Page 25 of Handsome Devil

A tree that grows crooked can never be straightened, Andrin used to say.

He was right, of course.

Choosing a wife because of her math skills was a level of unhinged many assholes could only aspire to.

Now only the pesky detail of securing her mother a place in that experimental treatment facility.

“Siri, call Achilles Ferrante,” I barked.

Achilles was the Camorra’s underboss and the guy who got shit done.

Siri cooed her confirmation, and the line began ringing.

“It’s five in the fucking morning,” Achilles greeted, sounding completely awake. “Someone better be dead.”

“I hadn’t realized mobsters have office hours.”

“Careful.” I heard him lighting a cigarette. “Or you’ll wake up one day with that smart mouth of yours full of explosives.”

“I need you to pull some strings at Northeastern General Hospital. They have a special dementia program I want to get someone into. Highly curated.”

“I thought you have no family.”

“It’s for a colleague.”

He bristled. “Meddling in health care is high risk.”

I heard a woman moan. In Achilles’s case, I was sure he was murdering, not pleasuring her.

“It requires a lot of palm greasing, security breaching, and possible unfortunate accidents. What’s the budget on this project?”

“Infinite.”

“Good. We have special god complex fees for people who want to break Title 18, Section 1347 codes.”

Fortunately, all the Ferrante men had law degrees and a few working brain cells between their ears.

Working with mobsters who learned all the rules before they broke them was convenient. They weren’t low-grade criminals but the crème de la crème of corruption. The men who crowned politicians and ran every street and corner of this city.

“Get started,” I ordered.

“A colleague, ah?” Achilles sounded slightly repulsed. “Don’t tell me you are growing a conscience?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a golden pussy and blackmail involved.”

He laughed under his breath. “Good. Good. I’d hate to let you go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t work with romantics. They’re prone to doing stupid shit.”

“Make it happen before Tuesday.” I killed the call.

I was going to put Gia’s mother in that facility if I had to murder someone myself.

“It’s Tuesday.” I barged into the Ferrantes’ basement two days later.

Achilles was in the middle of blowing out someone’s kneecap with a golf club. That someone had a burlap sack over their head and was tied to a chair.