Page 92 of The Enforcer's Revenge
Carlo actually was going to blow the whole fucking thing up.
A part of Tino didn’t want to believe it. A vain, childish part that was really fucking hurt that his zio would ruin his whole life—just like that—knowing what Tino and Nova went through after Romeo went away.
Selfish as it was, Tino made it about him. He wasn’t ready to lose his zio, and either way, this was going to change everything.
It was too big.
Too all over the news.
Maybe, if they got very lucky, Tino could find Carlo before he did anything else and?—
“Go home, Tino.” Pietro physically grabbed Tino’s hands and placed the to-go cup inside them. Then he wrapped both his smooth, old palms around Tino’s and said, “You look like merda. Stop partying so much. Your family wants you to go home.”
Tino looked at the cup, seeing the arrow drawn on the lid, pointing to the other side of the room in warning. His heart dropped in fear, knowing the Feds had to be sitting right there all along while he was rambling on, saying whatever the fuck popped into his mind under the headache. He didn’t turn to look, but he did try to mentally recall who had been sitting at those tables under the television.
Only he couldn’t.
’Cause of the fucking headache.
He just whispered, “Grazie,” and kissed Pietro’s cheek.
When he walked out, he made a point to be casual and not glance over to the table, even though he really wanted to. He spotted more Feds once he got outside, sitting in a car across the street. A man and a woman, pretending to be arguing, but they kept looking over at him. At least two agents were sitting inside, two were watching the outside, and that was just at the coffee shop where they played cards.
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tino’s heart was pumping a million beats a minute, especially since he had blow on him and an unregistered 9mm Beretta.
He didn’t want to get on his bike.
His gut told him that was a bad idea.
The Feds probably put some sort of tracker on it while he was inside. The tired and wired in Tino’s brain turned into total fucking paranoia, especially with the Feds tailing him. He had to land and regroup. If only he knew someone who lived close by. At least he could flush the drugs and ditch his gun.
Tino stood there, drinking his coffee to look casual, and started searching his mind, desperate for anyone he knew in this area. Then, a memory hit him, a golden bolt of luck in the darkness, because it really shouldn’t be there under the damage Nova did with that 9mm.
Brooklyn, New York
Three Months Earlier
“You fucking cheat,you motherfucker. You’re a cheater.” Carlo shuffled the cards again. “Don’t do it.”
“Five-card draw is face down. I can’t see anyone’s cards. I have no advantage.” Nova threw in ten dollars for the ante, took a long drag off his cigarette, and turned his head to blow out the smoke. “I’m just a boss poker player.”
“Bullshit.” Carlo started dealing out the cards. “You cheat. I know you fucking cheat.”
“Same argument every time. Cazzo, Zio, why do you play with him if it pisses you off so much?” Tino threw his ante in and leaned back in his chair, looking at the blue spring sky.
“’Cause I’m not letting him pull one over on me. I’m figuring out his game.”
“Okay, you figure it out, paisan.” Nova picked up his cards and studied them.
“Do you know how he does it?” Carlo still hadn’t picked up his cards. “You have an obligation to tell me, Tino.”
“No, I don’t,” Tino assured him, but then asked Carlo, “Why is it so hard for you to imagine that he actuallyisa boss poker player—without cheating?”
“Right?” Nova laughed with him. “Man, I’ve been playing poker longer than I’ve been fucking, also something I’m boss at without cheating.”
