“Worse than dead?” He laughs. Jesus Christ, he is naïve. No wonder Ana has worried herself sick over him. She’s done him no favors trying to protect him and take care of him, though. He’s weak in more ways than just his penchant for sampling his own merchandise. “Good luck with that.”
“Much worse,” I assure him, staying on course. Today’s visit is all about putting real fear into him. “I’ll turn you over to Kuzma,” I tell him, naming the head of the Russian mob. “I’ll be sure to tell them you’re the fucker who’s been messing with their business in town.”
He pales, and I know my barb hits home. Even he’s not that stupid.
“He’ll just kill me too. Either way, I’m dead.”
Apparently he is that stupid. Again, I’m amazed that he and Ana share the same blood in their veins.
“He’ll make you pray for death and eventually he will kill you. It’s what he does from the time he has you until he grants your prayer that you need to worry about.”
“What do you want from me?” Allen asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Just your cooperation. Well, that and some information.”
“About what?” he asks, hate shining in his eyes.
“Ana.”
He gets this weird look on his face, but he nods his head in agreement. Finally.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roman
It’s been a fucking day. I wish I had just stayed in bed with Ana. I left her brother and it’s official. I can’t stand the motherfucker. That’s the only conclusion I’ve come to. His constant disrespect of Ana tests my limits continually. I get the feeling he’s holding something back from me, something he’s enjoying keeping a secret. I have no idea what it is. I wanted insight into Ana. I thought I’d be able to get more personal information from her brother than what my men would have found. I just can’t figure out exactly what cards Allen is holding—or thinks he is. Something about that man sets every alarm bell I have off. I’m going to have Bruno dig deeper into Ana’s background. If she’s hiding something, I need to know what it is.
The day got worse after dealing with him and I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. I traveled to the Ocean View Nursing Facility to visit Reese’s mom. I lost two good men thanks to that fucking stunt pulled by Paul Banks. That fucker is a thorn in my side and I’ve been putting off dealing with him. He’s a cop, but as crooked as the day is long. I should know; he used to be on my payroll. The thing is, most of the men I have on my payroll I can trust. There’s honor involved, honor among thieves if you must. Paul Banks has no fucking honor. He didn’t feel he was getting a big enough cut and the motherfucker mishandled a deal I was involved in, so I cut him loose. Problem is, Paul didn’t take to being fired and left out of the payoff. I could give two shits about it, except now he’s morphed into super-cop, determined to bring me down. I would have already killed the motherfucker, but I was trying not to draw attention to myself while brokering a deal with Kuzma, but my patience is near an end. Telling a wife her husband wouldn’t be coming home yesterday was bad. Today, telling Reese’s mom that her son is dead was worse. He’s all she had. I’m taking over all of her bills and she’ll never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life, but that means shit when it comes to never seeing her son again.
I’m walking down the hall to go outside when I hear a woman screaming. At first I tune it out. Hell, if I was in this place and unable to get out, I’d probably be screaming too. I walk by the door of the room in question. Hearing some woman call another person every vile name they can think of, and all I can think is, I need out of this place.
That’s when I hear her. Ana.
“Mom, I told you I can’t get you out of here. I have to work fulltime. There’s no way I can take care of you.”
“Bullshit. It’s your fault I’m in here! Get me the fuck out of here! I’ll go live with your brother, Allen.”
“That’d be great mom, except no one can find the asshole,” Ana says with a huff.
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to do, Ana Louise Stevens, you get me the fuck out of here. You owe me that much.”
“Mom, I can’t,” Ana argues. The distress in her voice is so thick, I find myself walking into the room before I can even think about it. Ana has her back to me. She’s talking to an older woman across from her who sits at one of those table-on-wheels. “You’re fine here,” Ana continues, walking around the table to her. She begins putting an afghan around the woman’s obviously useless legs. “They take good care of you. With my job, there’s no way I can…”
I see it happening, but there’s just no way I can stop it. The woman screams loudly and slaps Ana hard across the side of the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes in the room followed by Ana’s pain-filled gasp. I don’t think. I take the few steps that are necessary to get in front of Ana and look at the shrew in question. Her hand is half raised to strike Ana again. I grab it by the wrist.
“Lady, if you lay so much as one more finger on Ana, it will be the last thing you do,” I warn her coldly.
“Who the fuck are you?” the bitch barks at me, trying to yank her hand away. Not happening.
“Roman!” Ana gasps. I lift my eyes to her and the angry telltale hand mark has already bloomed on her face.
“Ana, go to my car.”
“Roman, that’s my mother, I can deal with her.”
“I said go to the fucking car, Ana.”
“Jesus, is this the man you’re fucking?” the woman growls.
“Mom,” Ana starts.
“Now, pet.”
“Yes, now, Ana,” her mother mimics, and I’m starting to see where Ana’s brother gets his charm. Thank fuck my woman seems to have skipped that particular family trait. “Has he taught you to fetch too?”
That’s it. No more. “Ana, Robert is waiting by the limo. Go and get in it now,” I growl and the command in my voice is one I’ve not really used with Ana before, and perhaps that’s been wrong. She looks at me, her eyes round. The anger and coldness in my voice isn’t directed at her, but there’s no way for her to know that. Truthfully, I am upset with her and she will know that later, but I want to shut her bitch of a mother down first, then I’ll deal with Ana.
“Limo? Well, la-de-dah. No wonder she’s fucking you. All that money and you are leaving me in this hellhole? You fucking cunt,” her mother hisses the vile words. Ana’s body physically jerks from the verbal blow. Then I see this steel mask lock into place. She doesn’t even look like the woman I know.
“Maybe if you had stopped shooting up and snorting, you wouldn’t have to be in here and I wouldn’t be working my ass off to make sure there are people to wipe your ass because you left your body too broken to do it yourself,” Ana says, her voice monotone and as cold as I’ve ever managed to make mine.
Her fucking mother starts to respond, and that’s when I tighten my hand on her wrist enough that I know the woman feels the pain. I could break it with just the slightest movement either way. It wouldn’t take much because the woman is a bag of bones. I’ve never in my life threatened violence against a woman before, but in this case, I think I could gladly make an exception. Jesus Christ, what kind of fucking hell has my woman lived through?
“Ana,” I warn her, not wanting her to hear what I’m about to tell her mom, but also needing her to mind me for motherfucking once. Her hand goes to my shoulder, her touch trying to soothe me. It does not. Then, she leans up to kiss my cheek.
“I’ll be by the limo,” she whispers near my ear.
“Not by the limo, Ana.
Inside it.”
She stops when she gets to the door. “Yes, Roman,” she says before leaving. Now if I could just teach her to say those words all the time, my life would be fucking simple again. I give Ana a few minutes to get gone. Her mother is strangely quiet. I let go of her hand and step away from her, the bitch stinking up my air.
“You don’t look like a man that has to pay for pussy. Especially worthless pussy like my daughter’s.”
“If you want to remain breathing, you’ll shut your fucking mouth. Do you know who I am?” I ask her. Most people in Miami do, but then most people aren’t locked up in a long-term nursing facility.
“Why the fuck would I?” she hisses. She reaches for her cigarettes on the table. It’s then that I notice one of her hands doesn’t work. Actually, it seems like most of that entire side doesn’t work. I don’t know what happened to her, but from what Ana said before she left, I imagine drugs. I hate fucking junkies. It’s why I don’t deal with the shit. I leave that to Kuzma. The drugs are the only reservation I have about getting into business with him. Being in business with them however, means less headaches for me and added firepower. It makes damn good money sense. It keeps me being the only stop along the coastline for gambling and women. Not to mention, it gives me more firepower to protect what’s mine and to protect the women in my stable. There’s always some motherfucker out there thinking he can take what’s mine, always trying to steal my business. That’s not about to fucking happen, but I’m having to defend that shit so often, having Kuzma’s firepower, not to mention police protection would solve a million problems.
The first item on my list is fucking ending Paul Banks. I’ll be doing it either way, but being certain there would be no legal backlash would be great. I don’t need all of the law enforcement agencies in Miami and Federal people looking at me with a fucking target on my head.