Page 46 of Mob Queen

“We need to leave soon, so something quick,” I instruct as I take the coffee and head out to the dining room. “Anyone taking responsibility for what happened yesterday?”

G shakes his head and sighs. “No one is saying anything.”

“And Dario?”

G dismissively flicks his hand. “He’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good.”

Mya brings out a silver serving tray and places it on the table beside me. She serves a cappuccino and a croissant to me, then a croissant to G. “Thank you,” G says before she picks the silver tray up and disappears into the kitchen. I pick at the croissant as I drink my coffee. Thoughts of yesterday are still stuck in my head. “Frank?”

I drop the picked-apart croissant and look up to G. “What?”

“We have to go.”

I stand and throw the rest of my coffee back before heading out where Dario waits by the car. His arm is bandaged up, but he still looks capable of driving.

* * *

15 is standing at the opening of the abandoned warehouse. Her hair is pulled back in her trademark severe ponytail and she’s wearing her black, figure-hugging clothes. There are two guns strapped to her thighs, and she has a shoulder holster with another two. “DeLuca,” she acknowledges when I approach her.

“Who killed my father?”

My heart races as I hold my breath, waiting for her reply. “I don’t know,” she answers.

“What the fuck did I pay you for?”

“I found the assassin, but not the person who gave the order.”

I glance toward G then back to her. “What?”

“The assassin was an independent operator and refused to give up the name. My team looked for the paper trail but, nothing. No payments made electronically, no meetings, nothing.”

Who the fuck has this kind of manpower to pull off something so elaborate? “The assassin?”

A small smirk tugs at 15’s lips. “Dead.”

At least that’s something, but I need to know who gave the order so I can kill them. “And the assassin gave nothing away?”

“I worked him over for a week, torturing him, and he gave me nothing. Not a single fucking thing. I will say, he was a damned good assassin.”

I’ve paid 15 a small fortune to get me a name, but the fucking assassin refused to give it up to her. Without saying another word, I turn and head back to the car. This has left me particularly frustrated and angry.

Someone paid to kill my father, and I have no idea who.

Fuck.

* * *

I’ve been staring at the screen on my laptop since we returned from the meeting with 15 several hours ago. “You haven’t said a word,” Rome says pulling me out of my heaviness.

“Thinking,” I reply dryly.

“About?”

“All of it. Whoever killed Dad and trashed the restaurant.”

“Run it through with me. What’s on your mind?”

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