Page 95 of Mob Queen

“No,” I say before Rome says anything and gets himself killed.

“What? We have his kid right here. We need to end her.”

“No,” I repeat. “Judging by the way she talks about her father she hates him.”

“Impossible,” G says.

“She was the one who told us,” Rome adds.

“Nope, this is bullshit. She’s been sent here to fuck you over.” G paces back and forth unconsciously.

“She hasn’t and you know it,” I say. “Look, you’re angry.”

“No, really? You can tell I’m angry?” G spits sarcastically. “I owe my fucking life to your father, Frank.”

“Calm down so we can figure out how to take him down. We have an advantage.”

“Yeah, what is it?” I point toward the dining room. “She’s a liability, not an asset,” G tries to argue.

“Think about it. We have her, and her father has no idea where she is. She told us he’d often do business in front of her. Which means, she’d know a lot of his secrets. Like, maybe, where he is,” I say. “Petro will die by my hand.”

“Not if I get to him first,” G says.

“But the girl, she’s an innocent. You and I both know Dad would never have killed an innocent. Not to mention, she’s carrying a child.”

G’s posture slightly softens, but his jaw remains clenched with anger. “I know,” he finally relinquishes. G stops pacing, sighs, and leans against the door. “What do you want to do, Frank?”

“We need to kill him.”

“Yeah,” Rome agrees. “But Elena is to be spared.” He looks to me for my approval, and I nod once.

“For now, we need to find out what we can about Petro, and hit him where it hurts before we kill him,” I say.

“What do you mean?” G asks.

“I want his operation, and I want him to bleed green before he’s finished.” G scoffs but smirks. “He took my father, and now, I’ll take everything from him.” My skin tingles as goosebumps rise.

* * *

There’s a world of irritation bubbling through me while I sit in the library, drinking my scotch.

Night has fallen and the house is unusually quiet. G’s left, Rome is God knows where. Elena is in her room, I think. And Miller has yet to arrive from work.

Here I am, sitting in the dark, seething at the onslaught of information dropped on me today.

I nurse my scotch as I try to form a plan on how I’m going to handle Elena’s father.

“Don DeLuca?” Elena’s soft and timid voice calls. “Ma’am?”

“What do you need, Elena?” I answer as I flick on the light.

Her shoulders slump forward and she instantly drops her chin when the room lightens. “May I speak with you please?”

I take a breath, and gesture with a flick of my eyes for her to sit. She quietly shuffles forward and sits on the sofa. Her entire posture is rigid and tight. “What can I do for you?”

She clears her throat and rolls her lips together several times. “I know you’re going to kill my father,” she pauses and waits, but I don’t respond. “Um...” Elena clears her throat, again. “Are you going to kill me too because I am my father’s daughter?”

I don’t flinch at her question, though I’ve already made my mind up that she’s not involved. “That depends,” I start.

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