His Mafia Queen

Danger

GABRIEL

While I'm reading a novel in my living room and waiting for Riley, one of my phones ring. Immediately my senses become sharper.

It's ten at night, and most people know not to call me at this hour. The only ones who would are my lawyer, Michael, or one of my capos — and even they know not to bring petty or meaningless bullshit to me after hours. Plus, this particular phone is reserved for only a few people.

Riley, my lawyer, and one close business associate.

I check the number before answering. It's Alessandro, my friend and fellow boss down in Miami. If he's calling this late, it can't be good news.

"What's up?" I ask in a brusque tone. Alessandro doesn't give a fuck about formality.

"We've got a situation."

I set the book on the coffee table and stand up so I can pace. It feels as though I can think better when I'm in motion. "We? Explain. I'm putting you on speaker. Just so you know, I'm alone in my house."

"Fine with me." Alessandro clears his throat. "One of my capos in Fort Lauderdale, the guy who handles the port up there, he heard some things on the street. Things that involve you. Involve us."

"Such as?"

"The Russians are trying to cause chaos in our ranks. Trying to entice our guys to turn against us, steal from us, sell drugs behind our backs. My guy says they've been sneaky about it, paying low level people to become informants. Have you noticed any issues lately with any of your men?"

I'm almost instinctively ready to say no, but that would be a lie. I hesitate so long that Alessandro says, "Gabriel, you there?"

"Yeah. I am. And yes, I have had issues. Two of my guys, low level. One guy wasn't handing over his take. Another guy, a kid, stealing cash from a warehouse. Both in the last few weeks." Scenes from how I ended both guys' lives flash in my mind. The pleading until the very end, the crack of a gunshot, the silence that followed.

Alessandro sucks in an audible breath. "You take care of 'em?"

"Yeah. Personally. We had a conversation, and we're all on the same page now." He knows that's my way of saying I killed them. We'd never be so blunt about such matters on the phone. "And you? Any problems down your way?"

"Unfortunately, yes. One of my guys intercepted a shipment and sold it on the street. Two other guys at the port in Miami skimmed some union dues. We also are on the same page."

It's always the fucking Russians. "Do we know which family we're talking about here?"

"Not yet. But you know how those assholes work. It's like a whack-a-mole with them. You beat one down and another pops up."

Unlike the Italian mafia, which is hierarchical and has a structure that goes back centuries, Russian mobsters are more free-form, looser, unpredictable. This also makes them more violent. Those bastards wouldn't think twice about killing a cop if they felt threatened. Italians, we just pay off the cop and get him to work for us.

"What's the end goal? To sow chaos? Or to take over?"

Alessandro snorts. "Too soon to tell. Could be either. I think we need to be prepared, though."

"Prepared for what?"

"War."

Now it's my turn to snort. "Oh, come on. We haven't had any issues since that situation with your wife's father, may his soul rest in peace."

"Gia said the same thing. She's worried."

I allow this to sink in. Both Gia and Alessandro have excellent instincts, and they're among the few people I trust implicitly. A few years ago, Gia's father threw her an engagement party at his home in Florida. Not for her and Alessandro, but for Gia and a boss named Mickey Salerno. I'd been planning to go, but my sister had emergency surgery in New York, and I needed to be up there for her and my niece.