Page 24 of Property of Shotgun

That’s my opening to change gears, and I fucking jump all over it. “How did the meeting with Mondestino go?”

“He’s very eager to assist in providing intel on Fatmir, and when I made it clear that taking out the leader isn’t our first priority, that we are saving him for last, he didn’t care for that. He offered to put eyes on Fatmir’s operations and told me he’d deliver the mercenaries to us in forty-eight hours.”

“You’re telling me this cocksucker is going to deliver the men to us? What does he want in exchange?”

“Well, for one, I think he wants us not to kill him.”

My eyebrows pinch inward as I study him. “You think he knows we’re aware that he made us Fatmir’s target?”

“I think he’s suspicious. He’s also got a lot of heat on him, and a shit ton of problems that we could help with.”

Help? The last thing that motherfucker deserves is our help.

“Why the fuck would we help him when the plan is eventually to have him meet his maker?”

He blows out a breath. “I’m going to bring this up at church, but I think before I do that, you and I should have a clearer picture of things, that way when it’s presented to the club, we have answers to these questions.”

“I’m taking that to mean you don’t have an answer to mine.”

Biggies sighs.

“Mondestino is in a jam. His beef with Fatmir is deeper than a power play for the seaport. It was revealed to me that Fatmir lit up Mondestino’s whore house. Torched the thing to ash while the women were inside.”

Not sure what that has to do with us. I’m a fan of pussy, but I don’t pay for it, and I don’t got any soft spots in my heart for the women who sell it. Call it mommy issues if you will, I don’t give a fuck.

“So?”

“So, he wants to join forces with us and expand Lipstick & Lace.”

Anger slashes through me. I got no problem expanding our businesses. The more legit our shit is, the less risk we pose at getting pinched. But going into business with a man who is our number one enemy, is just fucking absurd. The plan is to kill him, not make his pockets fat.

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

“I am, and you should be too. The closer we get to Mondestino, the easier it will be to cut him at the knees. We can hurt his family, tie him up and make him watch, but it won’t hurt him. Family is disposable to him. That man only cares about money and power. Strip him of that, and he’ll bleed out.”

I shake my head, not because I don’t believe Biggie. I just find it hard that a man can find more pleasure in being defined by status that he can his family. Maybe that’s because I don’t have one.

“So what’s the proposal? He wants a percentage of the strip club?”

“He wants a place to house his brothel. The strip club remains ours. What he wants to do is expand the property. He’ll pay for all the construction, and when it’s complete Lipstick & Lace will expand their services. The only condition he seems to have with that is that we only employ the women he hires for those services. We can keep our dancers, and the rest of the staff, but Mondestino will be in charge of employing the brothel. He’ll pay us rent, we’ll provide security, and we take a twenty-five percent cut of whatever the brothel makes.”

Financially speaking, it appears to be a win for us, which makes no sense as to why Mondestino would do it. Before I can voice any of that, the waitress arrives with our food. Once she’s gone, I cut right to the chase.

“What’s in it for him? You said it yourself, he’s all about money and power. This guy is offering to cover all expenses, pay us rent, and give us a cut of his business.”

“If he’s in bed with us, greasing our palm, he thinks that saves him. Man can’t make more money or climb any ladders if he’s six feet in the dirt. Plus, I saw the financials. He must be selling some magic pussy, because that man is making bank. We’re talking a half a mill a year—out cut. And he projects that figure to double two times over in the first year.”

“Hang on a second, how manyyearsdo we let this go on before we take him out?”

He cuts into his pancakes, his eyes lifting to lock with mine. “I don’t have an answer for that. We cease the business, and all his assets, take out all his guys one by one before we kill him. That’s going to take time.” He sets his fork down and pushes his plate aside. “I know you want to revenge Irish as soon as possible, but it’s not as simple as you want it to be. Think of Fatmir as an appetizer, and his mercenaries the palate cleanser. The main course will be Mondestino, but you gotta fatten him up first before you sit down to enjoy him. The club has a lot of mouths to feed, Shotgun.” Pulling in a deep breath, he leans back against the booth. His hand shoots up and he scratches at his thick beard.

“In all the years you’ve worn that patch, you’ve never once questioned my judgement or doubted my leadership. I’m asking you not to start now. I know things are more personal with you and Irish being the victims of the attack, and I respect that. I want this as bad as you do, but I want to do it right. I want to make sure Irish didn’t die in vain, and I believe deep down you want the same.”

He's right about a few things. Biggie has never given anyone reason to doubt his choices, least of all me. I want revenge on what happened, but if there’s a possibility to make Irish’s death count for more than just brutality and violence—it should be explored. A deal like this could set up his kids for life, even if it comes by way of pussy. They don’t need to know that.

“I want to be at the next meeting.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Biggie says. “How does tonight work for you?”

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