Page 18 of Villainous
Devious comes to the door with his shirt off, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. He rubs his sleepy eyes and yawns.
“This better be good, or I’m deducting your pay, Aiden,” Devious says to me. Then he nods at Luciano, and Luciano nods back.
We follow Devious to the living room, and the lights automatically come on. He slouches on the beige love seat, and Luciano and I sit on the sofa across from him. Devious normally sits up straight, composed and elegant, but not tonight—he looks worn-out like a strung-out prostitute.
Baby stuff is scattered throughout the room, and a half-put-together crib is sitting next to the entertainment center.
My brother crosses his right leg over his thigh and cocks his eyebrow. “What is it? Why do you two have blood on your clothes?”
“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Luciano answers. He sits forward, rolling up his sleeves and resting his elbows on his thighs. “The Irish mob shot up our meeting with the other men who were there to buy the merchandise. Some of our merchandise has been stolen,” Luciano says. Anger clouds his eyes as he wrinkles his mouth.
They lost over three million in products.
“Did they steal some of our merchandise?” Devious asks me.
“No,” I answer.
“Good,” my brother states.
“Why would the Irish mob shoot up the place?” I ask, confused.
“They are low on merchandise, and their empire is falling apart. When Cashel was alive, he was running the business to the ground.” His eyes roam to Luciano. “Seamus is trying to get to Maya because she’s supposed to be the don of their famiglia. He’s going to kill her when he gets the chance.”
“Maya who? Maya Devoy?” Luciano asks, frowning. “You know her?”
Don’t tell me she fucked him.She’s every bit of his type—tattooed and crazy. I saw the way she blushed around him. And if he says anything about him fucking her, I’m going to blow his brains out with a smile on my face.
“She was the merchandise I brought to the meeting,” I answer, tilting my head to the side. “How do you know mypet?”
He eyes me warily. “A cop came by my home and was asking questions. She’s being investigated about a missing detective, Chuck Moore. His real name is Clover Henson. She was last seen with him.”
Devious taps his right foot on the marble floor. “Why would they be tailing you?”
“My father is known for killing the ones who were on his payroll, so they’re always on our case when things like this happen,” Luciano answers, annoyed. “He’s been tailing her for some years now. Celeste had been charged with selling illegal drugs and underage girls. His body was found in a storage room, and Maya and her younger brother, Liam, are the suspects of his death.”
“Fuck,” I say.
“Yeah. According to the PI I hired on the detective, he said Chuck—or Clover—couldn’t get the DA to approve her arrest because there wasn’t enough evidence, so he took it upon himself to get close to her and hopefully get the information he needed to arrest her,” Luciano says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“Is it the same guy we killed and sold his organs on the dark web?” Devious asks.
Devious must really trust Luciano for him to bring it up in front of him. Normally, our famiglia affairs are not discussed with outsiders.
Maya confided in me around the time I kidnapped her that the bouncer at a club she was seeing was beating on her and he had a bad temper, so I slit his throat. Devious sold his organs, and I burnt his body into ashes. I don’t want to admit the crime I did, but if Devious is already trusting them, then I can too.
“No. When I found her, she was dating Chuck or Clover or whatever his name was, and I shot him.”
Luciano raises his right eyebrow. “Why?”
My ego was bruised, and I let it get to me, I want to say, but I don’t. I’m not going to tell them what really happened and make myself look weak.
I shrug. “He was in the way of me getting to her.”
“Did you make sure to get rid of the evidence? Bleach the room? Luciano sighs, his shoulders stiff as a board.
“I’m not an amateur when it comes to killing. I’ve been killing since I was a teenager,” I snap, stroking my forehead. “A skilled killer would know to bleach the floor, then pour acidic juice afterwards and re-dirty the floor so it looks like you spilled something, so it can throw their forensic team off your trail.”
He sighs again. “I know. I had to be sure. You know how the police are—they get a hint of something with the mob, and they’re like a dog with a bone. They can’t let it go.”
