Page 38 of Angel's Share

“Likely.”

“Mob associate?” Aidan asked.

Berat nodded.

“They’re cleaning up loose ends.”

“Those kids are loose ends,” Rick said with a nod toward Angel and Bev at the dining table, their heads together over Jamie’s tablet. At Aidan’s answering growl, Rick held his hands up, palms out, fingers spread. “No offense, boss. Just the truth.”

The jazz hands, intentional or not, had the welcome effect of diffusing some of the tension, the corner of Aidan’s mouth twitching as he fought a smile. Jamie laid a hand on his husband’s knee and moved the conversation on. “Who else is left?”

“Tomás and his sister,” Matt replied. “Already put them in protective custody.”

“Which leaves Pudge and Michael Martino,” Aidan said.

“I think we move on Pudge,” Rick said. “I’ve been going through Agent Con—Sutton’s—files.” He passed the one he’d carried in under his arm across the table to Aidan. “Martino has a beef with the Bureau after what happened to his brother. He’s less likely to talk than Pudge.”

“Do we have a location on Mason?”

Rick jutted his chin at the folder spread across Aidan’s lap. “List of his known haunts are in there,” he said. “So are his credit card numbers and banking information.”

Jamie snatched the file out of Aidan’s hands and stood. “If he’s used anything but cash at any of these locations, I’ll know in thirty.”

“Prep teams to cover,” Aidan said as the rest of them rose. “Let’s be ready to move as soon as we have a location.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Turned out Pudge was at none of his usual haunts. “Well,” Aidan said as he peered through a pair of binoculars, “this is far more civilized than I imagined for a wannabe mobster called Pudge.” Across Grand Avenue, Patrick Mason was among the finely dressed one-percenters eating canapés and sipping champagne in Broad Plaza. The mini park next to LA’s contemporary art museum had been decked out for the holiday charity gala, with fairy lights in the trees, fake snow on the ground, and giant ornaments at the corner nearest the museum’s entrance.

“It’s a lot of people,” Jamie said from the driver’s seat where he was looking through his own set of lenses. “His people. He’s protecting himself.”

His people was right, Pudge’s parents the sponsors of tonight’s gala. When there’d been no hits on Pudge’s credit or bank accounts, they’d scoured his and his parents’ social media feeds, seeing the event tonight mentioned on both. Sure enough, Aidan watched as the freckled man with chestnut hair and blue eyes chatted animatedly with the blond stunner on his arm and another couple. Pudge was thin, like White had described him, like the pictures Sutton had showed them, but seeing him next to others, the strength in his wiry limbs was more obvious, his posture impeccable. Upbringing and muscle tone and no evident discomfort at having been shoved into a tux for the evening. “How the hell did this guy get tangled up with the mob?” Aidan wondered aloud.

“Rich kid looking for a thrill,” Matt speculated from the phone in the dash holder. He and Rick were parked at the other end of the plaza, at the bottom of the stairs that led to the surface and access streets that ran along and below the plaza.

“Probably how it started,” Jamie said. “As for how it’s going, that’s the boss’s daughter on his arm.”

Aidan nearly dropped the binoculars. “That’s who she is?” He hadn’t had nearly enough time with Sutton’s file to do a deep dive. “Little boss or big boss?”

Jamie flipped through said file and produced several surveillance photos of the couple. “Big boss. That’s Lara Russo, Orlando Russo’s only child.”

“Is Russo here?”

“Near the ornaments,” Berat radioed from where he was stationed on the plaza, dressed as one of the party’s hired security guards. “Late fifties, five-ten, salt and pepper hair. Fit too, like he spends too much time in his home gym.”

Aidan raised the binoculars again and located Russo, a brick of an older gentleman in a tailored tux, chatting with several other patrons, one a celebrity in an all-black tux that Aidan vaguely recognized but couldn’t quite place. It took another few seconds to find the happy couple again a dozen or so feet away, mid-crowd with a different couple. Judging by their resemblance to Pudge, Aidan guessed they were Patrick’s parents. “Bet Russo likes being seen with the city’s big-money players.”

“Makes him seem legitimate too,” Matt said, echoing the direction of Aidan’s thoughts.

Aidan continued to watch the scene unfold. Black ties, glittery dresses, crystal, and caviar. LA’s elite and the mob wanted a piece of it too. All of that made sense. One thing, however, did not. “Why would any of these people deal with someone like Darien White?”

“It’s like with the kids,” Jamie said. “What’s missing?”

“We’ll have to figure it out later,” Berat said. “Something’s up.”

Aidan whipped his binoculars back up. Pudge had stepped away from his parents and Lara and stood on the edge of the crowd, facing away from them with his phone to his ear. Shoulders hunched, Pudge plowed a hand into his hair, ruining the gelled do.

“Something didn’t go as planned,” Jamie said.

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