Page 3 of Big Beefy Kingpin

Chapter Two

Roman

I idly swing the blade in my hand, watching the men throw menacing glances at each other.

The blade is sharp, and one little slip could cut through flesh and neatly slice off a finger but I don’t think of that as I swing the blade around. I haven’t had an accident since I was twelve which led to me stabbing myself while playing with it. I was hospitalized for weeks which caused my obsession with the weapon to grow.

Its effectiveness and how smoothly it moves in my fingers is the reason why the blade is my weapon of choice and my fingers itch to put it to use. I haven’t used it in a few days and I’m growing antsy.

“We are only going to do it for fifty percent. I think it’s only fair.”

Fair?

I nearly scoff at the ridiculous word but my face remains stoic.

There is no such thing as fair in the underground business and this baby-faced redhead hasn’t learned that yet, despite being the heir to the Irish mob.

“Now that’s stealing! We had a deal. We offer the connections and make the orders. Your only job is to deliver the weapons,” Luca, one of my men, cuts in.

“We are not your little delivery boys,” the Irish baby-faced kid says, with a sneer. “We take all the risks to get the goods. If someone gets arrested it will be us—so our offer stands, we take fifty percent and you get your weapons; or you find another way.”

I ignore the two arguing men and turn my attention to the real leader of the Irish, Patrick O’Malley. He and I are not close in any sense of the word but we’ve managed to stay out of each other’s way for close to a decade. Despite his quiet nature, he is a cruel man, one I’ve seen in action before.

“Fifteen percent,” I say, my eyes fixed on the silver-haired man so he knows it’s him I’m addressing.

The room falls into dead silence that not even the mouthy kid dares to break. I swing the blade in my hand, watching Patrick for a reaction, but he’s careful to hide what he is thinking. The older man reaches up and strokes his white beard, his eyes on the table and when he looks up to fix them on me, I read the answer in his sharp green eyes before he can open his lips to speak.

“We have ourselves a deal,” O’Malley announces with a toothy smile, extending his hand for me to shake. I stick the blade into the table before reaching over to take his hand.

“Well, then, let’s seal the deal with a drink,” I say, waving for one of my men to begin pouring. O’Malley grabs his glass and downs the whiskey before the rest of his men join in.

Technically, we are not allies, making the air around us tense. I can see the eagerness on the Irish men’s faces to just get the hell out. Their features are tense and their eyes wary as they watch my men, fingers itching to reach for their weapons, an instinct that is put to test when the door bursts open to reveal Antonio, my first cousin and second in command.

He looks around, reading the room, before walking towards me and leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Don, we have a situation.”

As the underboss, Antonio handles a lot of business in my absence, and for him to seek me out speaks to the seriousness of the issue.

“Gentlemen, I have to excuse myself but please, feel free to drink as much as you want and of course, you’re welcome to enjoy all of the entertainment the establishment has to offer.”

With a single nod at O’Malley, I walk out, Antonio in tow. He knows better than to talk about sensitive information in an open space, so we stay locked in silence even as we take the elevator to the tenth floor where my office is located.

“Elena,” I nod at my secretary as we make our way to my office. Like everyone that works for me, she too is family, albeit a distant cousin but the blood ties assure me of her loyalty to the Battista family.

I strip off my coat as I make my way to the bar to pour myself a drink. I hate the diplomatic part of my life and live for the chaos but of late, things have been calm and history has shown me that this doesn’t always last long.

“Don, we have a problem,” Antonio says, following me to the bar. “With the casino.”

I lift a single brow at my cousin before pouring us each a drink. “What about it?”

“One of the men noticed something odd with the winnings and reported that there might be cheating happening at one of the tables.”

“You know the protocol for this, Antonio.”

“Sì, but Don, we have reason to believe that the cheater is underaged. If someone finds out that we let an underaged woman gamble and drink at our casino…”

“Underaged?” my voice is dangerously low and even without looking up, I can tell just how much of an effect it has on Antonio. He is not a man who is easily shaken but everyone knows I don’t like it when my rules are broken.

Someone will have to pay for that.

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