Page 63 of Stabby Little

I stand close to Jagger as the butler leads us to the back patio. Classical music reaches my ears when he ushers us outside. Warm sunlight shines on my face, making me break out in a sweat.

Statues of Roman and Greek gods rest in the backyard to welcome the guests. An altar covered in wavy fabric and flowers sits next to Anton's pond, ready for the ceremony. Ushers pour punch for the guests, then hand out hors d'oeuvre platters to take to their seats.

Jagger and I stop underneath an oak tree to survey the scene. The DJ is in the far-left corner underneath a white tent preparing the music for the after party. The Diavolo brothers stand close to each other, sampling Italian appetizers that sit on bowls of ice.

Hitmen perch everywhere. They're in suits and sunglasses. If I didn't work for Michael, I'd think they were members of the family. But I can tell by the way they tuck their hands in their pockets that they're here to keep this venue safe.

It doesn't take long to recognize some of the men I used to work with. On the far side, I see Sa?id, who I partnered with before Jagger. Sa?id had been with the Diavolos for twenty years before I joined the team. He started as Anton's bodyguard before migrating to Zaire's hit squad later and took the occasional job for Seth. Rumor had it that Sa?id and Seth hooked up without the other members of the family knowing, but Jagger and I couldn't confirm this. I never asked Sa?id because to do that would be an instant death sentence if I were wrong.

Across from Sa?id, Eztli's talking to a young couple I've never seen. Eztli's an ex-Navy SEAL sharpshooter who led expeditions in the Middle East. Michael took him on when his former sniper died in a battle with a Canadian crime family. He was incensed that fucking Canadians bested him and he hired Eztli, the best man in the business, to teach them a lesson. Eztli tracked the Canadians across multiple tundras and put bullets in their skulls. He buried himself in moose carcasses, using them as camouflage. He'll fight until the end of time to achieve his goals—he's not the type of man you want to fuck with.

On the grass, Anton's daughter Crystal is sitting with a young man I've never laid eyes on. My eyes lift up and lock on him.

Something… stutters to a halt in my chest. I furrow my brow as I make out his long, black hair, wire-rimmed glasses, green eyes, and nose stud. I've never seen him before, but holy Christ. He'sgorgeous.

To my knowledge, Crystal's never brought a man around her family. As her uncle, Michael is overprotective of her and he'll go through the roof if he sees her with a boy. I didn't expect her to bring a date, but I'm not complaining.

God, that boy doesn't even look old enough to be dating Crystal. What the hell is she doing with someone like him? She doesn't know how to please a young man like that, not in her wildest dreams. She's a virgin, at least according to her father. Young men need cock, and lots of it. They're horndogs and they need Daddies to teach them to fuck.

Jagger nudges my ribs. "The ceremony's about to start."

I nod. "Let's go."

"Want to grab a drink after?"

I look at Crystal's date once again. Sweet Jesus, that boy will drive me to drink.

"Two or three."

* * *

Four drinks in. I thought I lost track, but I didn't.

I sit at a table under the tent next to Jagger. I nurse a gin and tonic, letting the alcohol burn my throat. A plate of chicken Alfredo with gnocchi lies in front of me, half-eaten and attracting flies.

It's not that the food wasn't good—it was. This was some of the best fucking Italian food I've ever had, save for the cannoli. Zaire's cannoli didn't have shit on Benedetto's. I'd trade this entire plate of food for Benedetto's secret recipe right now.

No, I can't eat because of what I saw ten minutes ago.

After the ceremony, I headed to the bar with Jagger. I didn't expect to notice anything suspicious because the Diavolos have this entire place under lock and key.

I didn't expect to lay eyes on Khalid.

Khalid's a hitman who used to handle business for Michael. He got caught up in a human trafficking sting and Michael cut him loose. Or so he said. Rumor had it that Michael still employed Khalid in other under-the-table ways. He never showed up to Michael's functions and Michael said he was gone, but Jagger had his doubts.

Vicious rumors swirled around Khalid—he fucked the young men he kidnapped. He forced his victims' families to pay him egregious sums of money to release their sons. He lied to the families and killed their sons anyway, despite his pledges to release them.

When Michael learned of this, he told me he killed Khalid himself. That was three years ago. I haven't seen him around, but I caught a glimpse of him sipping punch at the ceremony. The fact that he's here lets me know he's very much still in the Diavolos' inner circle.

My eyes dart across the gathering. Tiffy and her husband dance to a Mozart concerto, bobbing to the music. The Diavolos clap as the couple dances for the first time.

Khalid sits at a table with three of Anton's underlings, not moving to the music. He's a brutish bastard with a shaved head and prison tattoos. He served ten years in Rikers Island for drug offenses in his early twenties and got into fights every week. That's how he originally came into contact with the Diavolos. They comb through the prison system looking for young offenders to recruit.

"What the fuck are you looking at?” Jagger's voice is low.

"Khalid." I nod to the large man at the table. "I thought he wasn't on Michael's payroll anymore."

"Me neither." Jagger's eyes narrow. "Michael said he killed him."

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