Page 111 of Hard Wired

Chapter Thirty-Six

Four Months Later

Dominic waved when Max Bennett stepped into the pub. His fingers drummed the table as he waited for the man to order a drink at the bar.

It had taken a lot of courage just for him to invite Max here tonight. Now he had to figure out the right things to say.

I can do this, he thought. I have to.

Max set down his glass and slid into the other side of the booth. “Dominic. It’s been a while.”

“Thanks for meeting me.” Dominic had to speak up over the noise. It was a rowdy place in Culver City, crowded with twentysomethings in T-shirts and flannel. Not his usual hangout, but Dominic had picked a location where he wasn’t likely to see anyone he used to know.

“No problem,” Max said.

“This is weird, right?” The two of them, meeting for drinks. Like they were friends.

“A little weird.” Max gestured at the beer in front of him. “I mean, they’ve only got fruit-flavored beers on tap here. I don’t get it.”

Dominic barked a laugh. “Yeah. I’m drinking a pineapple IPA. It’s better than it sounds.”

“Some things are like that.” Max shrugged, sipping from his pint glass. “You seem different.”

Dominic stared into his beer.

“Not in a bad way. I was surprised to get your call, though. I thought you’d left.”

“I left West Oaks. Still in L.A. County. I live in Burbank at the moment.”

The man’s brow tightened. “Don’t you miss the ocean? Why the valley?”

“It’s anonymous. And very slightly less expensive.”

Max tilted his head, acknowledging the point. “But you’re alive, I see. That’s good news.” He lifted his drink like he was toasting.

“I’m glad you think so.” That was the closest Max had ever come to complimenting him.

Only a couple of Syndicate captains had survived the massacre at Charles Traynor’s house. The US Attorney had filed charges against them for murder, racketeering, and whatever else. Dominic hadn’t paid attention. He just knew the trial was at least a year away with all the complications involved.

Raymond was living in some city where Dominic couldn’t reach him, except through special channels. He wasn’t allowed to know his brother’s address or the new name the US Marshalls had given him. They’d see each other at the trial to testify, but that was a long way off.

The West Oaks DA’s Office had dropped Dominic’s murder charge, as well as any charges related to him skipping bail. He was a free man now. In some ways.

“Why did you decide to stick around?” Max asked.

“Wasn’t ready to give up completely just yet.”

There were still people he cared about here. One person, especially. He probably didn’t have any chance with her now, but he couldn’t completely break those ties, either.

At first, when he’d gotten out of jail after the massacre, Dominic hadn’t really cared if the remnants of the Syndicate came after him. He’d almost been daring them to do it by staying in So Cal, living under his real name, and meeting with government agents all the time.

But nobody showed up to deliver vengeance.

As the months went by, Dominic hadn’t felt anybody following him. Like he wasn’t even important enough to kill anymore, which might’ve hurt his feelings back when he was pretending to be the ruthless leader of the Silverlake Syndicate.

Dominic had spoken to Warren since, and the eldest Crane brother assured him nobody was going to bother him. Warren said the Syndicate was finished, their territory and market share absorbed by rival groups. Those few people the Feds had rounded up to prosecute hardly amounted to anything, and even they blamed Charles and Raymond more than Dominic himself.

Victor and many of his Russian mafia henchmen had survived the massacre. But the Feds had decided not to bring any sweeping charges against that group. Instead—according to Raymond—the US Attorney wanted to flip more of the low-level guys to bring a racketeering case against the higher ups later on. The massacre at the Traynor house barely ranked on the scale of shit those Russian mob guys were into.

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