Page 15 of Forgotten Deeds

Thankfully, Lily isn’t scheduled to work tonight. In fact, I was just about to drop by her house to see what the little angel was up to this evening, but my obsession will have to wait. I quickly gear up with a flak jacket and pistol. Not sure what exactly we’re dealing with, I grab a variety of weapons and supplies, stashing everything in a duffle bag.

Locking up behind me, I place my bag in the hidden compartment in my trunk, making the drive to Glitter. All the while, I’m envisioning gutting Matteo like a fish. And if the redhead Amethyst is here, I’ll find out about those pufferfish lips after all. Downright giddy at the prospect, I park across the street from the club and wait. Waiting is fucking hard.

Finally, a convoy of blacked-out SUVs rolls up, with Sammy hopping out of the lead vehicle, followed by my friend Fabio carrying a battering ram. Soldiers pour out of their vehicles with various armaments; one guy’s assembling a small rocket launcher.

Exiting my vehicle with my tiny bag of toys in comparison, I tell Sammy, “While your way makes for a flashier entrance, I know the code to the backdoor.” By watching Lily’s lovely fingers on the keypad.

“Diversion at the front of the club while we sneak in the back,” Sammy tells Fabio before barking orders in Italian to the men, and Fabio and the soldiers peel off.

Sammy and I quickly make our way to the back of the club where Romeo’s SUV is parked. “Matteo is mine,” he says quietly.

I grunt, making no promises.

Gunfire sounds from the front, and that’s our cue. Punching in the code, I enter with my pistol drawn, Sammy at my back. I lead us down the hallway, having to step over Leo’s body. A shame, as I wanted to kill the little weasel myself.

My eyes land on a pink backpack with butterflies that looks an awful lot like Lily’s. Why Leo had her backpack, I don’t know, but there’s no time to worry about it, as we’ve reached the end of the hallway opening up to the main floor.

I peek around the corner. Sergio’s greasy ass is hiding behind a flipped table, along with someone I can’t make out because his back is to me.

Scratch that. His back was to me. Sammy just put a bullet in Crazy Carlo’s head, and the boss of Philly crumbles to the floor.

A bullet wizzes at me, and I duck behind the wall before popping back up and returning fire—hitting the fucker square between the eyes.

The rest of Crazy Carlo’s men get popped, and Sergio’s the last “man” standing. He rises from behind the table with his gun drawn, but the look on his face is priceless when nothing happens: he’s out of bullets.

Sammy speaks into his earpiece, and our crew descends upon the main floor. “Clear,” one of our guys announces, and Sammy and I make our way through the haze of gun smoke.

“Shit,” I comment, spotting Antonio Parisi’s body next to the stage.

Romeo appears from the back of the VIP room area with a smile on his face. Jesus, he looks deranged—and that’s saying something coming from me.

“Shit is right,” Sammy agrees.

Sergio drops his gun and holds up his hands. “Romeo, let me explain.”

“By all means,” Romeo says, strolling over; the calm before the storm.

Sergio reaches into his pant ankle and pulls out a knife. I raise my gun to put a bullet in the rat’s head, but Sammy holds up his hand. “You kill him, and Romeo will be pissed,” he tells me quietly.

Romeo’s already pissed, and not wanting his ire directed at me, I lower my gun.

Sergio grunts as he lunges, but Romeo easily sidesteps him; grabbing Sergio’s wrist using his right hand, Romeo gives it a good twist. The knife clatters to the floor as Sergio squeals in pain, and Romeo delivers a punishing left hook. The blow causes the old man’s head to violently snap to the side, and it’s lights out for Sergio as he crumbles to the floor. Romeo pulls out his dick and pisses on the unconscious man’s face. Nice touch.

Putting his dick up, Romeo kicks Sergio’s head to the side—ensuring the old man doesn’t choke to death, because there’s no fun in that. “Luca’s been shot. Sam, come with me,” Romeo orders. “Darius, load up Sergio in my trunk, along with Antonio and Carlo, then torch the club,” he commands, tossing me the keys to his SUV.

The men take off to the VIP rooms, and I survey the scene—the haze of gunfire lingers in the air, along with the metallic tinge of blood. It’s intoxicating, but I need to focus.

Sergio’s beginning to rouse, and I secure him with zip ties and drag him up the steps to the main stage. Binding him to the stripper pole, I hop down and search Carlo’s body. Removing two knives and a small pistol—no need to give Sergio even a snowball’s chance of escape—I drag the body out and toss Carlo’s ugly mug into the trunk. Hustling back, I do the same for Antonio before dragging the former boss of Jersey out by his feet, all the while Sergio cries and pleads like a little bitch.

“Please, stop! How much is Romeo paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it!” Sergio begs as I return inside, taking the steps two at a time.

Patting him down, I tell him, “It’s called loyalty, Sergio. Something a rat like you would never understand.”

“You think the family will show you loyalty when push comes to shove?” He sneers. “You’ll never be made, no matter how much you lick Romeo’s boots. You’ll always be ‘the Greek.’” He taunts. “The stray dog nobody in the family respects.”

Having heard enough, I grab duct tape from my bag and slap a piece over his mouth before cutting him from the stripper pole and dragging him outside to Romeo’s waiting trunk. Squatting down, it’s difficult for me to get good grip on the rather obese man flailing about like a fish out of water. “Good God, man.” I grunt, standing up with a bloody Sergio in my arms. “Would it kill you to turn down a cannoli every now and then?” Tossing him on top of the two dead bodies, I take great satisfaction in the abject terror in his eyes as I close the trunk.

Returning inside, I find Romeo carrying Luca—whose face is ghastly pale and stomach is gushing blood like a stuck pig—with Nicky following. She’s wearing Romeo’s shirt and is barefoot, walking on her tiptoes trying not to step on glass. Or worse.

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