Page 33 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Gorgeous.
With a man old enough to be her grandfather? A man with no personality other than cranky douche.
And that’s coming from a cranky douche.
I’ve seen this a million times before while living in Andretti territory. Hell, I see this all over New York, too, and I don’t even get out much.
Red Junior is a gold digger.
Interesting…
There has to be a story behind that. Any other time, and I would be curious to know. When I want to know something, I don’t stop until I figure it out. But right now, I have more important things to deal with.
Namely, the scumbag whose meaty leg I have clutched in my hand.
“John,” I greet coldly.
I may use him from time to time, but it doesn’t mean I like him.
He eyes Red Junior uneasily before saying, “I got your text. What’s up?”
“We’re waiting on Dex.”
“Cameras?” he asks, referring to the system the three of us have installed all over a five block radius.
I nod, and the four of us sink into silence before a black car turns slowly onto the street. I use my foot to subtly push the attacker onto the ground, behind a parked car and out of view from the driver of the black car.
I keep the bottom of my shoe over the guy’s mouth, so he can’t speak out. Weakened from the pain and blood loss, he doesn’t bother fighting me. I hear a scandalized gasp coming from Red Senior, but everyone ignores her.
I tense the closer the car approaches, my hand automatically reaching for one of the guns tucked into my clothes. But when I see the black and white Uber sticker on the window shield of the car, I relax. Slightly.
“You called an Uber?” I ask Red Junior.
She nods, avoiding eye contact with Red Senior and John. And without a word, she gets into the car as soon as it pulls up in front of us. Less than ten seconds later, she and the car are out of sight.
I lift my foot off of the attacker, who struggles to sit upright but makes no further move beyond that.
“What happened?” asks John, eyeing the attacker on the floor as soon as the car turns the corner.
I stare pointedly at Red Senior behind him and remain silent.
John sighs. “She’s cool.”
I keep my mouth shut, because he should know me better than that by now.
My caution knows no limits.
They’ve been with me for more than five years, but I still scan my security guards for wires and bugs whenever they change shifts—not because I don’t trust them, but because people are flawed and have weaknesses, and I refuse to let them take me down, too.
To be fair, I’m not an exception to that rule either.
I had a weakness, and his name was Ranie. Back then, if someone held him over my head, I would have been reduced to a pawn, doing anything to assure his safety. Hell, the mess I’m in right now exists for that very reason.
Plus, considering I’ve been killing people for money for years, I’m probably the most flawed of them all. And worst of all, I’m the type to contemplate about my flaws, and living in hiding means I have a lot of time to do so.
That’s why I hate being around Asher. Being around him makes me feel like I’m too flawed, like I’m doing life wrong. Asher has lived my life. He’s studied under the tutelage of mafia royalty. He’s lived the life of a fixer.
These are all things I’ve done, too. The difference? He came out on top, and I haven’t. Perhaps I never will. So yeah, I’ll help him out. After all, he’s a decent guy, and he’s done a lot for me. But I draw the line at hanging out with him, even though he never hesitates to extend an invitation.
