31

SLADE

“We’ve got Roscano by the balls now.”

Rocello couldn’t hide his excitement.

Holding that pack of papers, he was in high spirits that morning while he and I were on our way to the meeting with Don Gambini. In his mind, we were one step closer to the approval we desperately needed. One step closer to a simple “go ahead” that would rid us of our joke of a Don and mark the end of his reign.

Most importantly, it would mean getting Margo out of his crosshairs.

That was, if it worked, and I wasn’t so sure.

Rocello seemed to be forgetting something basic about mob bosses.

Their crews could shoot at each other to their heart’s content. They could have one, two, or a half-dozen casualties at a time, but no mob boss would lose any sleep over that. This was the nature of our job and the perils that came with it. Was any Don going to mourn those losses? Shed tears for a loyal member of his crew?

Hell, no.

Their next move was always this: Hiring more men.

Nobody is irreplaceable. Everybody is expendable.

But for the Dons, things were different. They didn’t order hits on each other. There was a balance across the city. Everyone knew what they should be doing and where. For instance, Hell’s Kitchen was Gambini’s turf. He could sell guns and push coke to any interested parties. Most of Brooklyn belonged to Roscano. He could lend money and sell methamphetamine to all the desperate souls out there, and take advantage of junkies’ need for a hit.

So, by taking out a Don, that balance would be disrupted. There would be confusion, in which players would stake their claim to the affected areas. For a while at least, there would be a lot of unrest and a lot of shooting.

Public shooting to be exact.

That was the entire organization’s worst nightmare.

Bullets flying all over the place in broad daylight, in front of dozens or even hundreds of people. Witnesses could give bosses a headache. None of us could control what they told the cops. Mob dealings should always remain secret. Dons hated the notion of being exposed. Even a simple deal like a gun trade should never be disclosed. If that happened, they had to tie up loose ends by killing everyone involved. They didn’t mind that, but they preferred doing things in the shadows. No one could see them in the dark.

Regardless of all that, my attention was split that morning. Part of it was on Margo.

Part of it was always on Margo these days.

And that wasn’t like me. Don’t get me wrong, I liked women. I liked the ones who stripped at the club. I liked the ones who went down on me after I bought them a nice dinner. Hell, I even liked the pudgy worker at the corner bakery who always gave me an extra Danish.

But I really liked Margo. She was gorgeous, smart, and funny. And different. I’d never met a woman like her.

And right now, she was in danger.

Which is why we were walking into Enrique’s again.

Don Gambini was even at the same table. It was déjà vu all over again, as the joke went. Gambini seemed to be a creature of habit.

His men were still all around, but that was where the similarities ended. The seat beside him was empty. For some reason, he’d sent his right-hand man away.

“Good morning, Don Gambini.” Rocello used his indoor voice and was on his best behavior as he set a large brown envelope down on the table. “The DNA results.”

The elderly Don tore open the envelope and pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket. He squinted at the first page of the packet for quite some time. Then he sighed. “Oh, Nicolo, you stupid, stupid boy.”

“It’s just as we told you, sir,” I reminded him of our words during our previous meeting. “Roscano has an illegitimate sister and he’s trying to get her out of the picture. You don’t do that with family.”

Gambini looked up. “I guess he doesn’t consider her family.”

“But Emilio did. He cared enough to leave her the vast majority of his fortune.”

The Don didn’t look convinced, so I tried again. “She’s got Emilio’s blood, sir. His genes. His DNA. She’s his child even more so than Nick is, because she’s not an asshole.”

That line received a faint grin from the Don, but then it quickly faded. “Your boss is guilty. You know it—I know it. You don’t fuck with family. He should have taken it like a man and given his sister her cut, no matter how much it was.”

My heart sank. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“You’re right, Winslow,” he admitted. “What happens to Roscano’s enterprises if you remove him? There’s going to be chaos in the streets. Rival crews will want to take advantage of this disorder and step in to claim Roscano’s turf.”

“That’s a problem for another day,” Rocello responded. “We’ll deal with it. You won’t have to worry about chaos. All you need to do is give us the green light. What’s right is right, Don Gambini. Roscano must pay.”

“Maybe we should resolve this quietly,” he suggested, interlocking his fingers. “Maybe I could tell him to step down and retire. He’ll just take a few million and disappear in Sicily. He owns a lot of real estate over there.”

I jumped in before Rocello could respond. “With any other Don, that would work. It would be the honorable thing to do.” Rocello gave me a side glance, trying to judge where I was going with this. “But Roscano isn’t honorable. That guy is so cheap that he won’t even tip a hobo for wiping dust off his windshield. You really think he’ll settle for a couple of million bucks and move to Italy? Because I don’t.”

“Slade’s right,” Rocello agreed. “There’s no way Roscano will just go away quietly. He won’t let anyone else touch what he thinks is his. He’d probably take Margo out even if there was no chance for him to stay in power.”

Something about the way Rocello said her name seemed to have caught Gambini’s attention. “You like the girl.”

Rocello nodded.

“And you too, Winslow.”

“Yes.”

The Don shook his head. “I suppose that’s your worry. As for Roscano, I know how cheap that fucker is. But this still isn’t an easy call to make. I still don’t know how you’re going to maintain order in the streets after he’s gone.”

“With all due respect, we’ve been doing this for a long time. It’s our job,” I said carefully, my tone calm. “Once Roscano’s gone, we’ll gather up every gang leader and explain things to them. If they step out of line, if they try to claim even a block, they’re dead. Simple as that.”

“I’m going to need more than that,” Gambini stated, resolve lining his face. “Your word just isn’t enough. I don’t care what you have to do. Hire mules; people you trust; people you know won’t fuck you over, but keep distribution up and running. After all, I think you’ll benefit from this, too. That drug money is going to go straight into your pocket.”

Drug money. Just hearing those two words together made my stomach churn with disgust.

I hated drugs. So did Rocello and Jumaine for that matter. We’d never touched them—not even a joint. Now, Gambini’s terms involved us taking over the drug trade in Roscano’s stead. Nothing could change. Every gang in the area had to stay out of this business, because he was too afraid of the repercussions.

Rocello gave me a long look. After all these years together, he could read me, and I could read him. And I knew, as certainly as I knew my name, what he’d tell me if he could. We weren’t doing this for us—we were doing it for Margo. All of this was for her, to keep her alive.

“We’ll do it,” Rocello told the Don. “We’ll start recruiting people tonight. They’ll replace Roscano’s guys. There won’t be a gap in ownership on our turf. You have my word.”

As Rocello and Gambini shook hands, I worked to keep my face neutral. This was going to change everything.

Gambini looked satisfied. “You have my permission to take care of Roscano. Dump him off the top of the Empire State Building for all I care.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rocello said, and I nodded in agreement.

“Just remember, you only get one shot at this, boys,” Gambini cautioned. “If you fuck up, Roscano’s going to be so pissed that he’s going to send every wise guy in New York after you.”

And on that note, we took our leave. I’d barely made it to the sidewalk before I gripped Rocello’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“So now we’re dealing drugs? For fucking real? Tell me you were jerking Gambini off.”

“Of course I was,” Rocello said, furrowing his brow. “I wanted him to believe I gave a fuck about those goddamn drugs. You know I don’t—I never will. Plus Margo would probably never speak to us again.”

“But he’s right. We have to do something to prevent a power grab.”

“We will,” Rocello said with a frown. “But I guarantee it’s not going to be us pushing drugs.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Hell if I know. Let’s talk to Jumaine and figure something out.”

“Sounds good.”

And it also meant we’d be seeing a certain gorgeous young woman again, really soon.