Page 3

Chapter 3

Vito

My phone rings as I'm getting into my car after stopping at Lexa's for her booty blow job request.

Starting my car, I answer Massimo's call and put it on speakphone. "You're on the mike with Big Dick."

He chokes on a laugh. "You are a big dick."

I laugh as I pull out onto the street. "Did you just make a joke, you grumpy motherfucker?"

He isn't as bad of a grumpy motherfucker as I let on—it's all part of our brotherly love. Massimo, by nature, is more serious and reserved, and he's become increasingly so as he co-leads our family due to our father's declining health.

"I shudder to think that you're rubbing off on me."

I waggle my eyebrows, even though he can't see them. "Speaking of rubbing one off—"

"Don't," he cuts me off, but chuckles. "Always the jokester."

"Only with family." My statement sobers us both up.

"Glad to hear your voice, Vito. It means you survived the Chamber meeting."

Well, I wasn't totally in the clear yet.

Instead of worrying my brother any more than I already had, I change the direction of our conversation. "How is everything on your end?"

"The CSI team is finishing up, and Aiken has been transported for autopsy. Gus is here; he notified all the staff and will work with the Chamber to interview them."

Gilly's staff is thoroughly vetted; however, trust in anyone isn't automatic or absolute in our world. And given the question of how Aiken's attackers got in and out, they'll be interviewed and scrutinized even more rigorously.

"Any luck getting into Aiken's office?" I turn onto the freeway to take the quickest route to my penthouse.

"Still sealed tight." Massimo growls in frustration. "Gus said it's like a sealed panic room with blast-proof walls and door. The lock is a keypad, and he claims he doesn't have the code."

I frown. "Claims?"

"He's holding out on me for something. I can tell."

Massimo's sixth sense: he's a bloodhound for when someone is lying.

"Does he know who Ed is?" I ask.

"Says no; I really think he's lying about that, or at least not telling what he suspects."

"You want me to have a go at him?"

Even though I strictly follow the required neutrality, like with Aiken, I have an easy repertoire with Gus. Neither of them ever made me want to slam a screwdriver into their head or cut their balls off with a dull, rusty knife, so we have a special relationship in that regard.

"That might not hurt," Massimo decides.

"Let me grab two hours of sleep."

"I imagine Gus will still be here."

I slide on some sunglasses as the morning sun glares off the Bay when I turn toward my penthouse. "Did you call Creed? Tell him and Triple S to stay away for now?"

Triple S—AKA Sweet Spanish Sophie. We're family now, so she has to live with the nickname just like my father does with Babbo.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Creed or the past threat to Sophie, but yes, I did call him so he's aware. They're secure," Massimo reassures me.

Creed, our baby brother, decided at an early age that the mafioso life wasn't what he wanted. He runs and controls our empire's legitimate arm—the corporate, civilian arm—and has consolidated all our bars, restaurants, hotels, and construction projects under Santoro Ventures Inc. He doesn't cross the line into the criminal world operations and rarely frequents Gilly's. But with what happened with Sophie a few months ago, Creed is extra protective and possessive of her, so anything out-of-the-ordinary in our world will raise his alarms. Them being out of the city right now eases some of my own tension.

"Creed said they'll extend their honeymoon in Croatia, then head to Italy. There's a plot of land near the Amalfi coast that's coming up for sale, and he'll kill two birds with one stone."

I pull into my secure underground parking. "Thanks for the update, brother. Keep me posted if any details are discovered."

I scan my surroundings before leaving my car, then stride to the elevator that goes straight to my penthouse.

"Will do, Vito. You do likewise. Get your two hours of beauty sleep." I can hear the smirk in Massimo's voice as he hangs up.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as the elevator whisks upward to my penthouse and rub my palm over my scruff. I look like hell, but two hours of sleep will have to do.

Minus the broken tables, chairs, and dead body, Gilly's isn't much different from when I was here a few hours ago. Blood still pools on the floor; the wall still has a dent. The place smells like a distillery mixed with a vat of blood. It's not an unappealing smell to me, but it's certainly not everyone's cup of tea.

Gus is sweeping up broken glass. He's short and built like a brick shithouse, with a crooked nose that was broken multiple times in the boxing ring. He has a hoarse, raspy voice that sounds like he's smoked two packs a day, but he's never smoked. His voice sounds that way because of damage to his vocal cords from a boxing match where the opponent ended up getting banned from the ring. That man ended up dead in the gutter. I suspect it was Gus, even though he was investigated and cleared. A killer recognizes the killer in another, though—it's probably why he and I get along.

He turns as I stand in the doorway. His face is haggard and worn. He inclines his head to me. "Vito."

"Why isn't there a clean team here?" I ask, referring to professionals who know how to get rid of blood and evidence so thoroughly you'd never know anyone died.

"I'll call one in soon." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some of it myself."

As I walk deeper into the barroom, my boots crunch on the broken glass he hasn't swept up yet. "Would you have stayed last night if you knew Aiken was in trouble?"

His green eyes fly to mine, and he scowls, probably thinking I'm being a dick. "Of course."

"Then there's your answer, Gus." I can guess what's ravaging his consciousness. "Save the guilt for when it's warranted."

He grunts, turning away. "Is that how you live?"

I've never really felt guilt for punishing and killing my family's enemies. It's how I'm programmed and what makes me the asset that I am.

He carries the large dustpan to dump the glass and liquid into a large sieve in the sink behind the bar. After draining the alcohol, he dumps the glass into the bin.

I walk to the jukebox, select various songs, and press play. Then, I reach around the back to where the volume is and turn it low. Gus gives me a quizzical look.

"I like music when I work." I often listen to some kind of thumping music as I work in my playroom. Not too loud, though, because I don't want it to drown out the screams and wails of whoever I am tormenting.

He raises a brow. "Work? As in, cleaning here? A big, deadly, important stronzo like you?"

I smirk at his use of the Italian word for asshole.

I roll up my sleeves and grab another broom to mimic Gus's cleaning method. We work silently for an hour, cleaning all the glass and liquid.

When we finish, Gus stands by the pool of dried blood still left on the floor, staring down at it. "Aiken didn't deserve this."

I join him. In my mind, I can still see Aiken lying there, his eyes open and vacant, his body stabbed and slashed in multiple places, blood pooling behind his head. "No, he didn't," I say quietly.

"He called you." Gus rubs his face. "Not me. He called you ."

"What does that say to you, Gus?"

He moves to the wall and fingers the dent. He's almost a foot shorter than me, and his broad shoulders are rigid before they slump. "That you could help him in a way I couldn't." He turns to me, eyeing me closely. "You could help him in a way no one else could."

I don't repeat my bullshit theory about Aiken dialing me by chance from those in his call log. "Why do you think that is?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

At my silence, he sighs. He walks out of the barroom and through a door into the kitchen. It's immaculate, having been cleaned by the staff prior to them leaving, as per Aiden's way of operating the place—nothing is left to do later when it can be done now.

"You hungry?" Gus asks, opening the large walk-in freezer. He looks inside but doesn't enter.

I haven't eaten since yesterday; however, sitting down to a sandwich while Aiken's blood is coagulated on the floor doesn't give me much of an appetite.

Instead, I watch closely for Gus's reaction and say, "All he said to me was, 'Call Ed.'"

I leave out that he said 'Vito,' because I don't want to disclose that to anyone, not even in my heart-to-heart with Gus.

I lean my elbows on the metal prep-station island. "Either that's all he had to say to me or all he could get out."

Gus stiffened when I said Ed; it was a slight reaction, but it was there. "I already told Massimo: there's no Ed who ever worked here, and I don't know of an Ed that Aiken socialized with outside of this place."

He shuts the walk-in freezer door and walks to the corner with shelves of dry goods.

I could force Gus into the freezer, string him up with his hands tied to a hook in the ceiling, rough him up, leave him in there to freeze for a while, and then do it all over again. Maybe I'd take the meat cleaver and a small paring knife to carve and chop pieces off. But that's not how things are done in the neutral zone at Gilly's.

Plus, Gus won't disappoint me; he'll tell me what he knows.

I stay where I am, resting my elbows on the metal island, watching him. Waiting for what I know is coming.

He doesn't disappoint. When he turns from the shelves of dry goods, he points a gun at me.

I stay still, keeping my hands clasped where he can see them. Inhaling slowly through my nose, I exhale the same way. "Who's Ed, Gus?"

"I don't know."

"The gun you're pointing at me suggests otherwise."

His hand is steady even though his actions can be considered an act of war, and he'd be marked for death.

"You may not know, but you have some guesses." I tilt my head to the side, still leaning on the island, hands clasped in front of me. "You want to trust me. Pulling the gun on me actually tells me that, because you wanted to see my reaction. Otherwise, you would've pulled the trigger immediately."

"Maybe I just want to be sure before I do pull the trigger."

I shake my head. I'm calm; a gun pointed at me isn't something new, however, I know he isn't truly a threat.

"You know how this works, Gus. Even drawing a weapon on me while I'm unarmed would be viewed as aggression and non-neutral. You thought I'd pass this test but you needed to be sure."

After a moment, he lowers the gun. This was Gus's version of a trust fall; he knew I wouldn't react to his drawing the gun on me, and it was his way of showing that he trusted me. A bit messed up, yes, but that's how we operate. He flicks the gun's safety on and stashes it back behind the boxes—but he doesn't turn back around right away.

"Aiken told me once…" he pauses, sounding pained. "He was drunk and said that Ed was his greatest regret. He wished Ed was by his side doing what he loved, which was running this place." He turns to me. "You know how Aiken was. He lived and breathed this place; believed one hundred and ten percent in its purpose.

"This wasn't a bar to Aiken. If he could contribute to less bloodshed, give a space for parties to come together on neutral ground to come to peaceful resolutions… That's all he ever wanted."

"Was Aiken homosexual?" My brow pinches as I try to recall if I've ever seen Aiken romantically with anyone—male or female.

Gus shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

He approaches the metal island and faces me on the opposite side.

"I tried to get Aiken to talk about it once afterward," Gus continues. "He was pale as death when he realized he had said something and yelled and screamed at me to forget what he said. We never talked about it again."

"And?" I press, sensing there's more.

He sighs, closing his eyes. When he opens them, his green irises are pained. "About a month ago, when I was the only one left here, he told me… that if anything ever happened to him, I was to call Ed and he gave me a phone number."

I straighten. "Aiken thought he might be in trouble."

Gus nods.

But why hadn't he convened a meeting with the Chamber to notify of a potential threat to him or Gilly's? Was it because he couldn't say if one of the Chamber members wasn't the threat and didn't want to raise flags that he was aware?

"But Aiken called me before he died," I say instead of the questions in my head. "Not you, when it was you he gave Ed's number to."

Gus's hand rubs his face. "It makes no sense." He frowns when I pull out my phone. "What are you doing?"

"Giving a man his dying wish. I'm calling Ed."

His mouth is pressed in a grim line, then he tells me the number.

After dialing, I put my phone on speaker, and we listen as it rings. It rings and rings, and I start to think it won't be answered until finally, the call connects, and a female voice speaks, sounding husky like we've woken her up. Both Gus and I are surprised, expecting a male to answer.

"Hello?" she says again, sounding more awake and annoyed.

"I'm looking for someone named Ed," I reply.

The line is dead silent, and I glance at my phone to ensure the call hasn't been dropped.

"Who is this?" Her voice is hard and cold when she finally responds.

A shiver runs down my spine that I can't explain, and my cock stirs for the strangest reason. "I thought I was pretty clear: I'm someone who's looking for Ed."

An angry noise sounds over the line. I can't decide if it's more of a huff or a snarl.

"Aiken Fallen gave a trusted source this number to call if—"

"What happened to Aiken?" Her voice is still hard and cold, but there's a tinge of worry.

"He's dead," I say flatly.

The only sound over the line is her deep breathing. Then the line goes dead.