Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I spot Don Bianco sitting with Marco on a bench not far from the swing sets.
Bianco soldiers lurk all over the park.
“They’re not even trying to hide,” I mutter, slightly annoyed at how brazen the Biancos are being about it. “Like I’m supposed to believe that huge guy in the leather jacket is reading the New Yorker? With that fucking scar on his face?”
“Relax,” Ronan says, sounding annoyed. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Common decency? I’m kind of annoyed we’re even here.”
“Suck it up. You’re lucky Don Bianco’s willing to meet with us at all.”
“Since when did you want to suck on the Bianco pole?”
Ronan grabs my arm and his fingers dig into my muscle. “Watch yourself, Julien. You need friends right now.”
I shrug myself free. “You’re right. I need friends. Not a fucking backstabbing cocksucker like Marco.”
Ronan’s anger fades as he glances over at where Marco’s waiting for us with the Don. “Listen to me. I don’t blame you for being pissed. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think Marco ever wanted shit to go down the way that it did. He tried to stop it.”
“Yeah? Is that what Valentina says? Your wife was his best friend. Now she hates his guts.”
Ronan starts walking away. “She knows I’m here. That should be enough.”
“Well, you’re right, if the great Valentina Santoro is fine with this shit show—”
“Careful,” Ronan snarls. “That’s my fucking wife.”
I let it drop. He’s got a point. And I’m not even angry with anyone in this situation except for myself. I’m lashing out and I just need to shut my mouth before I get myself in more trouble.
We approach the bench. Marco stands and nods at us in greeting. He looks good, like he’s been working out more lately. But I barely glance at him. Instead, I study Don Bianco, as he lazily gets to his feet.
The Don of the most powerful crime family in Chicago is in his early forties, graying at the temples, with a big, muscular frame and sharp eyes. He’s distinguished and handsome, if a little rough around the edges, and he’s wearing an expensive suit that seems out of place in a public park.
“Thanks for meeting us, Don Bianco,” Ronan says, extending a hand. I never in a million years would’ve guessed Ronan Hayes would greet the Bianco Don like that, but here we are.
Don Bianco shakes. “Call me Simon. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Hayes.”
“Ronan.”
I nod at him, but don’t offer a hand. “And I’m Julien.”
“I’m glad you two came,” Marco says. “Should we walk?”
The four of us set out at a slow pace. Simon takes the lead, strolling along. I’m on his right, and Ronan’s on his left. Marco brings up the rear.
“Your grandfather is an interesting man, Julien,” Simon says, glancing at me sideways. “You should hear the stories he’s been telling me about his life back in France. He’s quite the character.”
“I’m sure he’s charming when he’s not busy stabbing you in the back,” I say, struggling not to sound too bitter, and failing miserably.
“He’s telling me other stories too. Like how you instigated a war with Dusan Petrovic by killing his cousin. How you’ve been aggressively accumulating more and more power for yourself. How you tried to kill him.”
“Pascal Moreau will tell you anything to make you do what he wants.”
Simon nods, not looking at me. His gaze is sharp and heavy. “But how much of that is true?”
My hands curl into fists. I hate that I’m here right now dealing with this man. For a long time, I saw the Biancos as my enemies, or at least as an obstacle to doing good business. It’s worse for Ronan—he married the daughter of the Bianco Famiglia’s greatest enemy.
And yet here we are, three heads of three strong crime families, walking along an idyllic little park while kids scream and shout on the slides, all because otherwise the city might decay into fucking chaos.
“I tried to kill him,” I confirm. “But the rest is bullshit.”
“That’s what I thought.” Simon sounds thoughtful rather than angry. “Your grandfather is very convincing, but I have people looking into the situation, and from what I can tell, he’s been at the heart of everything.” Simon stops walking and stands gazing out across a field that ends nestled against a small lake. A fountain sprays water in the center; soon, the city will turn it off, as the winter comes and freezes this all over. “All I want is the space to do good business without worrying about the city tearing itself into pieces. There has been too much violence for my tastes lately.”
“I won’t make excuses. This has been about survival.” I stand beside Simon, my shoulders back, refusing to be cowed.
“Here’s what I’m willing to offer.” Simon glances at Ronan to make sure he’s listening. “I will make the Moreau family a vassal of the Bianco Famiglia. The Hayes Group may continue to operate as normal, but we will hammer out a truce between our organizations to make sure the lines are clear. Once all that is settled, I will handle Dusan Petrovic and I will send Pascal back to France where he belongs.”