, every day, when we’re sharing a goddamn cell with him. How the hell are we going to clean this up!” I’ve never seen Gabriel so unnerved.
His words seem to spur everyone into action.
Caleb snaps his fingers at Farley. “See if anyone heard those shots. We need to know how fast we have to move.”
The big man nods and ducks his head to begin chattering into his earpiece.
“I know a cleaner. Excellent in these kinds of situations,” the younger blond man—Merrick, I think, though we’ve never been properly introduced—stands over the old man’s body, peering down at him, his gun still clutched in his hand. His voice sounds hollow. Is he the one who fired that last shot?
How many times have they been in these sorts of situations, to deem someone “excellent”?