Page 141 of Mafia Redeemer

“Call his brothers or Dillan. I don’t give a fuck.”

There are mob guys in here. In fact, they’re all mob guys. I know they recognized me the moment I walked in. But this was between me and one of their top members. They weren’t going to step in. That said, I need to get the fuck out of here now before someone decides retribution is best served immediately.

I grab my stuff and head out to my car. I drive a block away before I pull over and look at myself in the mirror. Shit. I look barely better than how I left Finn. I need to go to my place and deal with the cuts and bruises before I see Chellie, or she’ll lose her shit.

I haven’t even put my keys down in my place when my phone rings. It’s not our pattern, so I know it’s not work. I pull it out and see the name on the screen. Dillan.

“I think I left your cousin’s face prettier than I found it.”

“Feck off.”

For Christ’s sake. That’s how they prove they’re Irish. They won’t just say fuck. It’s feck. Sounds like a kid too scared to cuss.

“He deserved it.”

“How? By following through on a standing order to watch out for a woman he’s been guarding for years?”

Years?

“He interfered because he’s butt hurt that he’ll never be with her. Any chance he ever had came and went. He regrets it and thinks he can get back something that was never his. Maybe waking up in the hospital with a crushed cheekbone, a dislocated jaw, and broken nose, and some fractured ribs will remind him to stay the fuck away from what’s mine.”

“You don’t know shit for sure about anything Finn might or might not have done.”

“Fanculo.” Fuck off.

See. I can say the fucking word in two fucking languages.

“Well, Enzo, while you had a hissy fit that we will pay you back for, you missed what happened to Simms.”

I grip the kitchen counter I’m leaning against. I refuse to ask for anything from Dillan, so I remain silent. The seconds tick into a minute.

“Stop fucking pouting, Enzo. We can wait each other out all damn day and night.”

He goes as silent as I do. I tap the mute icon and switch over to my texts. I click on the thread with Carmine.

Me

Did the orourkes do something to simms

I wait for something very different from what Dillan’s waiting for on the other end of the line. I see the dancing dots and know Carmine’s typing something.

Carmine

Dillan sent a photo to Uncle Sal. Guess it’s Simms but the guy’s beaten so badly it’s hard to tell who it is.

“Dillan, either tell me something or hang up. I’m bored.”

He hasn’t said a fucking word since I muted our call. I wait, but he still says nothing. I check to make sure the call didn’t drop. When he remains silent, I go back to my text.

Me

Could it be a trick

Carmine

No the guy’s head is hanging forward. We all recognized the tattoo. It’s some old Soviet one. Check your phone. I just sent you something.

I click on the photo he sent. I recognize one of the Triad leaders, Wing-hung, who’s Simms’s son’s maternal grandfather. I also recognize a man lying on the tarmac with someone’s boot about to land in his belly. I zoom in as far as I can, and I’m certain it’s Robert Simms, looking like he wished he was dead. Next to the Chinese syndicate leader is a young man who’s at most twenty-one. He’s standing with his arms crossed, the hint of a dragon tattoo on his forearm. He’s looking down at Simms, and even though his face is tiny in the photo, the disgust is obvious.

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