Page 100 of Filthy Little Games

“Here’s all you need to know, the honest to god truth — she’s a good woman, a good mother, who had her daughter taken away when she was a day old. Now that she’s got her back after waiting for three years, she shouldn’t have to deal with anyone else fucking with them. The other two women are twenty-something nannies.”

“Okay. Well, make sure they all have docs because once they leave the boat, they’re on their own. And it’ll cost you a million a head plus a future favor.”

“That won’t be a problem,” I agree. I was expecting at least five million a head and was willing to pay it. The favor I would’ve done for him for free.

I hold out my hand again, and Gideon shakes it with his right. The sea serpent looks like it’s moving underneath the muscles.

“Since you don’t want any of my crew to see them, how about I have them picked up at your building two hours before departure?”

“That will work.”

“Send them down with my fee and luggage at four p.m. tomorrow.”

“They’ll be ready and waiting,” I assure him. “I appreciate this, Gideon.”

Tristan thankfully doesn’t speak until we’re back in the SUV. “So that went well. Now where to?”

“We’re going to go see Bertelli.”

“Great. Why are we paying that ancient asshole a visit?”

“Because he’s going to get the travel documents Zara will need.”

Tristan whistles. “Damn, boss. This is turning out to be one expensive bitch. I mean the favors alone —”

Surging up between the seats, I grab his neck and squeeze before he can finish his sentence. “What did you call my wife?”

“Sorry,” he wheezes out.

“You won’t speak a negative word about Zara again, will you?”

“No sir, boss.”

“Good. Now let’s go to the Bronx,” I tell Aldo.

Weston Bertelli runs a hit man for hire organization across the world. Anywhere Marino can ship to, Bertelli will hire someone to kill for you, if the price is right.

His services are not cheap. His reputation is of the utmost respect. After all, who would dare disrespect a man with over two dozen snipers on his payroll? Nobody who wants to live a long life. We only have one long-range sharpshooter in our entire family.

“Weston, Bowen,” I say when the two men finally come out to the lobby. Their Concourse Plaza office in the Bronx serves as the front for their business dealings.

I didn’t know Bowen would be a part of the meeting, and it’s too rude to ask him to sit it out. If his old man trusts him, then I guess I’ll have to trust him too.

“Creed, Tristan. How have you been?” Weston asks, his voice scratchy from a lifetime of smoking. “Well, other than the near-death experience a few weeks back?” His chuckle sounds like a rake scraping over gravel.

“You know, if I were dead, I would have pinned the raid on you, old man.”

He chuckles again and gestures toward his office. “Come. Sit. Have a drink. Because of course it wasn’t me or my people. We don’t fucking miss.”

Inside the spacious office overlooking his territory, Weston hashis secretary pour us all a scotch, and then we settle into the sitting area as if this is all an informal little get together.

“Have you found out who killed your brother and was trying to kill you?” he asks, getting straight to the point. That’s one of the things I always liked about him. The old man doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s a straight shooter, which is rare in this city where everyone wants to dance around shit to see what they can get out of you before doing actual business.

“I have a few suspicions, but nothing more just yet,” I admit to him. “Have any of your people heard anything?” I ask, since not all his assassins are men. His adopted daughter is just one of the many women who kill men for a living. That’s why he’s so good at taking out the target. Men are usually stupid when it comes to women, underestimating them to their own detriment.

“Not a peep,” Weston replies. “The culprit didn’t use a professional, obviously. Why would they think the cops could get anything done right around here?”

If I have a handful of men in the station on my payroll, then Weston has probably no less than fifty. He has to pay law enforcement well if he wants to keep his business lucrative and not end up in prison.

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