Which one of them did, not two hours into his shift.
It wasn’t Baltazar this time. It was Lorenzo, a goon directly connected to some of the most powerful men in town, which meant this was a big job.
On the one hand, great—a big job meant a lot of money, and it also meant removing a key player. A huge step toward completing his grand plan.
On the other, he hated this motherfucker, because although their meetings were always quick, they were anything but painless. They didn’t even bother going back into the booth because the conversations didn’t require much time. That, and Lorenzo could barely handle coming into the club—going back into a private booth was enough to make him break out in homophobic little hives.
When this asshole showed up, it meant Santo Tumino wanted to arrange a meeting with Sergei. Tumino was a Maisano underboss, nearly as powerful as Luciano or Felice Maisano themselves, and he was the only wise guy who Sergei would meet outside this club. It meant he had a contract for him. Usually a lucrative one—Sergei charged him an extra ten large just for making him come to him, and he gladly paid it.
Tumino never came to see Sergei directly. From what Sergei had heard, he never really left his house for more than an hour or two at a stretch. Even bosses and underbosses came to him instead of the other way around. Rumor had it that it was because he had one of the worst cases of Irritable Bowel Syndrome any doctor in this town had ever seen. Fucker was so vile and miserable, even his own shit couldn’t stand to be around him.
Much as Sergei didn’t want to face him or his condition tonight, he didn’t expect he had a lot of choice.
After he’d wrapped up a stage dance and a private lap dance, he came back out to the bar and found Lorenzo clinging to a bottle of Coke.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Sergei said.
Lorenzo glared at him.
“I assume you’re not here for a dance.”
The man gulped like he was trying not to retch. “Of course not.” He reached into his pocket and handed Sergei a card. “The boss wants to see you.”
Sergei looked at the card, on which someone had handwritten: $5M.
Whoa. This was big. Fucking huge.
His pulse shot upward. Things were really about to get crazy, weren’t they? All that patience was about to pay off, wasn’t it?
Keeping his excitement and nerves beneath the surface, he met Lorenzo’s gaze. “Tonight?”
“Yes. As soon as possible. Don’t keep him waiting.”
Sergei nodded. “Tell him to give me two hours.”
Lorenzo scowled.
“Two hours,” Sergei said through gritted teeth.
The man tried to stare him down, but finally grumbled, “I’ll let him know.”
*
Tumino always waited for him in the guest house behind his massive estate, and Sergei never entered through the front door. It was understood that Sergei would do a perimeter check first, ensuring none of Tumino’s goons—especially the security assholes—were anywhere near the place.
“Anyone sees my face,” he’d warned Tumino a couple of years ago, “I’ll put a bullet in theirs, and in yours for good measure. Are we clear?”
“Clear. Absolutely clear.” The fact that Sergei’d been pressing a pistol to his forehead had probably made him reconsider arguing. That was the last time Tumino ever tried to sneak any of his people into the house.
Tonight, Sergei checked through the various windows, making sure the only person in the guest house was Tumino, who was reclining on the sofa with a glass of wine. Sergei had long ago placed tiny motion sensors in the hedge outside the house, and after he’d gone inside the perimeter, he activated them. No one would get near the guest house without him knowing about it.
Once he was sure the coast was clear, Sergei let himself in through the back door, and moved from the kitchen to the living room where Tumino waited for him.
As Sergei stepped into the room, the beast of a man grinned. “Dmitry! Right on time.”
“Of course I am.”
He gestured at an armchair. “Have a seat.”
Sergei didn’t move.
Tumino studied him for a moment, then sat back on the sofa, grimacing as he did. Even from here, Sergei could hear the man’s stomach gurgling and groaning.
God, please, don’t let him be having one of his “episodes” while I’m in the room again. I may have to shoot him this time.
A few of the Italians in Cape Swan were on the large end, especially the Tumino clan, but this guy always seemed bloated in a sickly way that made Sergei cringe. Not heavy, but distended and swollen, as if everything beneath his skin were battling over who could kill him first. How he’d lived this long was a mystery.
And Sergei had no desire to be here any longer than he had to be, so he held up the card Lorenzo had given him. “Let’s get down to business. You asked me here for a big job, I assume.”
“A very big one.” Tumino grinned again, despite his brow still pinched with discomfort. “This is the one that’ll make you a legend, kid.”