Page 96 of Beautiful Scar

Chapter 30

Tigran

It’s a rainy, ugly night, and visibility’s not great.

Any other job, and I would’ve called it by now. This kind of weather is a real risk.

But this is too important to pass up.

The information came to me at Vito’s funeral. It was actually a little comical—the old pimp would’ve fucking loved it.

A dozen girls showed up, all of them dressed entirely inappropriately, wailing and prostrating themselves in front of his casket, making a real fucking racket. I thought it was disrespectful at first, at least until one of the older madams came to speak with me in the back.

“He hired us,” she explained with a wry grin. “Paid in full a few years ago for this service.”

“No fucking kidding?” At the time, I was totally taken aback, but now I get it. Vito’s always been a showman at heart. He wanted to go out on his terms, and he sure as hell did.

But that wasn’t everything. That woman and I stood in the quiet of the back vestibule as the majority of the mourners moved off to the cemetery for the burial. She gave me a look, and the smile disappeared.

“One last piece of information for you,” she said, head cocked to the side. “Already paid for, so don’t worry about that. Call it a parting gift from Vito.”

Now, I’m staring at a casino on the outskirts of the city as rain hammers the windshield. Alexan’s by my side, quiet like always, but it’s not the silence of an anxious man.

We’ve gotten to know each other better in the weeks since Damian’s death. At first, I thought Alexan was too unpredictable, but now I know better. He’s a gifted hacker and a loyal bodyguard, and I’m beginning to trust him with my life.

I wish he could be back at the house with my wife, but I need him tonight.

A dozen highly paid guards plus a fortress of a house will have to suffice for a few hours.

But I check the cameras on my phone, just to be sure.

“Movement up front,” Alexan murmurs.

I force myself to stop watching the hallway back home and focus on the street. Two men are hurrying out, both of them exposed to the rain. They’re tall and broad, one stockier than the other. The thinner one tries to light a cigarette but can’t do it with all the rain. They’re arguing about something and slowly walking together toward the main road.

“That’s them,” I say, pushing open the door.

Alexan follows without a word.

I’m soaked after two steps. Drenched after five. But none of me cares at all. I pull the collar of my black leather jacket higher and grip the gun in the holster at my ribs. It’s right above my old wound, healing now.

The two men stop to bicker again, and they don’t notice me approaching in the downpour. I get close enough to hear some of what they’re saying.

“…doubled-down, you fucking asshole,” the stocky one’s yelling. “It’s your fault we lost his fucking cash.”

“You think one double-down’s gonna save twenty fucking grand?” the other shouts back, baring his teeth.

I gesture with my head for Alexan to peel off. He slips into the line of cars to our right and disappears.

“He’s gonna fucking kill us!” the stocky man screams, waving his hands. “You know how fucking Seamus gets!”

“You don’t think I know that?” The skinny one tears at his hair. Rain drips off his face. It’s all very melodramatic.

“I might have a solution,” I say, drawing my gun.

Both men stare at me. Neither reacts at first. They look dumb, drugged, probably drunk, fucking wrecked from spending all day losing an obscene sum of cash.

The stocky man has enough time to open his mouth before I shoot him straight through the nose.

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