Page 84 of Kneeling to Candy

“Watch your tone. You forget who you’re speaking with,” I clip, my temper stewing.

“Sorry, sir,” Duffy apologizes quickly, his voice nervous.

Good. He best remembers his place. We’re not equals in this operation, nor will he rise to the status of an equal partner.

“We have a situation.”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Must you call me with every single issue that arises? You know we’re on a deadline. I need to get the girls’ profiles up on the auction site. Dealing business on the black web is a delicate production requiring my undivided attention.”

“Trust me, Cú Sidhe, you want to hear this.”

Interesting. Duffy normally doesn’t push back. It must be serious.

“I’m listening.”

“Piero Bianchi reached out to me.”

My eyebrows jump. This is unexpected.

Word on the streets was, Lorenzo’s cousin from out east was taking over the Denver branch of the Bianchi Mob. The criminal underworld recognized Piero differed vastly from his deceased cousin, dealing in more legitimate business transactions.

As squeaky clean as most of the young don’s organizations were, the man himself was far from untainted. Piero’s method of cleaning house was putting a bullet in the head of most of the people who worked in Lorenzo’s inner circle.

But we’re Irish. We weren’t in the inner circle. We were more like business associates, with the added benefit of sharing women once in a while, “testing the merchandise,” as we liked to call it.

Being an outsider to the Bianchi organization was the only thing keeping us out of Piero’s line of sight—until now.

How the fuck did he find Duffy?

My nostrils flare. “Have you been piss-talking at the pub again, hmm? Have you? Airing our business for anyone in earshot? You pathetic twat. Never could handle your liquor.”

“It wasn’t me! I swear it,” Duffy protests.

“If not you, then who?”

“No idea. All I know is what he told me.”

“Which is?”

Duffy is quiet for a hot second before he timidly admits, “He caught wind of people going missing in Denver.”

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHITE!” I roar, standing from my chair with haste, causing it to tip over. Like a trapped beast, I pace the corner of my Aspen office, ready to spring into action. “I told you to stay out of Denver. No good can come from hunting on Piero’s turf.”

“But there’s better stock in Denver,” Duffy flounders, trying to defend his stupid reasoning.

“There’s also Bianchi’s trigger-happy cousin, you twit. We had an agreement. When we picked up where Lorenzo left off, we’d steer clear of Piero Bianchi.”

“But Cú Sidhe, it’s not all bad.”

It’s surprising my eyes don’t pop from their sockets with how wide I open them.

“Not all bad? NOT. ALL. BAD? Are you daft? Fuck, I knew you were slow, but not incompetent.”

I shake my head, chastising myself for choosing such a fool for a business partner. I should have taken a page out of Piero’s book and put a bullet into Duffy’s head when half of our quartet died. The only reason I kept Duffy around was to get our business off the ground—it’s hard to run a criminal enterprise in the flesh trade solo. You need men you can trust assisting you, and I unwisely assumed I could trust Duffy, at least with this.

Perhaps Duffy’s position has run its course. Putting a bullet in him is sounding less stressful for the job. And with Duffy out of the picture, all the funds would go into my pocket.

“He asked to talk,” Duffy blurts, possibly sensing his life was on the line.

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