Page 8 of Devious Kingpin
I knew I wouldn’t be able to move on. I was fairly certain my cousins and my brother knew it too.
I hadn’t seen her since that night in the casino. I didn’t know her name, but I’d recognized the girl I saved eight years ago in the alley. The girl that gave me her pink scrunchie. Same eyes—the color of the Ionian Sea. Same auburn hair. Whoever would have thought that girl would end up kicking me in the balls eight years later?
If I remembered correctly, she’d promised to save me, not kick me in the balls. Or it might have been exactly that which had me falling for her.
I returned my attention to my cousin. Byron’s connection to the family was layered in politics. His mother was my and Basilio’s aunt, who’d been conveniently married off to none other than Senator Ashford, the very connected—and corrupt—affiliate of the Syndicate. Basilio’s father saw the opportunity and married her off for his benefit. He had no qualms selling anyone off for his own gain. Even his children. However, there was no denying that this was one of the Syndicate’s more lucrative partnerships as it gave the senator access to some much-needed funds while giving us access to the senator and holding political clout over him.
Win-win.
Until Byron’s mother was killed.
“I don’t know how the fuck you DiLustros are all still alive,” he said dryly. “With that impulsiveness and stubbornness. You seem to make enemies everywhere.”
I smirked. “From what I hear, we share that quality. Your mother was my father’s sister, after all.”
A dark expression filled his face. He didn’t like the reminder nor the comparison. Tough fucking shit.
I tapped my pen on the desk, leaning back in my chair. “So now what?” I challenged. “I won’t help Alessio get into Afghanistan. Not unless he has something of value to offer.”
Byron smirked. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Tell Alessio to get the Corsican mafia out of Philly and I’ll get him into Afghanistan.” Autumn Corbin’s grandfather ran the Corsicans in Philly, and they were in the way of our Syndicate. It was a small world indeed. “My supplier has an uninterrupted way in and out of that clusterfuck.”
I didn’t think Alessio nor Byron realized exactly how far I’d go to make Philly ours.
“What makes you think Alessio has any way of influencing the Corsicans?”
I let out a sardonic breath. “Well, Autumn has connections to it and she’s his woman.” He knew that as well as I did. “If Alessio wants to get his woman out of Afghanistan, the Corsicans will have to vacate Philly.”
“The Corbin family doesn’t keep any connections to the underworld,” Byron reasoned. “Autumn doesn’t even know her grandparents and her father would sooner lock them up than work with them.”
Autumn’s father had worked for the agency—an ex-special agent—once upon a time. But he left it for Autumn’s mother who was the most lethal assassin for the Corsican mafia—once upon a time. She’d given all that up for her husband.
“You're a tough negotiator.” I shrugged at the appraisal. It was simply a way to protect my little brother. Constant ambushes and turf wars in our city were bound to get him killed. Of course, he’d be pissed to know I was doing it to protect him, so I’d just tell him it fell into my lap.
“Tell him to take it or leave it.”
“One day you’ll need my help,” Byron remarked dryly.
“Highly unlikely,” I said haughtily, continuing that incessant tap, tap, tap of my pen on the desk. Byron laughed, and I gritted my teeth. The old fucker—okay, maybe a decade wasn’t much older—was confident I would indeed need his help one day. Alessio, much like Byron, was older than me too.
“One day you’ll be whipped,” my cousin stated matter-of-factly. Too fucking late. “And I can’t wait to see it.”
I gave my head a small shake. My jaw pulsed. So did his. Annoyance unfurled in my chest at the resemblance between our mannerisms. His childhood was all roses while ours was one fucked-up mess.
“Those are my terms, Ashford,” I said, letting out a half-laugh. “If you can’t pull it off, stop wasting my time.”
Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine Alessio pulling it off, but it didn’t fucking hurt to try. Then if he came back and indicated he could make it happen, I’d give him the name of my contact in Afghanistan. Fuck it! Maybe I was feeling a bit generous today.
“Fine, I’ll talk to him.”
I tossed my pen on the desk. “Let me know. Time is ticking.”
“Women, especially some women, aren't easily persuaded,” he said, getting to his feet. Then he added, smirking, “A piece of advice for the future, cousin. For the day youarewhipped. Fathers usually want to skin you alive before giving you a daughter in marriage.”
It almost sounded like Byron Ashford knew something, taunting me.
Jesus Christ. Aren’t any secrets sacred anymore?
