Page 17 of Malevolent Secrets

“A month? What are your men doing, Victor? Because on this end, it looks a lot like nothing.” I can feel him bristle, but he doesn’t say anything to contradict me.

“I have them running stakeouts, I have them planted on the inside of the Raineri…“

“And yet, we have no new information.”

I try to take a sip of my drink, but I remember the taste of this very drink on her tongue last night and I set the glass down.

“This man, did he know anything about what we were planning? Could he have passed the information to them before he died?”

“It is possible. But there’s no way to know for certain until the Raineris make their move.”

I get up and pace the length of the study that once belonged to my father, his father, and his father before him. Their portraits line the walls of this room, of this house, their memories and the wars they fought for our family name are etched into the walls of this building.

“In essence, what you, my right hand…my supposed executioner, are suggesting, is that we wait until our enemies move. You want us to wait until we are all dead to do something about this?” I walk toward him, and he stumbles back.

I have a reputation in this world and it has served me tremendously well. People hear the name Duretti, and they shiver. They hear the word Ghost, and they pray for death to find them before he does.

I am the Ghost. I am that fearsome monster that is whispered about with bated breath. The boogeyman parents tell their little boys about in order to keep them from being naughty.

It’s just how I like it. The fear keeps this family going strong. It keeps our business thriving. It keeps the money in our pockets from ever running out. I like it, because it means that when someone is stupid enough to cross me, it means they are prepared to face my wrath.

Just like Massimo Raineri seems to be.

We first got the intel a few months ago that one of our men was working as an insider for Massimo. It didn’t take long to flush out the traitor from the rat’s nest he was hiding in, but it was just enough time for him to transmit information to Massimo. Our enemy now had information about our smuggling routes, the federal agents on our payroll and our plans.

Suffice to say, I had made an example of him.

Victor, however, was not satisfied. He had wanted me to cut out his tongue and sew it to his forehead, the way my father had done to traitors in his day. He had wanted me to leave the flesh out for the vultures to feast on.

I’m not my father. And I refuse to cater to the appetites of sick people. Even if my right hand man is the sickest among them. But he gets the job done, effectively and efficiently, and in this line of work, effectiveness and efficiency are what makes businesses boom.

Now, Massimo has started making moves. In the past few weeks, he has killed three of my men.

We have also lost twenty-five million in shipments of liquor, drugs and weapons, all because he tipped off the feds about our operation. I had to pay another ten million to get our fall guy out of prison.

It has been an inconvenience. One I grow more and more tired of by the day.

“Everyone is waiting for the Ghost to make a move.”

“Are they now?” If there’s mockery in his words, he hides it well. This time. Victor doesn’t believe that I have enough strength to lead this family. He doesn’t believe that I am viscous enough.

He doesn’t know me very well.

“And what about you Victor, are you among them?”

“I know that Ghost walks among us every day.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Something needs to be done.” I walk to my desk and stare out the window.

“Release the Kraken tonight. I want to have dinner against the backdrop of their world on fire.”

I don’t need to turn around to see his smile, I hear it in his voice. His glee is palpable. The Kraken is an operative that I only ask to help us out when a real statement needs to be made. Now is just such an occasion.

“Yes, boss.”

Maybe I am just as sick as he is, because damn it, excitedly waiting to hear the sounds of the explosions when the Kraken is released.

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