Page 34 of Vito

Weapons are the biggest part of the illegal parts of our empire, along with money laundering. Our role in the drug trade is to allow our ports and shipping routes along the West Coast to be used by those moving and distributing the product.

Hugo frowns but nods. "Dom wants this capped immediately."

I lean back in my chair, keeping my posture relaxed. The Saints may be a partner member in the Chamber and an ally, but that doesn't mean I trust them blindly. Nor do they give me any marching orders.

Hugo realizes how his comment could be taken. "That wasn't a comment for you. Sorry." He scrubs his hand over the scar that runs down the right side of his face.

Word on the street, is that his scorned ex-wife had taken a broken bottle to her dear husband while he was passed out and then fled.

"This isn't like ticking a checkbox on a list, Hugo. Taking out a rival threat requires planning, strategy, and, unfortunately, patience."

"I know." He sighs, then tosses back his tequila. "It's hard not to be reactive when being pressured."

"I can understand that." And I do; we're feeling the pressure as enemies test our strength with the change in leadership. "However, there won't be many openings, so we need to be strategic."

He nods and stands. "Are you coming to the races tomorrow night?"

The Saints run illegal street racing. Tomorrow's race is like an audition for drivers—anyone who impresses Dom and Hugo can run with them exclusively and heist cars. You could heist cars on your own in the city; however, you always needed to tithe some of the earnings to the Saints. But if you were a heist team endorsed by the Saints, it was a different arrangement and came with more perks—just like being an employee with benefits rather than an independent contractor. The criminal world does have similarities to the civilian business world.

"Having a competitor like you to beat always makes the show much more fun."

I chuckle and shake my head. "Sorry. Busy."

I'll be here, secretly drinking in my fill of Eden.

"Suit yourself." He shrugs. "I'll be in touch if I find out anything about your Czech-roach problem and who they might be allying with.Adios, amigo."

I watch him go. He's short and lean, but one of the toughest fighters I have encountered. But it doesn't take long until I'm back watching Eden with hooded eyes as she mixes drinks for Meg and Andre's orders. She always works the late shift and closes up.

The memory of Aiken lying in a pool of his blood, eyes open and vacant, slams into my head like a grenade exploding.

Sweat coats my skin as I think of Eden meeting that same fate.

The Chamber continues investigating and trying to find Aiken's murderer, as have Gus and I. I haven't approached Eden to discuss it again since that first night. Instead, I let Gus be the go-between, but we've found jackshit.

Eden's laugh carries over the music, snapping my attention from the gruesome, worrying thoughts of her.

Seeing her alive and well across the barroom eases my tension.

Hearing her laugh is a novelty. She's often coolly detached and unreadable as she enforces neutral-appropriate boundaries.

I wonder if she realizes how similar she is to Aiken—set apart, neutral to the point of detached, but underneath, there's a heart. Eden may not exude the same passion that Aiken had for running this place, but she gives a shit about Gilly's purpose and about the staff.

When she took over, she made some changes. According to Gus, those included paying the staff more and adding sick leave benefits, on top of the other benefits. Gus is sure she isn't paying herself a wage. When he pushed her about it, she said Aiken left her enough to live on.

The other change that Eden is a tiger about enforcing is the rule that no one touches her staff. Aiken had the same rule, which makes sense, given the neutrality that Gilly's plays, but Eden isfierceabout enforcing it. In the early days, I thoroughly enjoyed watching her bringing out her bat, threatening to bust some idiot's balls who thought he could get away with shit.

I lean back in my chair, covertly watching Eden, envisioning all the inappropriate definitely-not-neutral things I want to do to her with that bat. As she talks with Andre, she full on smiles. I struggle not to stare, because she's so fucking radiantly beautiful right now. She rarely smiles, and I feel a stab of violent jealousy because I want to be the one making her smile.

She laughs again at whatever Andre says, but it's abruptly cut off, as she narrows her eyes, looking across the barroom.

Normally, her face is a closed-off, impassive mask. But a crack occurs, and rage covers her face as she stalks out from behind the bar, fisting her bat.

My eyes track to her intended target. My jaw clenches.

Cutt.

He's a member of the Havoc Guardians and Ash Dexter's piece-of-shit cousin.

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