loose gun with an unorthodox reputation. Still, that Augusto dared challenge him over Silvio in front of the capos made the back of his neck crawl.
“The Barracuda has been involved for weeks,” Stefano said, choosing a tone exactly between “don’t be so dumb” and “what, you didn’t know?”
The narrowing of Augusto’s eyes told him he’d caught that just fine. Stefano smiled and leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms out along the cushions, even though it stretched his bruised ribcage. Dominance posture. Just because he was still on painkillers didn’t mean he couldn’t play that particular game.
“So what’s he up to?” Augusto demanded.
“He’s out there fighting the war.” Stefano kept his smile in place.
You gotta be the shark in the piranha swarm, his father had said. The biggest motherfucker in the ocean. Were barracudas solitary? Sharks were. He shook his head and leaned forward again. “You guys do what you do.”
“And if he gets in the way?”
“He won’t.” Surely Silvio wouldn’t stoop so low as to hit a Russian tea room while the enforcers of his various capos unloaded into those Russian bastards. Silvio knew better.
And his brother Franco . . . Stefano summoned up that face without problem. A more masculine version of Silvio, prematurely aged under exposure to heat and wind that had sharpened acne scars sustained during an especially savage puberty. Dark greenish eyes that, like Silvio’s, saw too much. Had seen too much. Gaunt, even haggard, long-legged, but broad-shouldered. Nothing ambiguous about him at al .
Yet, seeing Franco, watching him, had sent a tingle across his skin, which answered that one question, at least. It wasn’t just Silvio who could have that effect on him. Or he was rapidly becoming addicted to Spadaro men.
In any case, he’d never act on it. Silvio had breached his armor, but there was enough of it left to protect him from Franco. And if he’d learned anything in high school when he’d dated two sisters at the same time, it was to not get himself into that again.
Dating? Really? A killer and a mercenary?
Shit, he wasn’t even dating Silvio. He shook his head and stared at Augusto. “I got Spadaro from Falchi as a completely deniable asset.
Over time, the cops will take a bigger interest in what’s ramping up the body count in this city, and the more we can dazzle them with bullshit, the better.”
“We can take care of our own problems,” Augusto said.
“You take care of them on your level—in your businesses, on your turf. The Barracuda is going after the head of the snake. We need to attack them from all sides, not leaving them a single moment to breathe.” Stefano smiled. “Unless, of course, you feel that the strategy isn’t sound.”
Dropping a pin now would have been the equivalent of helicopters playing the “Ride of the Valkyries.”
Stefano forced himself to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out, again.
Four times. Still no protest. “I thought so.”
He was about to get up and turn away when Augusto cleared his throat. “I don’t know why you’ve got such a hard-on for this guy.”
Damn if the bottom of his stomach didn’t just fall out, right down onto his shoes. Augusto took a half a step back and mumbled, “With all due respect, boss,” but that didn’t put his stomach back where it belonged.
“If we had a sicario of that caliber, I wouldn’t have had to draw in outside help.” Stefano stood and turned to give each of his capos a hard stare. “Falchi always worked with the best.”
“So what did you give Falchi to get his head of security?” Augusto asked.
Now this was really starting to piss him off. He stepped close to Augusto, but the bastard stood his ground.
Potbellied, hair getting thin on top, your average early-fifties Italian who belonged behind the counter of a greasy spoon somewhere downtown. His father’s old buddy-in-arms, though, and Stefano assumed his father had ensured that
“The Barracuda has been involved for weeks,” Stefano said, choosing a tone exactly between “don’t be so dumb” and “what, you didn’t know?”
The narrowing of Augusto’s eyes told him he’d caught that just fine. Stefano smiled and leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms out along the cushions, even though it stretched his bruised ribcage. Dominance posture. Just because he was still on painkillers didn’t mean he couldn’t play that particular game.
“So what’s he up to?” Augusto demanded.
“He’s out there fighting the war.” Stefano kept his smile in place.
You gotta be the shark in the piranha swarm, his father had said. The biggest motherfucker in the ocean. Were barracudas solitary? Sharks were. He shook his head and leaned forward again. “You guys do what you do.”
“And if he gets in the way?”
“He won’t.” Surely Silvio wouldn’t stoop so low as to hit a Russian tea room while the enforcers of his various capos unloaded into those Russian bastards. Silvio knew better.
And his brother Franco . . . Stefano summoned up that face without problem. A more masculine version of Silvio, prematurely aged under exposure to heat and wind that had sharpened acne scars sustained during an especially savage puberty. Dark greenish eyes that, like Silvio’s, saw too much. Had seen too much. Gaunt, even haggard, long-legged, but broad-shouldered. Nothing ambiguous about him at al .
Yet, seeing Franco, watching him, had sent a tingle across his skin, which answered that one question, at least. It wasn’t just Silvio who could have that effect on him. Or he was rapidly becoming addicted to Spadaro men.
In any case, he’d never act on it. Silvio had breached his armor, but there was enough of it left to protect him from Franco. And if he’d learned anything in high school when he’d dated two sisters at the same time, it was to not get himself into that again.
Dating? Really? A killer and a mercenary?
Shit, he wasn’t even dating Silvio. He shook his head and stared at Augusto. “I got Spadaro from Falchi as a completely deniable asset.
Over time, the cops will take a bigger interest in what’s ramping up the body count in this city, and the more we can dazzle them with bullshit, the better.”
“We can take care of our own problems,” Augusto said.
“You take care of them on your level—in your businesses, on your turf. The Barracuda is going after the head of the snake. We need to attack them from all sides, not leaving them a single moment to breathe.” Stefano smiled. “Unless, of course, you feel that the strategy isn’t sound.”
Dropping a pin now would have been the equivalent of helicopters playing the “Ride of the Valkyries.”
Stefano forced himself to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out, again.
Four times. Still no protest. “I thought so.”
He was about to get up and turn away when Augusto cleared his throat. “I don’t know why you’ve got such a hard-on for this guy.”
Damn if the bottom of his stomach didn’t just fall out, right down onto his shoes. Augusto took a half a step back and mumbled, “With all due respect, boss,” but that didn’t put his stomach back where it belonged.
“If we had a sicario of that caliber, I wouldn’t have had to draw in outside help.” Stefano stood and turned to give each of his capos a hard stare. “Falchi always worked with the best.”
“So what did you give Falchi to get his head of security?” Augusto asked.
Now this was really starting to piss him off. He stepped close to Augusto, but the bastard stood his ground.
Potbellied, hair getting thin on top, your average early-fifties Italian who belonged behind the counter of a greasy spoon somewhere downtown. His father’s old buddy-in-arms, though, and Stefano assumed his father had ensured that
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