Page 94 of The Hangman's Rope

“Lore is with Tor,” Corvus said and I snorted. “He’s doctoring up that hand. I sent Lainey for Syn to loop him in. Now, I go find Syn and we game, set, match.”

“Copy that,” I said.

“Reaper’s in Hell,” he observed and I felt a wry twist to my lips.

“Yeah, well, it’s the least he can do.”

Corvus snickered at that and said, “Send for you soon.” He slipped off into the crowd and mounted the stairs.

I caught Madisyn’s eye from across the room and she smiled pleasantly at me and gave a slight nod. Syn wasn’t with her, which meant the message had been delivered and he was working at untangling the knots toward a resolution.

Somebody was getting fucked tonight. Maybe even several somebodies.

It was precisely eighteen minutes later that Requiem came down to the bottom of the stairs, caught my eye, and jerked his head behind him – a sign I should go up.

I made my way over and slipped up past him as he said, “Syn’s waiting. Lorelai’s being taken home. You’re clear to handle business.”

I nodded and said nothing in return. Nothing needed to be said. I flowed up the curving staircase and wandered down the hall by a couple of doors and found Spooky standing outside Syn’s door. He gave me a sharp nod and opened it for me and I went on through.

Some pomp and circumstance, we had esteemed guests… this was going to be interesting.

Spooky shut the door behind me and I looked over to Syn who raised his eyebrow and his glass in my direction.

“Hangman,” he intoned. “Like you to meet Don Vincenzo Mancini.”

I came around the couch in Synister’s room and found a tall, slender, gentleman – probably late forties – seated comfortably with a glass of probably something expensive in one hand, onyx pinkie ring on display. His suit was impeccable, his head full of perfectly coiffed hair and with the steel gray appearing at his temples, he was almosttoput together, matching his charcoal pinstriped suit to perfection. He was just on this side of acceptability but was right on the line of trying too hard.

I nodded politely but didn’t say anything.

“We were just sorting out the details of this most sordid and unfortunate turn of events,” the Don declared, and I took the seat across from him that Synister gestured to. Syn took the chair next to mine, the gas fire flickering in its fireplace and providing most of the light in here.

“Perhaps we should start at the beginning. Get my man up to speed,” Synister declared.

It was a fuckin’ story.

A disgusting and depraved one at that.

It started with Daddy Dearest fucking up and cutting corners on a build or two for Mr. Mancini. Those corners that were cut led to hazards in one of Mr. Mancini’s nightclubs up in Myrtle Beach. A fire broke out, a couple patrons didn’t make it out, and huge fines had been levied, wrongful death suits were still being litigated, and Mr. Mancini was none too happy with Gantz Industries and Construction.

On a personal note, Mancini had a son. One that was coming of age and had taken a shine to Lorelai at one of the mixed functions she’d attended with her family.

He decided that if his boy could get his dick wet and pop his cherry on Lore that some of the shit Daddy Dearest was on the hook for could be forgotten. He just needed his man informed on where Lore was going to be, when, and he would handle the rest.

Daddy Dearest had sold Lorelai’s location out and had been instrumental in putting a bug in her bestie Julie’s ear about doing a girl’s weekend in Savannah. He’d paid Julie to tamper with Lorelai’s new heels and the rest had gone accordingly.

Except for the part where his man, Calrose, had given Lore too much of that new street drug to make things easier and Lore had, by all appearances, expired.

Cal hadn’t panicked, though. He’d used the proper channels, according to Mancini, and that’s how she’d become our problem… except Mancini was an idiot thinking that just money was going to solve this problem.

Synister let his displeasure be known, and the negotiations began. I wasn’t leaving without his man’s head on a fucking pike, and Syn knew that. I just let him work, stayed silent, and trusted the process.

Mancini had a lot to worry about, abusing our hospitality like he had – and putting corpse weed onto Savannah’s streets which was liable to hurt just about every venture we had. He hadn’t realized, like most of them didn’t, just who he was fucking with and how we did things.

“What do you want?” Mancini asked pointedly, clearly annoyed, and Synister and I exchanged a look.

“Money isn’t going to fix this one, Don,” Synister said, sipping his drink.

“Then what?” he demanded.

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