And the woman being presented to me now is not Renata Lombardi.
“Are you ready, O’Sullivan?” Rokiades asks, addressing me with a familiarity that irritates me.
I clench my fists at my side. It’s as dumb a trick as exists in this world. The old Greek fucker really thinks he can try to dupe me without consequences?
I’m no fucking fool. I’m Don Kian O’Sullivan of the O’Sullivan clan. I came to this city twenty years ago and took control ruthlessly, mercilessly, effortlessly. I haven’t given it up since. Tonight is not the night that changes.
And yet, the insult still pales in comparison to the disappointment and panic I’m feeling.
Where the fuck is Renata?
Why isn’t she here?
What has he done to her and what is he planning on doing with her?
I glance back towards my men. “The bastard’s trying to pull one over on us,” I mutter. “Don’t take your eyes off his men. Get ready to fire on my mark.”
My soldiers stiffen, but before I can give the order, I hear about a half a dozen guns cock behind us.
“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” Rokiades says with a triumphant smile. “We’ve got you surrounded.”
I frown. My men had done a complete sweep of the place beforehand. A dozen blocks in every direction, cleared out of anyone who posed a threat. If Rokiades had had men hiding in the area, we would have sussed them out.
“Surround them,” Rokiades commands.
His men close in around us from the front. As they do, I risk a glance over my shoulder at our ambushers in the rear.
My eyes go wide as I recognize the gangly youths I had warned off only a half an hour ago or so. Fucking little shits.
The young man, the leader of the group I squared off with earlier, walks around and stops in front of me.
“Gimme your gun,” he orders, stretching out his hand towards me. He’s got a gun of his own aimed right at my chest.
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t argue or fight. I just hand it over.
“Boss…?” Collin asks, his tone thick with tension. Neither he nor any of my other men have lowered their hands or moved out of their defensive positions.
“It’s alright,” I say, making a snap decision. I raise my voice a little. “I’ll come quietly, Rokiades. But my men get to walk out of here alive. All of them.”
“I’m a generous man,” Rokiades concedes. “I’ll agree to that.”
“Go,” I hiss at my men. “Now.”
“Boss—”
“Now!”
My men back away, leaving me where I am. The young man in front of me removes the clip from my gun and empties it. Bullets clatter onto the concrete beneath our feet. When it’s done, he tosses the useless weapon aside and focuses on me again.
“Start walking,” he says. He prods me in the ribs with his pistol.
“Out of curiosity,” I ask, “how much did he pay you?”
“Enough to get me out of this neighborhood forever,” the kid replies solemnly.
“Yeah? Well, then, no hard feelings.”