Page 23 of Pretty Little Disaster

“Morning,” She breezes into the kitchen with a huge satisfied smile on her face. I swear she’s fucking with me as she takes a seat at the breakfast bar, acting like nothing happened. She smiles at me again as she reaches to grab one of the pastries I went out to get her, first thing. The sickness seems to have passed, but these are still the only things she can stomach eating in the mornings, and she may have pissed me off last night, but it’s still important that I keep her fed.

“Morning.” I clear my throat and finish the last of my coffee before getting off my stool and straightening myself out.

“Are you going somewhere?” She glances at the holdall I have waiting by the door.

“I’ll be back in time to pick you up for Serena’s birthday dinner.” I try not to look at her, if I do it will make me want to touch her again, and last night she made it very clear where we stand.

“I could drive myself if I had my car.” She picks the wrong time to bring up the subject of her fucking car again.

‘I said I’ll pick you up. I’ll be back in plenty of time.” I snap, heading toward the door and picking up my holdall.

“Wait, where are you going?” She gets up from the breakfast bar and comes after me, acting like she fucking cares.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I was hoping we could talk about what happened last night.” She keeps glancing at my holdall like it’s unnerving her.

“Nothing to talk about, you needed something, I provided it. That’s my job, right?” I throw the holdall over my shoulder and attempt to move on.

“Are you doing a job for Dario?” Her question makes me freeze.

“Don’t worry yourself with what I’m doing, just eat your breakfast and be ready for Seb when he gets here.”

“I don’t want Seb to take me to college. I want you to take me so we can talk.” She looks hurt, and it’s concerning how much I hate that

“Like I said, there's nothing to talk about.” I pick up my keys and walk out the door before there's any chance of me giving in to another one of her demands.

I arrive at Thadeo De Marco’s mansion forty-five minutes later, and seeing Dario sitting behind his old man's desk still makes me smirk. I should have killed the old bastard for what he did to my father and all he took from our family, but sometimes situations aren’t that simple. The De Marcos run New York City, has done for decades and my sister being married to Thadeo’s only son complicates things. To ruin them would ruin her, and thankfully, once Dario realized some of the underhand things his father had done, he gave his father no choice but to hand over his control.

Knowing how much it must frustrate Thadeo to see his son thriving in the power he took from him makes letting him live almost seem worth it. The old man is weak, he doesn’t even attend Dario’s meetings anymore. I hear rumors from his house staff that he barely leaves his bedroom these days. But familybonds must at least appear to be strong and Thadeo’s mansion is the best place for me and Dario to discuss business, especially the kind we need to discuss today.

“I see you came prepared,” Dario smirks as I place my holdall on his desk.

“Isn’t that the first rule?” I sit back in the chair opposite him and light myself a cigarette. I don’t smoke at home anymore. I don’t smoke in my car, either. I don’t smoke in any of the spaces that Lorna shares with me, and after everything that happened last night, I’m sure as hell in need of one.

“So, what have you got for me?” It’s been weeks since my last kill, the assassination of Jacopo went smoothly, so smoothly that the Lombardi brothers paid me a bonus. Though I took no pleasure in killing a man from 800 meters. I’m hoping the folder Dario has in front of him contains something a little more edgy. I could use something to take my frustration out on.

“We don’t know much about him, there's nothing on his history, but one thing we’re sure of is that he isn’t fucking Russian.” Dario passes me the file and allows me some time to scan through it.

“He’s selling from a bungalow out in the Bronx, I’ve had eyes on it for the past two weeks and what he’s shifting is definitely firearms, and definitely Russian.”

“Dario, you don’t want to start a war with the Russians.” I shake my head.

“You're correct, I do not. But last night, one of those guns was used to shoot Amanté Greco’s daughter in the face.” He places a clear plastic bag containing a gun with evidence written across it on the desk, and I don’t ask where he got it from…Some things you just don’t question.

“What?” I hear my chair creak as I lean forward.

“She was just a girl, eighteen. Amanté is one of my oldest district leaders, and I have promised him his vengeance. I needyou to go to the Bronx, and find out who this Doyle guy sold this to. I want a name and an address before you put a bullet through his skull. The man has no business selling Russian metal in my city.”

“Understood.” I nod, knowing that going into this one comes with a risk. A man who trades weapons will undoubtedly be armed, Russians are picky over who they hire to undertake these kinds of ventures so I’m also assuming he will be skilled. I’m going to have to have my wits about me.

“Like I told you, I have been aware of him for some time. I’ve been watching. You don’t pick fights with the Russians without cause. What happened last night was tragic, but it also gives us the perfect reason to strike.

“How do you want this done?” I’ve taken care of more than a few men for Dario now, each time has been different to the one before. Storming into this man’s house will be too dangerous, I need the element of surprise, and time if I’m going to make him talk.

“Jeremy Doyle is a creature of habit. He leaves the house just once, every day. At one pm he takes a walk to his local store, picks himself up whatever he’s having for dinner, a twenty-pack of Marlboro, and a bottle of scotch. That’s when you will move in. You familiarize yourself with his space, learn what you can. Then wait for him to come home and catch him off guard.” Dario makes it sound so simple. “I need a clean job, Nic. You're right, we don’t want a war with the Russians. I also don’t want to give the NYPD any cause for alarm. I promised Chief Robert’s that we’d leave them out of this one.”

“So, I get the name from Doyle, kill him, then pass that name on to Amanté?” I make sure I’ve not missed anything out.

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