Page 106 of Parrish

“Sorry,” I grunt, nodding to Mac. “The brother’s suitcase was in LAX.”

“Right,” he continues. “A mob boss in L.A., Antonio Sabella found out that the bag was still floating around, and he came after Silk.”

“What’s so special about the bag?” I ask, confused as to why any fucking gangster would get his silk panties in a twist over another man’s shorts.

“The ledgers were in the bag,” Arrow explains.

Diverting my attention towards him, my eyebrows pinch together.

“So, you’re telling me this gangster, Antonio Sabato—”

“Sabella,” Mac corrects.

“Where the fuck did I get Sabato from?”

“Isn’t that the Calvin Klein guy?” Nico interjects, placing a mug in front of me. “The guy had his junk plastered all over Times Square.”

Oh God, make it stop.

Please make it fucking stop.

Shaking my head, I reach for the pot of coffee and fill my cup to the brim. Welcoming the burn, I chug the hot liquid like it’s my fucking salvation. Setting the cup back on the table, I lift my gaze back to Arrow.

“So the gangster wanted the books,” I say. “What the fuck is so special about the books?”

“Long story short,” Mac replies, drawing my attention back to him. “John was keeping records on the L.A. mob as well as a number of organizations. Back then, Sabella was the only one who knew the ledgers existed. However, there was also one labeled Ice Riders MC and another the N.Y. mob.”

The coffee almost comes flying out of my nose at that last bit of information. First of all, the fact that there is a paper trail in existence is fucking ridiculous but what is more absurd is that it might contain shit on Victor’s organization.

“The New York Mob? As in the five families?”

The four of them just look at me with a blank expression.

“I don’t know if there is anything specific—”

“Well, first of all, no mobster in New York refers to themselves as the ‘N.Y. Mob’. Control of the city is divided amongst five families, each of them holds a piece of the pie and all go by a family name. For example, I’ve worked with the Pastore family for years. Is there anything about that organization written in these books?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Mac replies.

“Then I’m not sure how much merit these books hold because Victor Pastore ran the streets of Brooklyn and most of Staten Island for nearly three decades. If your boy John was keeping tabs on criminal enterprises in New York, he’d have a fucking library on Victor and his crew.”

Reaching for the coffee pot, I pour myself another cup and glance around the table.

“Any of you smoke?”

“You don’t smoke anymore,” Nico reminds me. “Reina will have your dick in a vice if you light one up.”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” I growl.

“Actually, I cleared my schedule just for you,” he says as he takes a seat at the table. I raise an eyebrow at the little shit and turn my gaze back to Mac.

“Well?”

“The ledgers are solid,” he confirms. “Whether there is anything about Pastore, I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t on John’s radar. To make Sabella go away, we gave him the LA and NY books and took out a few of the men he sent after Silk.”

“And he didn’t retaliate?”

“He wasn’t happy, but things ended there.”

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