Page 35 of Devil's Tulip

Four pairs of eyes glare at me from the screen.

“Where the hell are you?” Romero demands.

“Sorry, sorry,” I clear my throat. “Just received an email from Lorenzo. Got distracted.” The lie comes easy, but they don’t buy it. Their skeptical silence says it all, so I throw them a bone—something I actually did read earlier. “He thinks Jack and Damien aren’t the end of our little problem.”

“Who?” Maximo asks with a little frown.

“Jack Lister and Damien Washington. The two thieves who were diluting our drug supply to resell it on the street,” Rafael explains. “What did Lorenzo find?”

I shrug. “We don’t discuss sensitive matters over text.” I have the utmost belief in the security of my devices, but some of my employees know enough of the code used in their manufacturing—and I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them. And Lorenzo’s other news about a potential patent thief has me on edge.

“Fucking hell, who the hell are the crooks then?” Romero scowls. “We need to shut this shit down before other fools think they can mess with us.”

“I’m on top of it,” I assure them, and they nod, trusting me to handle it.

I let out a little breath and drop my tablet. No more distractions. Not from Gianna. Not when each one of my brothers is sharp as hell and will pick up on the smallest slip.

“Like I was saying earlier,” Maximo starts. “I think we should let the Albanians remain spread out in our regions rather than cramming them all into one borough.”

I smirk. “Trying to deny your in-laws entry into your borough?”

Romero chuckle. Maximo doesn’t.

We continue the meeting for another hour, finally concluding that since Brooklyn—Romero’s territory—is closer to Queens, the Albanians can get some space to settle in both cities.

When we’re done, I move to disconnect, but Rafael stops me. “Michael, a word, please.”

Maximo snickers and exits before I can snap at him. Romero exits quietly, but I don’t miss the amusement glistening in his eyes. I half suspect he has already figured out that I have Gianna.

Of my three brothers, Romero probably has the best idea of how my tracking process works. Since we’ve had to collaborate on some of his criminal cases before, he’s well aware of just how quick and efficient my software is.

“What is it, Rafael? We talked last night. When Ifindher, I’ll let you know.”

There’s something in his gaze—a quiet certainty—that makes me think he might have already put the pieces together too. “I trust you with my life, Michael. You know that, right?”

He definitely knows.Still, I hold his stare, refusing to back down. “Good. I trust you with my life as well.”

A pause. Then, quietly, “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

His screen goes dark.

I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. But I don’t even have time to think about the ramifications of Rafael’s words before my phone pings with an incoming call from Lorenzo.

“Michael, I hope I’m not interrupting your meeting?” he asks the moment I answer.

As my personal assistant—both at my company, HartSphere, and on the shadier side of ruling lower Manhattan—he knows my schedule better than anyone.

“No, we just wrapped up. Talk to me.”

“I just found out about a warehouse where tons of our Ozempic and nicotine lozenges are being rerouted. The Ozempic is dried, mixed with the nicotine, and sold on the black market.”

My spine straightens. “Your source?”

“Dead.”

Fucking hell. “Did you kill him?”

“Nope. I found him and a few others selling their drugs on 125th Street. The others ran, but I caught him. He got a bullet to the head mid-interrogation, right there on the streets.”

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