Page 84 of Hostile Vows
Fury explodes inside my chest when bullets annihilate my parked motorcycle out in front of this torturous prison.
My impulses act first. I dart to the cabinet and grab a pistol.
“What are you going to do with an empty gun, boy?” My father’s demonic laugh crushes me under his cruelty. “You really are an idiot. Take the chopper back to school and find a girl to fuck your anger into. At least you’ll please someone today… if you can do it right.”
My hand trembles and the gun drops to my feet.
“One word of advice, son. The next time you think about shooting me, I’ll beat you to it. Don’t make an enemy of the most powerful man you’ll ever know.”
“Sapori tried to teach me a lesson,” I hiss into the phone and ignore the flutter of my brother's praise. “When I threw the offer of marrying his daughter on the table, he said he’d only agree to it if we produced an heir. The old fucker wants to pass his legacy on to a new generation of Sapori. An heir was the deal. There was no timeline put in place. But now, to ensure she follows through on his stipulation, he’ll slaughter her mother if she doesn't get pregnant soon. And he thinks he has the resources and nerve to take Miami from me. But what infuriates me the most is that he ordered his men to beat the fuck out of my wife while she was in our hotel.”
“He did what?” Tomás snarls. “He had the audacity to make a move like that in a Souza hotel. In Miami. Actually, fuck that, Dré—he came after your wife. Even if she means nothing to you, she has the Souza name. He’s a fucking dead man.”
She does mean something to me.
“I know,” I grate, so angry that my blood boils and my heart thumps. “He hurt my wife, and I’m going to slice and dice his wrinkly fucking face while he’s still conscious.”
“Not yet. We need a plan. Where’s her mother now?” Tomás becomes deathly calm, utilizing his ability to strategize rather than go in guns blazing like a reckless son of a bitch—like me.
“She’s in Ireland.”
“Okay. I’ll phone Grandfather and get support from the Hennessys. Ireland is their kingdom. He’ll step in when we need him.”
Clearly growing bored, Reno pulls out his phone and types a message to India. I know it's to her since he’s never done checking in. Plus, I can see the contact photograph she’s saved under. Glowing under the dim light of dusk is her pretty face, all smudged with chocolate ice cream.
“There’s one other thing, Tommy.” I catch Letterman’s eyes and hold up my hand, mouthing the words for two minutes. “Have you heard of Project H?”
“No? What is it?” Tomás replies, uncertainty lacing his tone.
I stroll toward the steel door and rub the brass plaque of Club Vice. “I have a feeling it's got something to do with Papá. If it does, he wasn’t acting alone. Selling teenage girls isn't my thing, Tommy.”
Shocked silence creeps in like a mist. “Are you serious? Who told you about it? Are you sure this isn’t a trap set up by Carlos Blanco or Sapori?”
My gaze cuts to Reno as I say his name. “Reno heard about unusual activity from a few coke handlers. He checked it out and found a basement full of young girls.”
“Were they hurt?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and instead of seeing multiple petrified faces, I see my wife covered in bruises.
“Yeah, they were roughed up pretty bad. We need to figure out who’s behind it so I can take care of the fuckers myself. Miami is my responsibility. I know we’re all about diversification and rolling with the tides of change, but that shit doesn’t sit well with me. Not kids.”
“Where are the girls now?”
I still. “They’re somewhere safe for the time being. A couple of them saw my face when I was interrogating the house leader, which means I'm linked to this, whether I’m part of it or not. They could quickly figure out who I am and run to the Feds.”
“It’s okay,” Tommy reassures me, the same way he did when we were trapped teenagers. “I know someone who can help us get them out of Miami. They’ll be taken care of.”
“Wait. You’re going to terminate them?”
“No… don’t worry. I know a ghost who can make them disappear. Leave it to me.” Before he hangs up, he adds, “And Dré, you haven’t told me much about this wife of yours. Is she worth going head-to-head with the Italian mafia?”
I wave two fingers at Reno to let him know we’re about to leave the flamingo pink sunset and enter the darkness of our favorite den. Usually, I’m pumped and buzzing for the night to begin; however, tonight all I can think about is Sinéad.
“You found your queen, Tommy, didn’t you?”
“I did, and now I’m going to marry her.”
“Well, I guess you could say I realized she was my queen after I married her.”
