Page 38 of The Boss
“Really?” Sloan stood and buttoned up his suit, which had come loose with Conall grasping at his shirt. “Bring him to me.”
Ardan bowed his head in answer. With a glance of warning to Lorcan, he left the room with quiet footsteps.
Sloan used his absence as the opportunity to turn to Lorcan. “I’d be very careful with your words if I was you. Ardan is not as forgiving as he seems.”
“He wouldn’t touch me…sir.” He added thesiras an afterthought.
Sloan smiled, but he made sure there wasn’t anything kind in it. Lorcan knew he’d never liked him, and he knew Niall was the reason he was in that position. They’d never been friends, and Ardan was right—Lorcan didn’t do his job. He happily took the money and power but gave nothing in return. Sloan hated the promises he made to his father.
“If you piss him off, I will give the permission he needs.” Sloan said it low enough that only Lorcan could hear him. “Don’t push either of us to that point.”
The door shoved open and an Italian tripped through it. He stumbled until he fell on his knees in front of Sloan. He kept his head down, gaze on the floor in front of him, muttering something in Italian. Sloan knew bits of the language, but not enough to understand what he was saying.
Ardan followed him through, taking off his jacket as he entered. He handed it to Donal on the way past, before he began rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.
Sloan held up his hand, stopping him in the process. “This one’s mine.”
The assassin bowed his head in acknowledgement and backed away again. Sloan unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid it off his shoulders. Fionn didn’t ask, he merely stepped forward to take it off him. He followed Ardan’s previous movement and rolled up his sleeves. Bloodstains weren’t the easiest to get out of white.
“What’s your name?” Sloan stepped closer to the Italian until his shoes nearly touched his knees.
The man kept his head down, not bothering to answer him. It earned him a hard kick in the stomach. He gasped, his arm curling around his middle as he rocked forward, his other hand flat against the ground.
“I asked you a question. What’s your name?” Sloan held out his hand, and Ardan gave him a knife sharp enough to slice through meat without a struggle. Ardan always made sure his tools were in top shape.
The Italian finally glanced at him, his brown eyes watery. His bottom lip shook, no doubt from the pain of the kick. The top of his forehead was already bloody, probably from where Ardan had knocked him out and threw him into the trunk of his Mercedes. He had the typical features of an Italian—dark midnight hair and olive skin, with a wide nose and full lips. His skin wasn’t marred, aside from his forehead, which told Sloan he either didn’t get his hands dirty or he was above the soldier paygrade.
“What’s your name? Don’t make me repeat myself again.” Sloan made a gesture of turning the knife in his hand, the blade glinting off the lights in the room.
“Leo Roma.”
Sloan nodded. “Do you work for Toscani, Leo?”
He shook his head sharply.
Sloan sighed and aimed his boot at Leo’s face. His jaw cracked from the hard kick delivered, and he screamed, falling onto his back. His yells of pain filled the room, his shaking hands reaching for his chin but not touching it, like he was too afraid of the pain.
“You broke my jaw,” he whimpered.
“If that was the case, you wouldn’t be talking. Maybe I should try harder.” Sloan stepped over him and grasped his hair, tugging him until he was sitting on his arse. “Don’t make me use the knife, Leo. I asked you a question.”
Leo sniveled, his hands balled into fists. The shaking had extended to his entire body. “I swear. I didn’t know what he was going to do.”
“So you do work for Toscani.”
Leo shook his head again, but when Sloan went to kick him again, he held up his palms. “Please. Please. I don’t.”
“Folliero?” Sloan asked.
He nodded, tears of cowardice rolling down his cheeks. “It wasn’t him who stole your drugs.”
“Who did?”
“Toscani.”
“You just said you don’t work for Toscani.” Sloan sighed. He hated when people talked in circles. He was a busy man and didn’t have time for these sorts of games. He’d rather be in bed with his pet, getting his cock sucked, even though the last orgasm left his cock fatigued.
“I don’t. The boss realized his son was up to something. He sent me to figure out what. He was scared Marco was doing something to destroy the peace between our mobs.”
