Page 15 of Deadly Obsession
Tonight is a chance to listen. To overhear drunk conversations for any information that might accidentally slip from loose lips.
My brother and I are convinced Gio is the one who ordered the hit on our mother all those years ago. We’vebeen trying to gather enough proof to bring him, and the Empire, down. If we’re going to start a mafia war against the most powerful man in New York City, we have to be sure.
Someone here at this party must know something—especially the powerful fucks at Lenetti’s side. I’ve got dirt on plenty of them. If I can’t get them to squeal on Lenetti, then I can at least blackmail them into aligning with the QBM.
I stop at the open bar and grab a whiskey before weaving through the crowd. People stand around chatting while drinking and eating, fake laughing at horrible jokes, and slapping on charm that’s just as fake as their smiles and bodies.
I hate it all.
The corrupt gravitating to the powerful.
Gio Lenetti is the king of corrupt and powerful. He has blood on his hands.
Not that I don’t, but the blood I spill is from the veins of living monsters. Pedophiles, scam artists, human traffickers.
The list could go on.
It’s what I’ve been doing since taking over the QBM. I’ve been working to clean up the streets and bust dealers who target kids and teenagers. My father really fucked things up twenty years ago. He’s the reason New YorkCity has a drug epidemic. Percy Carter dealt dirty and dangerous drugs.
There will always be drugs in this city. I just make sure to regulate them the best that I can.
I snatch an hors d’oeuvre from a passing server but pause before putting it in my mouth. The woman has walked on, but she’s not far because of the crowded space. I tap her on the shoulder, and she turns, lifting her head because of my height.
Her cheeks blush, and she sucks in a breath.
I get that a lot. I’m a giant. People always ask if I’m a wrestler. If I hadn’t been born into a life of crime, I would have loved to be a wrestler. My brother, Lance, and I would watch it on television as kids. Then we’d clear a space in the living room to create a makeshift ring and body slam each other.
I always won.
“Does this have nuts in it?”
“Oh, um, no. I don’t think so. It’s smoked trout croquettes. Mashed potatoes, smoked trout, mozzarella, parmesan, and chives. Would you like me to double check?”
I shake my head. I have my EpiPen, and cross contamination won’t incapacitate me like eating a whole fucking nut.
I pop the food into my mouth and groan. Fuck, that’s good.
While I chew, I scan the crowd. No one seems to be paying attention to me, which is fine. I like to be invisible. Though, I do appear to be one of the taller and bigger men in the room.
Wait one damn second.
My eyes land on a head of hair belonging to a man who looks like a slimmer version of me.
My brother.
“Lance?”
He startles and whips around, snatching the wrist of the woman standing next to him. He shoves her behind him.
“Del, why are you trying to hide me?” she scoffs and peels out of his grip.
Del? That’s cute. His name is Delancy, but I call him Lance. He hates being called Lance, and now this woman has shortened his name to Del. Like the fucking computer.
I stifle a laugh.
“Hi. I’m Noah,” the woman says, holding out her hand.
This is my first time meeting Noah, but I know all about her. She’s Lance’s neighbor and a contract killer who goes by the name Colpa Sicario—one of the best in the industry. My brother had no idea he’d been living next door to his rival when she moved in a few months ago.
