Page 11 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The next morning…

"Orsi," I answer Marcello's call and stop my morning run. Dexter barks in the distance, having noticed that I stopped. Boris, who is, as always, staying by my side, replies, and I wave my hand in the command for him to be quiet.

"Sartori," Marcello greets me in a voice that is just distant enough to highlight that we are still strangers to one another.

"The favor you asked me for? It's done."

I exhale sharply. The favor was to get Cat's family out of Sicily. "They're safe?"

"Two hours ago, men I trust with my life picked them up in Puerto Sangue and moved them to Palermo. As soon as their new papers are ready, they'll fly out on one of my private jets." He assures me.

Good. I swallow hard. It's unsettling owing favors, especially to enigmatic players with ties to Sicily and unpredictable motives. But it does offer an excellent opportunity to figure out where Marcello truly stands.

"Thank you," I say, meaning it, but the words leave a bitter taste, like acknowledging a vulnerability. Nothing comes without strings in our world, and I have no idea how many I just got myself entangled with.

"I'm glad I could help," he replies, his tone so dry it leaves me uncertain whether he's dismissing or testing me. Dexter barks again in the distance, and Boris answers with a subdued whine, looking at me for permission to call to his brother. I shake my head.

"I'm in your debt." I hate saying it, especially to a son of Carlos, a man whose lineage ruthlessly ended Giacomo DeLuna's life at dinner. But it has to be done.

Without missing a beat, Marcello responds, "I'll remember it." He pauses, just a heartbeat, then adds in that same cool voice, "But don't mistake this favor for a leash, Enrico. I didn't do it to hold power over you."

The use of my first name has my mind working overtime.

Is he being sincere? Or is it just another calculated move in his intricate game?

He claims he doesn't want leverage, but we'll have to see about that.

Marcello is still an unknown player in our organization, which is why I hated getting him involved in this.

Unfortunately, he was the only one with the kind of connections in Sicily I needed.

Dexter breaks through the bushes, and I give him a signal to stay quiet, too. Both dogs are well-trained and know that while I'm on the phone, they need to keep a low profile. No barking.

I'm still trying to figure out Marcello's angle. What's in it for him? Or is this truly just a favor? One capo's son aiding another? I'm as much of a stranger to him as he is to me and the others.

"Understood," I answer him. "See you around, Marcello."

I end the call before he can reply; my mind is caught in a whirlwind of questions. In our world, kindness always carries a price. I stare at the phone in my hand, unsure whether I just gained an ally or gave a viper the scent of blood.

Both German Shepherds look at me expectantly. "Alright, boys, let's go."

I have to cut this run short today, but the dogs don't seem to mind as they follow me back to the manor, tails wagging, tongues lolling. Dexter, the more adventurous one, once again makes a break into the bushes, preferring to watch my back from the sidelines, hidden in the underbrush.

Not much later, we arrive at the kennels, to the sound of loud barking. Julio, the kennel master, is just about to get breakfast ready for them.

"How's Lolita?" I ask when he emerges from the converted barn.

"Jesus Christ, boss." He takes a clumsy step backward. "You about gave me a fucking heart attack."

A metal prosthesis replaces his left leg, right below his knee. He lost it courtesy of a bullet in a shootout a few years back. He'll never get back to active duty, but he's excellent with the dogs, and I'm more than happy to provide him with a job. He was a soldier, and we take care of our own.

"What did I say about cursing around the pups?" I mock-shake my head at him.

A baker's dozen of eleven-week-old puppies are right on his trail. Their mother, Lolita, is not far behind.

"Hey girl," I lower myself to my knees, and she comes as fast as her limp allows her.

While giving birth, her pelvic bone suffered some damage.

The vet warned me that this second litter should be her last. It's a shame; she's a beautiful girl, affectionate enough to make her puppies perfect for families.

She bumps her snout into me before nuzzling my shorts. "Yeah, I know. You're a good girl."

"She seems a bit better this morning," Julio fills me in.

"Good. Have the vet sterilize her as soon as her body is ready.

I don't want to chance her having an accidental litter.

" The dogs are mostly supervised, but accidental pregnancies happen.

More so because I don't believe in keeping the dogs kenneled all day.

My pups are free to roam the property and live their lives as happily as possible when they're not in season.

The added security is just another bonus.

Now and then, one of my guards gets bitten, but that's on them for not spending enough time with the dogs to get to know them. Lessons are usually learned the hard way.

I pet Lolita on the head and rise before her brood can fully assault me, noticing Silvano waving at me from the terrace. Boris tries to trail behind me, but I wave him back. With a small whine, he turns back around to bug Julio for breakfast.

"What's up?" I ask when I reach my second.

"One of our girls got the shit beat out of her last night at the Valente."

My jaw clenches. The Valente is one of my exclusive hotels; it runs an underground casino for the elite.

"Who?"

"Barbie," Silvano informs me. One of our dancers slash entertainers.

I hire pretty girls to dance, deal cards, and serve drinks; some make extra cash by entertaining the clients in other ways, but I have nothing to do with that side.

The Giordanos run prostitution in our organization, and I'm not about to step on their toes.

Well, I wasn't , not until last night. Not until I burned Giovanni's home down.

"Do we have the man who beat her up?"

Silvano's face scrunches up. "That's where it gets complicated, it's Senator Preston Kingsley."

My spine stiffens. "Fucking hell."

The name hits like a thrown knife. Kingsley.

The same senator who is making headlines this week for the bill he's about to push through, a landmark legislation targeting human trafficking, forced prostitution, and child exploitation. It's a bomb aimed directly at the underbelly of our world. And if it passes, the fallout will be nuclear.

Not just for the Giordanos, who practically built their empire on flesh.

But for the entire La Famigli, as well as for the Russians, the Venezuelans, the Ukrainians, anybody who has their fingers in the dark belly of the underworld.

No more looking the other way. No more gray areas.

No more plausible deniability. The bill will bury any family that hasn't already started shifting its business into cleaner streams.

I've been moving my pieces for a while. I want out of the shit. I want legitimate wealth, clean investments, luxury real estate, and cyber infrastructure. But the others? They're still addicted to the blood-money. And if this bill passes, they'll have a choice: adapt or go down in flames.

And Kingsley? The bastard writing it?

He was at my casino. Beating women in the VIP room while pretending to save them in public.

"You believe the fucking balls on this guy?" Silvano mutters, leaning against the railing. "Preaching morality in front of cameras, and behind closed doors, he's choking working girls who won't kiss his ring."

"He's not just a hypocrite," I say coldly. "He's a threat."

Silvano nods grimly. "You think the other capos know?"

"They will soon. If they haven't already started lining up favors to kill the bill, they will now." I turn my gaze to the horizon. "Kingsley's about to find out what it means to paint a target on the entire fucking underworld."

"Unless," Silvano says, "he's playing a longer game."

I don't reply. Because that's what I've been wondering too. Nobody comes after the Cosa Nostra and lives unless they've got a bigger monster behind them. Kingsley's either stupid, suicidal—or he's working for someone who thinks they can tame the sharks.

"Fuck," I rub my neck. I hate when my day starts out like this. I suppose it's still better than Barbie's. "How is she?"

"Doc Brown is looking her over. So far, a couple of broken ribs and bruises.

He whipped her with a belt." Silvano holds up his phone to show me a few images.

My blood boils. I want to beat Kingsley to a pulp for what he did.

I don't care what my girls do on the side, but I do care when they're mistreated, let alone beat to shit. That's not going to fly with me.

"Where is he now?"

"Four of our men are watching him and his bodyguards in his suite," Silvano fills me in.

Shit, that's going to require finesse. As much as I want to barge in there and repay Kingsley in kind, he is a US senator, not some schmuck from the streets. "Do we have anything on tape?"

Silvano grins from ear to ear. "Every single detail, including our men beating Kingsley's guards up when they wouldn't let them in the room to interfere."

"Okay." Ideas form in my head; this day might be getting better.

"First, have Kingsley write a ten-million-dollar check for Barbie.

" That should pay for her pain and suffering as well as give her a new lease on life.

If she's smart, she'll vanish into obscurity and reinvent herself.

I'm not saying the money will make up for what was done to her, but that part, unfortunately, can't be changed.

"There's one more thing," Silvano scratches his neck, "I'm not sure if it means anything, but I have a weird feeling about it."

"Spit it out."