Page 30 of Bad Blood
“Santi…”
“Move.” As volatile as I feel, it’s the only word I can muster and remain in control.
Instead of following a direct order, RJ stands his ground, his body rigid, rage swimming in his dark eyes. “We need to talk.”
“It can wait.” I go to push past him, when he takes two steps back to block my path. “RJ, you’d better have a damn good reason for doing that. This is not the time to test boundaries.”
He doesn’t flinch at my threat. “During the attack, we secured the grounds. Our men didn’t come back empty handed.”
There’s no need to elaborate. I can smell his thirst for blood, and it drives my own.
“Alive?”
It’s the only word I speak. The only question I want answered. When he nods, we both exit the lobby and walk silently toward the elevators.
Four floors below ground level, the carriage doors slide open, and my pulse jumps.
Someone was left behind.... And now, that someone will pay.
RJ is first through the steel door, holding it open for me as I step through to find a calming sense ofdeja vu. A metal chair sits on top of the tarp in the middle of the room, and in that chair sits a man. One in a bad suit, a broken nose, and two swollen eyes. Pleas to Catholic deities fall from his split lips.
Words are his only weapon since kneeling and lifting his hands in prayer are out of the question. Both are a little tied up at the moment.
“Name’s Marco Bardi,” RJ divulges, nodding toward the sniveling piece of shit. “Security caught him outside with this…” Reaching into his pocket, he produces a cell phone. “Same number dialed twelve times in twenty minutes. Two guesses who he was calling.”
I don’t have toguess. It’s written in drywall like a chicken shit calling card. Too bad he didn’t have the common sense to realize when a plan had taken a major detour.
In the wrong direction.
Taking the phone, I scroll through it, recognizing the number my men pulled from Thalia’s phone. “Any texts or voicemails?”
He shakes his head. “No. At least the asshole was smart enough to delete those. But I put a call out to Gianni Marchesi and discovered Bardi and Thalia’s sister had a one-night thing last year.”
Gianni Marchesi.Boss of New Jersey’s extension of the East Coast Italian mafia and firmly planted on the Carrera side of the cartel war.
“Which one?”
“Ella. Two years older. They live together.”
Well, this just got messy.
Did she realize what a piece of shit he was and raise her standards, or did he simply grow tired and make a lateral move to the more gullible sister?
Either way, their taste leaves a lot to be desired. He’s not only out of the Santiago sisters’ league...he’s a couple miles past the ballpark selling handjobs for a dimebag.
Concrete proof would have expedited the hell out of this, but, then again, I didn’t get to where I am today by waiting for opportunity to fall in my lap.
“Has he broken?”
“Not yet.” RJ glares in disgust as Bardi hiccups through another snivel. “Oursicariosdidn’t hold back, but thependejostill refuses to talk.”
Oh, he’ll talk.
“Bardi,” I call out, leisurely making my way toward him. “It seems you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament.”
“I don’t know anything, Carrera.”
“Well, that puts you at a disadvantage, doesn’t it?”
