Page 85 of King of Praise
“No.” Honesty between us has kept us both alive this long. “But we can’t let this go unchecked. It’ll make us look weak.”
“Agreed.” Eli checks his watch. “First arrivals in ten.”
I position myself near Zeke’s designated seat, using the time before others arrive to center myself. The weight of my knife presses reassuringly against my ribs, ready to deliver a lethal cut.
I had hoped we could make this coalition work without violence.Strange how hope has become part of my calculations lately.Before Naomi, violence was simply a tool—neither welcomed nor avoided, just necessity.
The thought of her waiting at the cabin creates an uncomfortable tug in my chest. She’s worried, though she tries to hide it. Someone caring about my return still feels foreignafter so many years of solitary existence. I push the distraction aside, focusing on the immediate situation as Victor Russo’s arrival breaks the warehouse’s silence.
Victor moves slowly, age and ill health evident in each careful step. His son Nick hovers nearby, ready to steady him if needed. Though their operation focuses mainly on loan sharking and street-level gambling, they command respect through longevity and consistent results. Victor catches my eye as he settles into his chair, offering a slight nod that acknowledges our history without presuming familiarity.
Connor Gallagher arrives next, his boxer’s physique still impressive despite retirement from the ring. His right-hand man Brendan follows close behind, both men radiating contained violence beneath superficial civility. I note how Connor’s lieutenant, Michael, hangs back, avoiding direct eye contact as he claims a seat furthest from my position.Guilty conscience or just natural caution?Either way, all three men will pay for their betrayal.
The click of designer heels against concrete announces Francesca Barone’s arrival. She enters alone—a calculated risk that projects either supreme confidence or tactical maneuvering. Her charcoal pantsuit is pristine, every detail of her appearance designed to distance herself from traditional mafia stereotypes. The absence of Tommy Moretti raises immediate questions. As Marcus’s enforcer, he should be here representing Barone interests while his boss remains in jail.
“Gentleman.” Francesca’s greeting carries both warmth and authority as she claims her seat. “How is everyone?”
Before anyone can respond, Zeke’s presence fills the doorway, his quiet authority drawing the usual attention. I read the subtle signs of tension in his stance—the slight squaring of his shoulders, the measured pace of his approach to the table.Tonight’s meeting holds more weight than the official agenda suggests.
“Thank you all for coming.” Zeke takes his position, nodding acknowledgment to each representative. “We have several items requiring attention.”
The meeting begins with necessary bureaucracy—territory agreements, profit-sharing arrangements, the mundane details that keep our coalition functioning. I observe each participant during these discussions, cataloging reactions like Victor Russo’s occasional frown when certain neighborhoods are mentioned. Connor Gallagher’s white-knuckled grip on his water bottle during financial reports. Most tellingly, the way Francesca’s dark eyes miss nothing while her expression remains neutral.
I’ve learned to trust these instinctive readings, honed through decades of survival in this world. Something shifts in the warehouse’s atmosphere as Zeke transitions to security concerns.
“Recent events have raised questions about our internal protocols.” Zeke’s voice remains steady, but I catch the slight edge beneath his professional tone. “The attack on Micah during our gambling operation at Club Velvet Petal, and more recently, the shooting at the restaurant where our women were enjoying a quiet dinner suggests a betrayal we cannot ignore.”
My attention fixes on Michael as Zeke speaks. The young man’s reaction is telling—nervous adjustment of his tie, darting glances toward his boss, sweat despite the persistent chill. It all confirms what we already know.
Francesca leans forward, her carefully manicured nails tapping a slow rhythm against the table’s surface. “Perhaps we should discuss enhanced cooperation between families.” Her suggestion sounds reasonable, though I note how it wouldprimarily benefit Barone operations. “Additional oversight could prevent future misunderstandings.”
“Misunderstandings?” Victor’s voice is strong and firm despite his old age. “That’s what we’re calling armed attacks now?”
“Choose your tone carefully, Mr. Russo.” Francesca’ smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re all friends here.”
About as friendly as circling sharks, I think as the tension builds between them.
Zeke allows the moment to stretch before speaking. “Actually, we have some information that may clarify recent events.” He slides folders toward each representative. “These documents outline a pattern of security breaches alongside intercepted communications.”
The warehouse falls silent as pages turn. I watch Connor’s complexion pale as he processes the carefully presented evidence. His lieutenant shrinks in his chair, fear replacing nervous energy as implications become clear. The evidence we’ve constructed points directly at Gallagher’s organization, though questions remain about higher connections.
Connor’s explosion comes fast. He lunges across the table, grabbing his lieutenant by the throat. “You fucking rat. How much did they pay you?”
“Connor.” Zeke’s commanding voice cuts through the chaos. “Sit. Down.”
To my surprise, Connor complies immediately, though rage still radiates from his massive frame. His lieutenant remains frozen, terror evident in every line of his body.Smart enough to be scared, at least.
“Explain,” Zeke says.
The confession spills out of the lieutenant in rushed fragments—Tommy Moretti’s recruitment, promises of protection and advancement, carefully orchestrated informationleaks designed to destabilize our coalition. Confirmed knowledge and encouragement from Connor even though Connor adamantly denies it. According to the lieutenant, Francesca remained unaware of her enforcer’s activities.A convenient narrative, I think, noting how quickly he absolves her of direct involvement.
Francesca’s expression shows appropriate shock at these revelations, though something calculating lingers in her dark eyes.
“I assure you, Tommy acted without my knowledge or approval.” Her voice has just the right note of controlled outrage. “The Barone family does not condone such behavior. Especially not attacks on significant others.”
Zeke catches my eye, offering a slight nod. We’ve discussed this possibility, planned for this moment.Clean and quick, his gesture says.No hesitation.
I move behind Connor’s lieutenant while Eli and another trusted man of ours positions themselves behind Connor and Connor’s right-hand man, Brendan. None of the men resist as steel slides across their throats, ending their betrayal with efficient finality.
