“I’ve got Grace, Nikki, Adrianna and your sister but I ain’t making promises about Gina.” He narrows his eyes glancing around. “Where’d the old lady go?” He shrugs his shoulders and meets my intense gaze. “I’ve got this, they’re just as much mine as they are yours,” he declares.
“Good answer, Mike,” I tell him, patting him on the back as I brush past him and pull Adrianna toward me.
“You still going to deny wanting a Harley and a leather jacket?” She whispers, staring up at me, cocking one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“I’m going to tell Jack what he’s been waiting to hear then I will take you home.” I covered her mouth with mine. “Make sure the kids are sleeping when I get back and I’ll give you a better ride than any Harley ever could.”
“Promise?”
“Reese’s, I swear it.” I promise her.
“You mob folk move too slow,” Riggs complains, rolling his eyes as he waits for me by the front door. I let go of my wife, turn my gaze to Riggs and stab him with a glare.
“Let’s go, badass,” I hiss, slapping him upside the head as I walk past him.
It wasn’t until we were in Riggs’ truck, peeling out of Grace and Victor’s driveway, when he broke the news to me.
“Jack’s in Bulldog mode,” he says, stepping on the gas.
“Did you tell him Vic was alive, and the hit was done?”
“Couldn’t get a word in between the growling, cursing and the seven times he asked me where the fuck Blackie was. Like I’m that son of a bitch’s keeper or something,” he sneers. “Why the hell do you think I brought you along? You can give him the news about Vic while I go find Blackie and pull him off Lacey before Jack shoots him and I have to bury his body.”
Ten minutes later we are pulling into the Dog Pound, parking the truck next to the ten or so motorcycles that line the front of the building. The overhead lights are on illuminating the property, signaling the clubhouse was very much alive and on high alert.
“Remember the plan,” Riggs hisses, pulling open the door.
“Riggs, it’s all over television, they gotta know by now…” My words trail off as we enter the clubhouse and the television is blasting the confirmation that Vic was alive and the G-Man was dead.
“Shit,” Riggs mutters.
Jack turns his gaze to us, looking over Riggs’ shoulder.
“Looks like our man Vic got the job done,” Jack says pointedly.
“Did you have any doubt?” I counter, shoving my hands into my pockets. There is a lot to be said about Vic. I myself, have put labels on the man but no one can deny he was a man of his word when it came to business.
Like everything else, Vic’s last hit was just as epic as his life.
“Church,” Jack bellows. “Now.”
Staring at Jack, another powerful ruler, I cross my arms against my chest, watching as his men, dressed in leather, file into their chapel on command. I took in the way his jaw was clenched, the storm plowing through his eyes and his hands balled into tight fists.
The difference between him and Vic was obvious to my eyes. Vic was a mystery, you never knew which way he was going, what he was thinking, he was calm and cool always, but Jack wore his torment on his sleeve. When the shit was about to hit the fan, everyone knew because he morphed before your very eyes into the Bulldog. His anguish, his anger, his torment was just as visible as the patch sewn into his cut, declaring him the president.
Riggs reappeared, coming down the stairs with Blackie following behind him, fitting his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.
“Fucking hell,” Jack seethes.
“Jack,” Reina scolds, giving a slight shake of her head.
“What happened?” Blackie questions, ignoring Jack and looking to the plasma screen hanging over the bar.
“We are live in front of Bennettsville Federal Prison with the warden, Richard Olsen. Warden, can you give us an update on the situation?”
“As you have already reported there have been two casualties. I can now disclose the names of the two inmates who have died. One is, Owen Richards, and the other is Thomas Gregorio also known as the G-Man. The riot squad is diligently working to secure all inmates back to their cells and safely remove the correctional officers that were on active duty when the riot broke out.”
“There is a lot of talk about Mr. Pastore and the G-Man being rivals, can you comment?”
“We have apprehended Mr. Pastore and have brought him into solitary. That is all the information we have at this time.”
“It’s over,” Blackie says, eyes glued to the screen.
“It’s just getting started, brother,” Jack corrects. “Chapel. Now,” he orders, before pointing a finger at me. “You. Stay here. Don’t fucking move, Bianci.”
I glance around the room, spot Reina and Lacey in the corner.
I left my women to sit with Jack’s women.
What the fuck?
I step around the bar, snatch a bottle of bourbon and take a seat at the bar. Lifting my eyes and my glass to the mug shot plastered on the television.
“Here’s to you, Vic,” I toast, throwing back the shot.
Victor Pastore.
The mobster.
The legend.
Chapter Thirty-One