Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

23 | Santo

It's barely 9 a.m. and this day is already full of shit that's pissing me off.

Never mind the fact that when Nico and I went to Des Moines to meet our associate, we were only greeted with bad news. I'd nearly forgotten it all, after everything with Nina yesterday. But now, I'm back at work. Now, I'm drowning in this shit again. Chasing down associates and the men who owe them favors. 

Luciano Genovese is turning out to be a bigger problem than we signed up for. 

Our associate's inside sources suspected that the Genovese Boss was gearing up for a huge shipment of women. Bigger than what he usually brings in. And if that wasn't already enough, on a fucking death wish, Luciano had decided to conduct this business in our city.

There's a reason for this beyond that he's just a reckless fucking idiot. And it's my job to figure that out. Thus, the reason I'm currently in a meeting with the world's lamest criminal. 

The man sitting before me is grating on my fucking nerves. And I can't do anything about it, because he brought his mousy wife along with him, and she's already been eyeing me like I'm holding a gun to her firstborn child's head.

I'm used to the look, but come on. I haven't even done anything. Yet. If Alberto doesn't start cooperating, I might have to. 

Speaking of the spineless bastard, he's currently spluttering out some weak excuse as to why he can't get me what I was promised. 

"You need me to... hack into the city's security system to spy on Luciano? Luciano Genovese?" Alberto trembles in front of me. He trembles so hard that the table of the quaint little French café we're currently seated in shakes and the glass on it rattles. Fucking pathetic.

I fold my fingers patiently in front of me. My foot taps slowly, and I work to keep the tempo that way. Really, I'm aching to throw this table across the room and ask this guy how the fuck he's the best hacker around if he's normally this fucking pussy.

"Yes. That's exactly what I need."

"Why?"

My eye twitches. "So we can figure out where Luciano will be selling a bunch of women and little girls into sex slavery in this very city, and stop him. Is that an acceptable reason for you?"

Fucker.

His wife's eyes blow wide at the deadly calm of my voice. Maybe I should smile, try to appear easygoing, before she pisses herself. 

I smile. She grabs onto her husband's bicep in terror.

Never mind. 

"Luciano is going to—"

"You know, I wasn't aware you were nestled this far up Luciano's ass," I snap. I would dial it back, but I can't now. This man is just going to go straight to Luciano as soon as this meeting ends. It's already been nearly an hour of excuses. And I'm going to have strong words with my associate for giving me the number of a guy who's made it his number one life goal to breathe in the farts of the Genovese boss.

"I need to know for sure that he's planning on moving women in Chicago, Alberto," I say. He doesn't know it yet, but he won't be leaving my presence without agreeing to do what I need him to do. There's no other option. "Everybody up and down both coasts knows what fucking happens to men who do that. This is my brother's fucking city. We don't tolerate that shit. But I can't operate on a maybe. I need access. I need details."

The man leans back, biting his nails. Still reluctant. My eye twitch feels more like a spasm.

You know what? Fuck my composure.