Page 4 of Tesio
“My VP, Stitch, is here with me. We manage the club together. You met on your visit here, Don Rossi.”
My boss’s fingers tapped on his desk, an erratic staccato that irritated me just enough that if he’d been anyone else, I’d have already slapped his fingers flat to the shiny surface.
“Afternoon, Don Rossi. We’re grateful for your offer to loan Tesio to us.”
“I asked for my cover story, and here we are. You want me on tech with Ice?”
The Don was back to eyebrowing me ‘like a boss’, so I figured I’d take over, and get this done.
“You’ll be coming in as a nomad, an outrider looking for a home. That’ll give us the opportunity to let you in as a temporary member. If the club believes you’re looking to patch in at some point, they’ll give you a chance, and hopefully grow to trust you like one of them.”
I’d heard of nomads, and patching in with clubs, because I’m nothing if not a fucking epic researcher.
“And what’s my ‘in’ with your club specifically?”
Did Rossi look impressed? It might have been boredom with him, because he made sure he was always unreadable. I guess that shit kept him safe all the years I hadn’t been one of his men yet.
“You met Has-Been before. He came to us much the same way some years ago, so your cover will be that you know him, and that’s how you know about us. It’s a delicate situation, Tesio. You can come up with your own story beyond that, but that’s how we’ll brief your impending arrival.” Delicate situation? I met Don Rossi’s eyes again, and he quirked his lips briefly.
“Explain to Tesio why the situation is delicate, please.”
Again, he didn’t ask anything, even of the club’s president, and the guy recognised it for what it was. He sighed heavily before he spoke.
“We’re being targeted by a saboteur, and we believe they’re a club member. Ice needs help working behind the scenes on this, but… well…” he trailed off, and Stitch picked up where he left off.
“We’re hoping that your being new to the club will protect you, while also making you someone that a person on the outs with us might trust. It’s thin, I know, but this fucker is targeting people I care about, and I won’t let anyone else get hurt.” Shit, sounded like they had no idea how to keep a fucking house running right, but something about this assignment was appealing to me. I’d met Ice and Has-Been, and even just a hint of their life had me intrigued. Mafia was all about duty, respect, and honour. All about looking the part, and bending to fit in with the regulated expectations of the fucking family. Biker life? It suddenly sounded like fucking heaven.
“Do you have a name for him, or is he selecting his own?”
I blinked as Don Rossi’s question drew me back into the conversation at hand.
“Do you have something in mind?”
I practically fucking bristled. Nobody was naming me. That was for me to fucking do, because for once, I’d get to choose who I’d be. Only… nothing came to mind. I just kept picturing Ice and Has-Been, and what did they call me? A greasy mafia bastard? A grin spread across my face suddenly, and Don Rossi lifted both eyebrows in some kind of fucking elevated interest that gave me a shot of courage.
“Grease,” I blurted, and heard both of them laugh on the other end of the phone. Don Rossi’s lips twitched, and he nodded.
“Grease will be with you in the next few days. Make provisions for his accommodations, and he’ll bring what equipment he can feasibly carry on a motorcycle.”Grease. It was so fucking inappropriate that I loved it.
How would Grease act? Would he be laid back and mouthy? Would he still act like a mafia guy, and try to laugh it off,claiming some shit about his upbringing making him an uptight cunt?
Hell, I couldn’t wait to see which way it went, because I didn’t want to plan it. For once, I wanted to wing it. Biker style.
Chapter Three
The early days ofbiker life were like being on holiday from a strict oppressive existence, like letting the chains fall away, and just living. I didn’t want it to end, but it was a dangerous addiction, because it just might distract me from the very reason I was even here.
“If you’re just going to be as useless as the rest of this club, can you fuck off and do it elsewhere?” Ice asked tiredly, reaching for his empty coffee mug and cursing. This was one of the big differences between biker life and mafia life. Back at the mafia compound, I was waited on by the house staff, so I could just get my work done. Here? Here, we had to go and fucking get it ourselves, although those who had old ladies who liked to check in on their men often got special deliveries. Take yesterday, when Lissa showed up, all bright eyed and lip bitey, with a coffee for Ice. Two minutes later I was outside the locked door, wishing for fucking eye bleach. What was it with bikers, and not giving a shit who knew they were fucking? There was zero decorum here.It was oddly fucking enticing. Anyway, he was right that I was being useless, so I grabbed our coffee mugs, and got up.
“I’ll go refuel us. You want lunch?” Look at me, offering to get stuff for others, like this isn’t way beneath me. It was a whole new me.
“Sandwich,” he barked at me, finally dragging his eyes from the screen when I waited there, half out of my seat, a Rossi-esque eyebrow lifted, “please.”
“That’s better. I’m not your fucking house-bitch.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously at me, bless him. “If you mean Lissa-”
Jesus, these guys and their fucking possessive thing. Don’t badmouth my woman, yada yada. Did that shit come with the cut, or was it born into them?
