Page 8 of Lord of Vice

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“We all need to do that from time to time. How’s business otherwise?”

“Damn good. Too good. However, there’s a little issue with Gray Death as well. I can’t have that.”

“Shit, man. That crap is bad news,” he said after whistling.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Any runs in your area?”

“Can’t say I’ve seen it yet. But I have heard it’s picking up in popularity in places like Russia and Cuba.”

“Interesting. See if you hear anything.” I rubbed my eyes. Sometimes the business was taxing as fuck.

“How’s Vissarian?”

I snorted thinking about my kid brother. I was eighteen years older, the nineteen-year-old acting as if he was top of the world when he was nothing but a troublemaker at this point. While considered an adult, his issues with rage had gotten him to aheap of trouble in the past four years. Enough so that I did what I could to keep him on lockdown. “He’s my kid brother. A pain in my ass.”

My buddy laughed. “Well, if anyone can handle him, you can. You’ve done a damn good job so far. Let me see what I can find for you, and I was planning on coming out for one of the races this year.”

Since the huge stadium had been built, tourism had picked up extensively. “Good deal. Let me know as soon as you can discover anything. You know how I feel about certain illegal substances.”

“Yeah, you and I are getting too old to chase down drug dealers.”

“Hey. Speak for yourself, buddy. I’m still young.” We both laughed and seconds later, I ended the call, taking a deep breath as I slipped my phone back into my jacket pocket. I’d lost my youth the day my parents had died, forcing me to become a surrogate father. Still, my kid brother was the only family I had, both sets of grandparents long dead, my father’s parents refusing to acknowledge their own son after our departure for a better life in the States.

So much for reminiscing.

As I walked into the hallway, I heard a commotion, someone cursing in Italian.

Then I heard a clang, dishes being shattered. I pulled out my weapon, carefully making my way into the corridor. One of Tony’s waiters was screaming at the very woman I’d been interested in, yanking on her arms. The look on her face was one of terror, her entire face twisting from fear.

But she managed to pull away, guarding the to-go bag in her hand as if it was the air she needed to breathe. As she bounded for the door, I lowered my weapon. It was obvious she’d run out on the tab.

“I’m calling the police!” he screamed.

“Let her go,” I told him. “I’ll pay for it.”

The waiter turned around, hissing before darting into the kitchen. A strange set of sensations, jolts of current rushed through me as she managed to head out the door. But in a slow-motion flash, I noticed her eyes opening wide just as the door was thrown open. And the mysterious yet beautiful woman did something completely out of character. Her food bag tossed to the floor, she lunged toward the man heading inside. In a split second, I realized why.

In the asshole’s hand was a weapon, the bastard preparing to shoot.