Page 94 of Unholy Union
“No surprise what I’ve found,” he says, waving the paper with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Our guy’s name is Barry Maher. Petty thug, in and out of jail since he hit puberty. Rap sheet readslike most career criminals. He’s worked for a few different crime families over the years, always quick jobs. Low risk, low trace. A warm body when somebody needs a hand and doesn’t want it tied back to them.”
He steps closer to admire Lazaro’s work, studying how the blood drips from Barry’s mouth as he sits slumped in the chair.
“In other words, he’s the kind of street criminal you hire when you want deniability. No loyalty. No trail. No answers.”
I grind my teeth. Exactly what I didn’t want to hear.
“So they knew we would find no real association. Just like Pompa.” I turn back to Barry. His swollen face glistens with spit and blood, his nose broken and crooked. I lean in, staring him down. “Is that true? You’re just some loser off the street? What they pay you, a few hundred?”
His eyes flicker, then he bursts into his loudest laugh yet. He throws his head back, mouth wide open to flaunt the horror show that’s his bloody gums and missing teeth.
He really doesn’t give a fuck.
It sets something off in me. My rage returns all at once.
I reach for the pistol at my back, draw it, and shoot him clean between the eyes.
The room goes from his loud, unhinged laughter to the silence his death brings.
His head lolls forward, blood trickling down his face and splattering to the floor. I gesture to the mess.
“Get somebody to clean this up.”
What a long fucking day it’s been.
I’m slouched low in my office chair, temples throbbing with a dull, persistent ache as I think about the past twenty-four hours.
It’s hard to believe today started with brunch in a fancy garden and ended with blood pooling on the concrete. It’s nearly four in the damn morning, and I feel every hour of it in how fatigued I am.
The silence in my office is loud, interrupted only by my thoughts. The question that plays in my mind on a loop: who the fuck sent that bastard after us?
It could be any of them.
The Corsinis would have reason given our history, but the target seems to beSabrina, not me or any other Valente.
There’s the Spanos, another one of the Five Families.
Maybe. But they’ve been pretty lowkey ever since their don passed last year and they’ve had some internal beefing over who replaces him. I can’t see a logical reason why they’d target Sabrina out of nowhere.
I can’t see it being the Grimaldi’s. They’re part of the Five too, but because they conduct themselves as isolationists nobody ever thinks about them. Their policy is that they’ll mind their business so long as everybody minds theirs. It’s worked out for them for decades, resulting in few complications, but they’ve also seen little growth because of it, the smallest family of the Five.
Then there’s the Falcos, who are often the type to play both sides. They’ve worked with the Corsinisandthe Valentes at different points in time. Rudy swore their hands are clean in this, but who’s to say he was telling the truth? He and his boss Don Falco could be stirring the pot, trying to start trouble from the sidelines.
My jaw tics. Then there’s my father.
He’s been unhappy with my choices lately, making it known he disapproves of how I’ve handled my marriage. He believes it’s a waste to spend time with Sabrina or even look into these hit attempts at all.
Papà is always a few moves ahead on the chessboard. He’s a strategist, the type who plans long-term and considers every possible outcome.
He decided the Corsini-Valente marriage was advantageous to us because of what we could take from Sabrina and her family. How it would give us opportunities like never before to crush them from the inside out.
But there’s a part I can’t shake the more I consider these attempts on our lives.
If something were to permanently happen to Sabrina, who is a member on her father’s board, as her husband, I’d inherit voting rights for Corsini Construction…
Papà has to realize that. He’s obviously considered this from the moment he agreed to the arranged marriage.
My chest tightens at the grim thought.
