We can do this. We can do this.

The rest of the people in the room stay silent as they watch the situation unfold with rapt attention.

“What the fuck is going on?” Burlone bellows angrily. Droplets of sweat are starting to cling to his forehead. His face is slightly purple from frustration, and part of me wants to take a picture to remember this moment. Unfortunately, I know it would probably be used as evidence against us if it made its way into the wrong hands.

Especially when I know the potential outcome of tonight. It won’t end pretty for him. For any of them.

“Alright, alright. I’ll step in,” Kingston interrupts. I can hear the smile in his voice, and the sound calms me enough to think this might turn out okay.

“Dex came to me recently. Can you believe that, Burlone?” Kingston asks though he’s addressing the whole room. Hell, he’s commanding it. “Your own right-hand man? I thought it was a little out of character too, but Dex felt the need to voice a suspicion he had about his dear old boss. Secret meetings. Intentionally botched drop-offs. I found it fascinating, so I decided to do a little research of my own. What I found was…interesting, to say the least.”

Burlone shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about, King?”

“I’m talking about your association with the FBI, and your plan to incriminate everyone at this table tonight as soon as they handed over their money for the beautiful women you’ve found.” The way King says the word found is enough to insinuate the opposite.

Burlone sputters, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Dex,” King calls while ignoring Burlone completely.

Gun at his side, he steps out of the shadows. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Were the women in this room handled differently than usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to expand?” King laughs, dryly.

Dex joins in before explaining, “The men were explicitly told not to touch them. In fact, Burlone brought me in and ordered me to keep them from being spoiled before they were officially purchased, which he’s never done before. If we’re being honest, he’s usually one of the first to break them in.”

The men around the room all laugh, like that little tidbit isn’t one of the most despicable things Dex could’ve said. My stomach clenches when Kingston’s own chuckle joins in before he continues his probing.

“And why do you think they were being protected?”

“Because he didn’t want any incriminating evidence on the Allegretti family. Only his associates.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he cut a deal with the Feds,” Dex finishes. His tone is matter-of-fact and almost lazy. If I weren’t in on the ruse, I just might believe him myself.

Outraged, Burlone shoves his chair away from the table a few inches but stays seated as he argues, “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Gentlemen, why would I talk to the Feds? It’s not logical.”

“It is if they’ve got incriminating evidence against you like your former soldier just stated,” Mr. Carbonne pipes in while crossing his arms over his large, round chest. “It makes sense for you to work out a deal with the Feds to help them gather evidence against your associates instead of arresting you. Selfish, Burlone. But smart. If you hadn’t been caught.”

With a roll of his eyes, Burlone shakes his head. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. What kind of evidence do you have? You can’t honestly believe the high and mighty Romano family over one of your own?”

Another man interrupts from my left. He’s got to be almost sixty years old and looks like an old bulldog, his jowls hanging off his face. “Interestingly, I would normally agree with you, Burlone. But then I heard from one of my associates who informed me of a little incident a few weeks ago. One where you had set up a drop off on Kingston’s turf but didn’t show up with the women. However, the Feds did know where you were meeting and were there to greet him. The only reason my associate didn’t get caught was because the Romano family stepped in and fucked up your plans. I assume that’s why you personally named Kingston Romano in the email invitation to this tournament. To incriminate him when we all know he’s never been one to dabble in the skin trade. You wanted to use the email against him in a court of law.”

“This is all hearsay. There’s no proof.” Burlone’s defense falls flat on his audience, and I know I’m not the only one feeling the tides turn in Kingston’s favor. However, the push and pull are definitely still there. I know we haven’t won yet.

“And if there was proof?” Kingston interrupts the conversation, taking control of the room with a simple question.

My breathing quickens, and I shift my weight between my feet, the need to run still very much present as the testosterone in the room––along with the accusations––intensifies.

Burlone’s face goes splotchy and red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, playing right into our hands. “I-it’s not possible.”

“I’m going to have to respectfully disagree, my friend.”

Chapter Twenty-Two