Page 8 of Assassin's Obsession

"You're claiming her?" Nerissa asks carefully.

"I am."

"Does she know that?"

"Not yet. Like you said, the timing is bad right now." Our don is angling to be the next godfather when Don Caruso dies.

Things are dangerous for anyone connected closely to the De Lucas right now. As the Genovese head enforcer and assassin, I take my orders directly from Severu De Luca. You can't get much more connected than that.

I'm not painting a bullseye on Candi's back by claiming her before the dust settles and our enemies are flushed into the light and eliminated. "I expect my claim to stay between us."

Nerissa jerks her chin in agreement and Ugo nods vigorously.

"Good. Now get the fuck out of my way." I don't bother to threaten either of them.

I don't have to. I take my orders directly from the don. No capo's second has the authority to get in my way, much less a made man with no rank.

"You promised not to kill him," Nerissa says without moving.

It wasn't a promise, but I jerk my head in acknowledgement anyway.

"Okay, but fuck, Death. Cutting a man's hand off is going to draw attention that our don doesn't want."

"No, it won't." I know what I'm doing.

Out of patience, I shove the guy squawking about suing the club and Nerissa and every employee who ever worked here toward the back exit.

Nerissa steps aside and lets us pass. "It better not, Angelo. What's going on at the top is more important than either of us."

"Agreed." But it's not more important than Candi's safety.

"Keep your lesson for Ronnie away from the club," she spells out.

I was going to take care of this situation in the alley and leave thestronzoto the tender mercy of his friends, but Nerissa has a point.

Better to take him to one of the spots I use when The Box is not expedient. Fuck. I need a car for that. As I open the back door, I voice command my phone to text Derian.

Death:Need a work car in the alley behind Pitiful Princess.

The ping from Derian's reply sounds as I open the back door.

Derian:On it, boss.

Tossing the pissant into the alley where he falls and rolls toward the dumpster, I register that the light in the alley closest to the backdoor is out and the streetlight above the dumpster is broken.

On instant alert, I scan my surroundings. My guard does not drop when I don't see anyone. This might be an alley behind a strip club in Lower Manhattan, but despite what the deed shows, it's owned by a capo in the Genovese Family.

And Salvatore keeps his properties up. There are no broken streetlights behind his clubs to act as an invitation to street thugs trying to peddle their shit on our territory.

Tuning out the moans from Candi's attacker, I open my senses to the sounds and smells around me. The swoosh ofrubber on pavement from the avenue at the end of the alley gets filtered out. The scent of stale piss and garbage masks other smells and it's noxious.

I frown.

Candi walks down this alley every night to get home.

Making a note to text Nerissa and tell her to get the street sweeper down here, I move my head infinitesimally to the right and then to the left.

A shadow of movement on the left has me pulling my gun and spinning to face it. I prefer my knife, but guns are more efficient in situations like this.

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