Page 97 of Bad Men

That had me twisting practically right around in my chair. “What about him?”

His gaze drifted through the cabin and met mine once more. “I don’t know yet.”

It was progress.

Usually, whenever I mentioned the possibility of making a play for a bigger seat, Nero shot me down. It wasn’t loyalty. Maybe it was a sense of duty. Whatever it was, he refused to even acknowledge the opportunity. The fact that he was possibly thinking about it gave me no small shiver of hope.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.” He shifted back to glowering at the street. “Just thinking.”

I let it drop. Pushing him would only rob me of what little progress I seemed to be making. Instead, I resigned myself to turning back to the wheel and pulling us into the flow of traffic. I passed a teenager in a Ferrari, ignored her middle finger and cut in front. Her blaring horn was also ignored.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” he mumbled.

I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I pressed, “No, but we could do it.”

“But why?” He met my gaze in the mirror. “We’re already a target for enough people. The higher we go on this ladder, the more our lives will be constantly at risk. Not to mention the dangers of getting arrested. I have been in this seat for two months and I already have cops giving me side-eyes when I go out. Do I want that kind of heat?”

I spared a glance in my side mirror at the irate blonde racing up to catch my fender. “Think of all the good we could do, too. We could make this a bad thing and get selfish, or we take this power and make it something positive. We could help kids stay in school and off the streets. We could give people jobs—”

“Criminal jobs,” he muttered.

I shrugged. “No job is perfect. They won’t find a better boss than you, I can tell you that.”

The girl behind us tried to get past me, but I weaved in front of her, herding her back into place. Her expression was a mask of crimson rage that I found oddly amusing if I wasn’t actively trying to keep her from getting herself killed.

“Eduardo would hunt us down to the ends of the earth,” he mumbled, but I could tell I had peaked his interest.

“Not if he’s not on this earth to follow us.” I let the girl behind us pass, deciding she was the owner of her own destiny. She did so with a high shrill of horns and profanity as she rocketed past us, crossed over two lanes without checking and cut off a transport, who leaned on his horn and hit his brakes. “Kings rise and fall all the time. It’s the ones that people fear and hate that fall quicker. It’s all about loyalty and trust.” I pulled off the highway in the direction of the Projects. “Eduardo has been in power for decades and has the loyalty of no one, except maybe Alejandro, but even then. You’ve been at this for two months and already have the respect of more than half the crew. That says a lot.”

Nero went quiet and I didn’t push the issue. In the last two months, Nero had proven he was born to be a caporegime. He’d taken a broken system and turned it into a clean profit that actually helped the people in our community. The number of people suffering had dropped drastically. People had jobs. Businesses were making money. Drugs were off the streets and away from kids. He’d done all that in eight weeks with a tiny seat at a tiny table. But given the chance, given a real opportunity, he would dominate. He had the brains for it, but more than that, he had the heart. He didn’t do it for the money or the power. He genuinely wanted to help people. That set him apart from people like Eduardo and Alejandro, and that was why I was going to make damn sure that he succeeded, that he got that fucking seat and that he climbed up that ladder because he belonged up there.

“You’re glowering at the windshield,” Nero mumbled from the back. “Did it upset you?”

“Stuff it.”

I smothered my grin at his snicker.

The Projects was a series of poorly designed apartment complexes where the walls were paper thin and roaches outnumbered the people. It was a crack hole that had seen better days. Graffiti swirled across bricks that may have once been red. It slashed across filthy and over the iron bars rusted into place over broken glass. Needles and other paraphernalia carpeted the sidewalk around it. Broken toys, discarded diapers, a lost shoe, several scraps of cardboard took up the dirt yard in front. A group of rough looking boys loitered outside a set of iron doors, smoking. They glanced up when we approached.

“I am definitely not up to date on my shots for this place,” I muttered under my breath.

Nero ignored me and addressed the group. “I’m looking for Mike,” he told the one closest to us.

He glanced at his crew before pushing to his feet and facing us. “Yeah? And who are you?”

Literally anyone else would have already been backing away. Three of the seven kids were carrying out in the open. The other four probably were, too, but were making an effort to keep them hidden. Worse than that, in an actual gun fight, I had a feeling Nero wouldn’t shoot at a bunch of goddamn fifteen-year-olds.

“Nero.”

That sparked a ripple of interest through the pack. The glances shared this time were awe, a little fear, but a lot of curiosity. The leader, a tall, gangly kid with dark skin, too much limb and not enough fat straightened, showing a level of alertness that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, he’s inside.”

Outstretched legs and feet were tucked away, making a path to the iron and glass doors.

“Thanks,” Nero said, starting forward.

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