Page 25

B oyd

This might be the first time I’ve felt a little guilty about drawing my weapon and putting down a bunch of assholes.

The Bratva were still in shock. Grieving the loss of one of their own.

We put an end to their suffering, I suppose.

That should make the assholes in Russia who run things think twice about sending more men to Las Vegas.

The first message should have been clear enough, but sometimes they need a reminder.

It’s the price they pay for fucking with the Morandi family.

Now I’m back on the streets. Looking for information. Anything, really. Anything that could lead us to the Mafia Prince Killer before he strikes again.

I’ve already listened to Sarah’s latest podcast, so now I’m listening to older episodes. Catching up on the previous murders, victims, and everything else Sarah went over with her audience when her podcast was at its previous peak.

The episode I’m currently listening to is about the public’s reaction to the Mafia Prince Killer.

“And as expected, a lot of people consider the Mafia Prince Killer to be a hero! A vigilante! Almost like Batman, showing up in the night and…” She pauses for dramatic effect.

“Justice! If you look at it like that. I still think there’s more to the story.

Why is he doing this? If it’s just about bringing down the Mafia families, then he could do that without killing people! ”

She’s got a point. There has to be more to this than some twisted vigilante shit.

The dead man’s switch, and solitary confinement, has kept Dykstra from getting murdered in prison.

If the Mafia Prince Killer has that much information, why not release it all at once?

No, he’s playing some kind of game. He has to be.

“I sure as fuck hope my name isn’t in any of that shit,” I say, reaching into my pocket for a cigarette.

I doubt I’m important enough to make a dossier. Not unless the fucker has information that goes way back. I didn’t get my hands dirty very often as Erica’s bodyguard.

Truthfully, the Morandi family was fairly clean under Salvatore’s reign.

We run the legitimate businesses and take our cut from everyone else.

The guys at the top handle all that, but we get paid like any other employee.

I even get a W9 and have to pay fucking taxes—on the money accounted for, at least. I’ve got plenty that nobody knows about hidden away for a rainy day.

Salvatore’s vision for the Morandi family was to let everyone else get their hands dirty while we reaped the rewards.

Massimo seems to share that vision. It doesn’t mean we’ll sit back if something needs our attention, but we try to work with the other families, rather than eliminating them. The Bratva being the obvious exception.

“That’s all for now. As always, I’m your host Sarah Parker and these have been… your True Crime Minutes !” Sarah chirps excitedly.

I hit the button to end the podcast, turn into a parking lot, and find a space.

Another stop. Another dead end. I check my messages when I get back to the SUV and it’s the same thing.

We’re spinning our wheels looking for this asshole. We’re not getting anything accomplished. Certainly, no closer to figuring out who the fuck he is. He’s got us the entire city of Las Vegas by the balls and we’re just dangling on them, hoping he’ll make a mistake.

This makes me feel like a fucking pig. I’m not cut out to be a detective. I just need someone to point me in the direction of the Mafia Prince Killer so I can put an end to all this.

Then I can get back to Sarah.

Fuck. I miss her way too much.

After spending the day getting nowhere, I return to Salvalagio.

I’d love to go upstairs and see Sarah, but Massimo has called us for a meeting.

Hopefully that means there’s some news. Something.

Anything. We don’t have enough men to stake out every possible location he could hit.

Too many fucking people in Sin City who could be a target.

I walk into the war room and nod to a few people as I find a spot by the wall to stand. More men arrive, and it looks like everybody in the Morandi family is here.

It’s pretty rare to get us all together in one room like this.

It happened when Salvatore announced his retirement.

Happened after my sister got kidnapped. Salvatore treated it like it was his own daughter who vanished into thin air.

I’ve never forgotten that. Made me more loyal that ever.

Made being sidelined after Erica’s coup attempt a lot more fucking insulting.

There are conversations happening around me, but nobody addresses me directly.

I don’t bother to interject myself into any of the discussions.

I’m still pretty damn sour that nobody reached out after the first murder.

The conversations die off when Massimo walks into the room and everyone gives him their undivided attention.

“Sorry for calling everyone together on short notice like this, but we’re getting nowhere, so we need a new strategy,” Massimo says, leaning over his spot at the head of the table and putting his fists on the wood.

“Dante has identified three families that could be targeted. We’re going to split up and watch them.

We’ll keep our distance, but we’ll be there in case this motherfucker goes after one of them. ”

Dante nods and steps forward. He goes through the assignments. My crew is a misfit group that operates out of The Gutter. Guys Rowan and Freddy used to do business with. They don’t have much of a presence anymore, but their leader has a family, so that makes him a logical target.

I don’t normally offer much input at these meetings. I leave that to the ones in charge and follow orders. But something about this doesn’t sit right with me. Massimo and Dante obviously put a lot of work in it. It’s a solid plan. We’re just not using all of our resources.

“Hey, boss,” I speak up, pushing away from the wall and stepping forward.

Still feels strange calling him boss, but I have to be respectful around the family.

“Not to shit all over the plan, but one of the biggest experts on the Mafia Prince Killer is currently staying at Salvalagio. She might be able to help.”

Massimo narrows his eyes for a moment. I know he doesn’t like being challenged, especially when he’s made up his mind about something, but Sarah knows a lot more about this fucker than we do.

I’ve listened to so many of her podcasts over the last few days that I probably know more than most of the guys in this room.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Massimo concedes. “Go get her.”

I walk out of the room to the sound of mutterings and murmurs. Most everyone is familiar with Sarah, especially after she was a guest of honor at a Morandi family party and got a personal favor from Massimo’s father.

I feel a giddiness in my stomach as I step off the elevators on Sarah’s floor. This isn’t an elaborate plan to see her instead of sitting in The Gutter, but it’s a nice bonus. I swipe my keycard as soon as I get to her door and she’s not sleeping for a change.

“Boyd!” she says, running up to me. “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

“It’s business this time,” I say. “Massimo is putting together a new plan. I thought you might be able to help. You’re the resident expert on the Mafia Prince Killer, right?”

“If it’s the same guy,” she sighs. “I want to believe it is, especially after the first message, but the nerve agent is different. That could mean it’s a different killer.

He’s also not keeping the same pattern. Last night was the first time he’s ever struck twice, and he usually waits a while between them. ”

“You still might see something we’re missing,” I say. “Get your stuff. Come on.”

Sarah quickly gathers what she needs and follows me back to the elevator. As soon as the doors close, I forget all about the Mafia Prince Killer and pull her into my arms so I can kiss the lips I’ve been missing all fucking day. We kiss until the elevator dings, and I reluctantly pull away.

“I missed you too,” she says, her eyes flickering with excitement. “You know, when I started my podcast, I never imagined that the Mafia would come to me for help!”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I chuckle, slapping her ass hard enough to make her hop off the elevator.

“Ow!” she whines. “I didn’t do anything to deserve that!”

“So?” I tease, giving her a nudge.

“By the way…” Sarah turns and walks backwards as we go down the hallway—probably so I can’t slap her ass again. “Lea told me something very interesting today.”

“Did she?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Yeah, apparently you threw a drunk guy out of the casino before he could hit on me,” she says, her lips spreading into a grin. “Why did you do that, Big Boyd? Didn’t want anyone talking to the girl you had a thing for?”

“How the fuck did Lea find out about that?” I grunt. “Wait, she was there that night. I remember now. I was just doing my job. Drunk assholes hitting on customers isn’t good for business.”

“That’s all it was?” she questions, turning and grabbing my hand. “Big Boyd doing his job? Nothing more than that?”

“I already told you I’ve been thinking about you since the wedding,” I relent.

“Thinking about me and protecting me are two different things,” she teases. “What if that guy was a really awesome dude who had one too many? He could have been the love of my life!”

“I doubt it,” I grumble, unable to slap her ass because she’s holding my hand. “When I threw him out, he begged to come back in because his wife was waiting for him upstairs.”

“Gross.” Sarah wrinkles her nose, then her eyes get wide when we get to the room. “Holy shit, is everyone here?”

“Pretty much,” I say, nudging her inside. “Dante! Go over everything again. The expert is here.”