Fucking her every weekend might be a perfect strategy because eventually, we have to get tired of each other? Right? It makes sense, so I choose not to think about the technicalities or possibility of that part of our connection to each other going awry.
Still, I think about her, and perhaps that’s a sign that it’s okay to reach out to her during the week. It’s not like she thinks we’re committed to one another just because I check-in. Or ask her to meet me at the beach after my little meeting with Pirus. Hm.
I shoot her a text because I’m really selling myself on this whole, we-can-be-friends-and-fuck-our-brains-out thing. It’s a good plan. Swear it up and down.Fuck.I’m thinking about it again.
“Hey, meet me at the Cabana on the north side of LaCuna beach at 1 p.m. today.” After I send it, I slide my phone into my pocket, not wanting to distract myself from the actual objective of today: get Pirus to sign a deal with us, ensuring our unity and their commitment to Vincenzo’s New Era.
“Ready?” Vince slaps me on the back, then pinches my shoulder. I sit up straight and swat his hand away.
“Yep.” I grin proudly because I know for a fact that this will be a piece of cake. Their leader, Jameson Jones, and I go way back. Used to run in the same circle just after high school. We partied a lot together. He’s a good guy— smart, strategic, powerful.
“Good luck, bro.” Vince slaps me on the back one more time before heading down to the dining room.
“It’s already in the bag,” I call, and he chuckles. I like this version of Vince. He’s relaxing a bit with each deal we make, and I think I’m beginning to understand the pressure he’s enduring. I’m not confident why it’s something I recognize or how it came about, but I think I feel for him. The thought alone makes me cringe, so I quickly find something else to occupy my time.
I focus on the marble as hard as I can until I find pictures on the floor. This is something I used to do as a kid when I was in trouble, waiting to be scolded and not wanting to think about it. I’d go in to get a beating and tune it all out just by thinking about the ship of pig pirates sailing across the stony seas of marble just outside the office.
“Here we go,” Knox calls, the hard rubber bottoms of his tinted boots slapping on the marble, occupying my vision. I pull myself away from the focus and stand to my feet. Four of my guys are following behind him, and we promptly head out into the bright afternoon light. This is the smallest team we’ve ever had for a meeting of this importance, but James and I don’t need a massive team to make a deal. We get along quite well, and I know this will be a matter of loyalty to one another rather than selling him on what we can do.
Anyway, the more gangs we build alliances with, the more we become desirable. Everyone will want a piece of the San Giovannis because it will benefit them. That’s a selling point in itself.
We load up in the car, strap on the basic weapons because we don’t go anywhere without a little extra weight, and head straight for LaCuna. The drive is quick, the boys are amped, and I’m ready to make another deal. When we arrive, it’s not too crowded for an afternoon, but then again, it’s a weekday. We exit the car together, make our way across the sand and head up to the boardwalk, which leads to the north cabana.
“Ready, boys?” I ask as we cross through a small crowd, nearing the pavilion entryway that opens up to the cabana.
“Ready, boss.” They nod, and Knox elbows me gleefully.
“It’s so cool to see you becoming everything you’ve ever wanted to be. Your mom would be so proud of y—” before he can finish, I hear a gunshot, blood spray across my face, and then his body crumples to the ground.
“Knox!” I yell and fall to my knees to assess the damage. I feel the rest of the boys huddle around me, guns ready, as more shooting ensures. Screams begin to resound around this, and for a second, I think this is a random shooting until I see the all-black clothed figure step in front of me. My eyes trail from his shoes to his long legs, up his torso, and to his devious grin plastered across his smug face.
Immediately I stand to my feet, snap at one of the boys to tend to Knox, and I aim my gun straight for the Russian bastard's head.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve got numerous witnesses to my death.”
“Got a lot of witnesses to your shooting of my friend as well.” I sneer, and he looks down at Knox.
“He’s not dead.” His eyes raise back to mine. I click the round into place, ready to shoot when another Russian comes along and slaps it out of my hand before I can shoot. It blasts off, blowing a hole through the boardwalk. Fuck. Not a great day to be packing low on weapons.
“Fight me like a man.” He grunts, his teeth barring like a dog gearing to bite.
“Then drop your weapon.” I tip my chin to the gun he’s clutching in his coat. After a second of staring into my eyes with unspoken threats and tossing it to the ground. The moment it hits the wood, I lunge at him. Every ounce of anger is boiling in my veins, exploding from my fists, and I think I’m seeing red.
I tackle him to the ground with a thud, but that doesn’t stop him from attempting to throw weak punches.
“You’re pretty cocky for being such a fucking pussy.” I spit in his face and throw a punch. He grunts and growls, but can’t escape the force of my body.
“Bring Knox back to the car. I’ll meet you there.” I call the boys, who pick him up instantly. Seeing his limp body reignites my fury, and every sense apart from anger diminishes in its all-consuming power.
My fists do the talking, and I throw round after round until he’s bloodied and busted. Pretty sure he’s out cold, but I don’t fucking care. This motherfucker is gonna pay for messing with me. This wasn’t the way we planned to send a message to the Bratva, but today it is.
As I continue to punch, I sense someone lunging for me. Another fucking black-clothed figure. They're wearing a mask, bringing back my memory of the other night in that field that got blown up. I don’t give two fucks, though. I grab their neck before they can do a thing and slam their body to the ground. They’re pinned down, just like the bruised fucker beside me is, and I intend to do the same to this idiot.
I’m about to throw a punch when somehow their arm gets loose, and they punch me square in the throat. I gag for only a moment, but it’s a moment they use wisely because before I realize it, I’m pinned to the boardwalk, gasping for air. They don't stop there. Don’t let up as they pin me down. I fucking hope they don’t punch me in the face. My face belongs to Miu Miu, and if anything happens to—
“Fuck.” I gurgle lowly. The asshole fucking kneed me in the balls. I curl up into a ball as they rise, fully intending to grab their ankle, but I can’t move. I hear them grab their Russian trash and drag it away as I lay helplessly on the ground. There’s a substantial crowd gathered, and I hear them beginning to talk as the swell of a cop car wails through the ocean breeze. I force myself up, limp through the crowd, and back to the car just in time before any narcs arrive.
“Drive,” I grunt to Manson, who’s now driving due to Knox’s injury. He’s now awake, grimacing in the back of the car as Hanes puts pressure on his wound. It looks like the ribcage, but he’s not coughing up blood, which means it misses his lungs by at least an inch. Lucky. That’s all I can call it.