Page 28 of Unworthy Ties
“What can I say?” Dino said, letting out a chuckle. “I’ve always been punctual.”
“Out with it, then.”
Dino nodded in my direction, and I stepped forward, close enough to speak without being overheard by the curious eyes that had followed us through the bar.
“I need to speak to Sully. Without getting in a shootout or burning this place to the ground,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm.
Ramirez finally looked up, his dark eyes assessing me with the kind of stare that would make most men flinch. I held his gaze, refusing to blink first.
“I suppose that can be arranged,” he said, setting the glass down. “We wouldn’t want to strain relations between the Vipers and the Mafia.”
“Depends on your definition of ‘strain.’ But we appreciate the cooperation.”
Ramirez’s eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded to a door behind the bar. “Wait in the back. I’ll send word to Sully.”
“There are seven of them,” Felix said to me quietly. “Three by the pool tables, two at the bar, two by the front door.”
We didn’t want to get into a confrontation; but we had to deal with the possibility. I nodded at Felix’s assessment, quietly taking stock of our situation. The odds weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible either.
“Keep your eyes open,” I muttered to Felix as we followed Ramirez through the door. “First sign of trouble...”
“I know,” he replied. “And I swear to fucking god, I’m leaving Dino behind.”
I snorted. Dino shot Felix a wounded look, pressing a hand to his chest as if physically hurt.
“After all we’ve been through?” Dino whispered dramatically.
The back room was exactly what I expected—dimly lit, with stained walls that had absorbed decades of cigarette smoke, and a scarred wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A single bulb hung from a chain, casting shadows that made the place feel smaller than it was.
Sully sat at the far end of the table, cigarette smoke curling around his weathered face like a ghostly halo. The years hadn’t been kind to him—his once-black hair was now salted with gray, deep lines etched around his mouth from decades of scowling. But his eyes were still sharp, calculating as they tracked our movement into the room.
“Rocco Marchioni,” he said, not breaking eye contact with me. “I heard you and your brother made quite the mess of my men.”
“Seems like they needed a bit of extra training,” I responded, keeping my voice even. “You’re welcome.”
Sully barked out a laugh, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Didn’t know you were a comedian. I heard you always had a stick up your ass.”
“I save my jokes for special occasions.”
Felix shifted slightly behind me, his stance casual but ready. I knew without looking that his hand was inches from his piece. Dino, for once, had dropped the dramatics. His eyes were doing that unsettling thing, scanning the room methodically, missing nothing.
“What do you know about the Salvaggio’s missing shipments?” I asked.
“Direct. I like that.” He tapped his cigarette into a dented metal tray.
“Direct gets me what I want,” I said flatly. “And right now, what I want is information.”
Sully leaned back in his chair, the aged wood creaking under his weight. The ember of his cigarette flared bright as he took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted lazily between us.
“What makes you think I know anything about that?” His voice was sand and gravel, worn down by years of whiskey and Marlboros.
“I know how the Vipers work, Sully. They don’t make a move without knowing who’s pulling the strings.”
“You give me too much credit. Some people? They don’t need to pull strings. Theyarethe strings.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And what the hell does that mean?”
Sully’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He took another drag, letting the silence stretch between us.
