Page 72 of Toxic

"Jesus. Give us some credit. We're not looking to have any cocksuckers join us," Tristano gripes.

My father arches his eyebrows at Gianni and me, ignoring Tristano's outburst.

"All good," Gianni replies.

"Why are we even in the room?" Massimo asks Tristano.

"Enough. Take your ego and check it at the door. You know the pecking order," I reply.

"Too bad your dicks don't match the pecking order," Tristano asserts.

"Have you looked at yours lately?" Gianni taunts.

"Pretty sure ours are bigger than your old, worn-out ones," Massimo interjects.

"Enough!" Papà orders, slamming his hand on the desk.

One of the photos goes flying. I grab it in the air, step forward, and put it back on the desk. Then I point to the pictures. "These four men are our guys. They have personal vendettas against the Abruzzos and Rossis. They fit the profile. They're violent when needed, discreet, and their backgrounds checked out. Let's bring them in and get them acclimated."

Papà assesses the photos then scratches his head. He shifts on his feet and finally nods. His gaze drills into mine, and warning laces his voice. He points to Gianni and me. "Fine. I'll approve it. But these are your guys. If anything goes wrong, I'm holding you two accountable."

Gianni turns to our brothers. "See? Being lower on the totem pole has its advantages."

"Shut up, you dick," Massimo hurls.

Tristano scrubs his face. "Is there anything else? Otherwise, I'm through listening to this shit."

"Go." Papà motions to him and Massimo. "Gianni, Dante, you stay back."

My brothers toss us some more annoyed glances then leave. Gianni and I wait for Papà to speak. Several minutes pass before he says, "Abruzzo men breached the line at the container terminal again."

"Which is why we need to do something about it," I state. Gianni shifts next to me, but I don't look at him. I don't need to. We have a sixth sense and have been putting a plan together behind Papà's back, even though I don't like it. Yet, I haven't fully agreed to Gianni's demands, since making a move like this will have major consequences if my father ever finds out.

"If we're smart about it, we can take them out, and it'll go in our favor," Gianni insists.

My father sighs then sits in his chair. He motions for us to take a seat, too. Once settled, he leans back and crosses his arms. "Do you think I don't know what you've been planning?"

My chest tightens. I once again force myself not to glance at Gianni while keeping a stony expression. I have no idea how my father knew, but I shouldn't be surprised. He always seems to be aware of everything regarding the business.

Tense silence lingers for several moments while Papà's cold stare darts between us.

"If we lose the port to the Abruzzos, there won't be any coming back from it," Gianni warns.

Papà's eyes turn to slits. "And you believe disobeying my order is the solution?"

"I believe taking out those who infringe on our territory or pose a threat is vital for our survival," Gianni asserts.

Calm takes over my father's expression, but it doesn't slow my racing heart. He sits back and presses the tips of his fingers together, assessing us before reminding us, "We take out threats on my orders, not yours."

"At what point are you going to authorize us to move forward on the threat? If we lose the port, I'll be the one dealing with it in the future, not you," I vocalize.

Papà takes several calculated breaths then opens his desk drawer. He removes the map of the port, unrolls it, then sets paperweights in each corner. "Show me what you've been planning."

Gianni and I scoot forward in our chairs. I point to the edge of the gray zone. "We plant our men here. The cameras won't catch it if we move them under the dock."

"Then what? How are you taking them out without it creating a war for us?" Papà asks.

"We pin it on the Rossis," Gianni says.

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