Page 4 of The Capo

“Bullshit,” I said, laughing. “You still think the venture is a money pit.” Which was the truth, but I sensed he didn’t want to get into his business woes.

“Only if we don’t win.” He finally grinned, his sour mood broken. Still, I often wondered why he rarely asked for my advice any longer. Hell, we were stubborn as fuck.

We both laughed, but the reason we’d been friends for years, even though we’d lost touch for a few of them, was because we both had such intense drives. Money fueled us, power and influence a close second.

“You’re all set, Mr. Thibodeaux,” Marty, the team leader told me. The powerful engine was already idling, waiting for me to slip in through the driver’s window. I could sense the aging man was anxious, more so than I’d seen since starting the project together. I knew why. The old boy knew me and what I was capable of, including wrecking the prized possession.

“Perfect. Let’s take this baby out for a spin.” In addition to the new track, the Vette was making her debut, our seasoned driver standing by the sidelines, eager to get in some practice time.Production time of the pristine vehicle had been far too long, but I was confident in the talent we’d hired.

“Maybe take it easy on the new girl,” he added. “At least for the first few laps.”

“Of course,” I lied. I had no intention of babying her. If she was going to win races, we had to know what she was made of.

Brandon had his arms folded as he walked closer. “You’re not going to listen to me or to Marty. Are you?”

“Nope.”

“You know your father will skin me alive if you die on this racetrack. Not to mention what our bankers will do if you wreck the prized possession.”

“Yep. And for the record. Only women are truly prized possessions.”

“Whatever you say, Romeo.”

I kept the grin on my face as I purposely revved the engine, drowning out whatever else he was trying to tell me.

His expression soured, turning to one of amusement a few seconds later. He knew better than to attempt to stop me. I was the kind of man who enjoyed taking risks and had done so for as long as he’d known me.

Besides, if it was true that only the good died young, I’d live a very long life. I checked the gauges, glanced through the windshield at the empty stands, and shoved the gear into drive. There was nothing like the feel of an intense rumble between my legs, the roar of the engine in my ears. Maybe I’d change careers.

Not possible given my family’s brutal regime. After all, I was the Capo of the Thibodeaux Crime Syndicate out of New Orleans, considered one of the most powerful mafia families in the country. While our ancestry and roots were in Quebec, Canada, we were N’awliners through and through. My brother, a man known affectionately as the Kingpin, was continuing to try to legitimize the billion-dollar corporation, often denying our bread and butter was still made through less scrupulous means.

That’s where I came in, handling the darker side of operations on a day-to-day basis. I was also in charge of land development in addition to running two clubs, one in the heart of New Orleans. I was a busy man with zero time for hobbies or vacations. This was my one real vice.

I pulled away from the crew, eager to see what the nearly three quarters of a million-dollar hunk of steel could do. There was no reason to hesitate. I was on the track all by myself, but the kid in me allowed me to enjoy the moment, pretending as if thousands of people were in the stands. Seconds later, I twisted my hands around the steering wheel and pressed down the accelerator.

I’d trained for this for years, the feeling of freedom a far cry from my everyday world. A smile slowly crawled across my face as I hit speeds in excess of ninety miles per hour. Then one ten. One twenty. When I hit one fifty, I knew both Brandon and Marty would be sickened, but the superspeedway allowed for speeds up to two hundred miles per hour. I planned on pushing the girl to her limit.

I shifted gears with ease, appreciating the feel as well as the level of control. However, she was still too heavy by a few pounds. That would slow her down. But damn, this was heaven on Earth. I rounded the corners as if on rails; this was my ultimate dream. When I hit one ninety-five, my chest heaved from the rush ofadrenaline. Two laps turned into four then eight. That’s when I noticed the flag. The pit crew were frantically trying to pull me over, likely at Marty’s direction. I resisted until I realized I’d soon need gas. Laughing, I finally allowed myself to slow down, backing off the acceleration, finally able to take a deep breath.

To say I was exhilarated was an understatement.

I finally stopped the steel baby a few yards from where I’d started, immediately noticing Marty was running in my direction. I didn’t need to look at his face to know he was pissed. But he was likely secretly thrilled I’d broken her in. I shoved myself from the window section, immediately removing my helmet. The moment had been incredible.

As soon as I made it a couple of feet from the Vette, Marty bolted in front of me, shoving me hard.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded. Although he knew who I was and what I was capable of, that had never stopped him from reading me the riot act if he felt it necessary.

I purposely allowed myself to tumble backwards by a few feet, thinking he would stop before he got himself hurt.

He didn’t.

But as soon as he took a giant stride in my direction, a flash from the stands caught my eye. I’d been around enough assassination attempts to know exactly what was happening. As if in slow motion, I issued a loud bellow, but it was too late. Marty’s body pitched forward and into my arms.

The man had been shot.

“What the hell?” Brandon called from where he remained standing.

“Get down. All of you. Get to safety.” Hissing, I glared up at the stands, able to notice the would-be assassin standing to his full height, probably realizing he’d failed in his attempt to kill me.

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