“Boss,” Lorenzo says as he steps into the living room. “I have information.”
I motion him over as I grab my glass from the coffee table and take a swig of the smooth whiskey. “Anything good?”
“Yes.” He straightens his suit jacket as he sits. “The girl was a plant—a cousin of one of the members who had managing experience. They were contacted by an unknown entity and paid a million dollars, upfront and in cash, to run the setup.”
I take another swig of my whiskey as I digest this information. “So let me get this straight. This fuck was stupid enough to run a scam on my property for someone he doesn’t know?”
Lorenzo shakes his head and blows out a heavy breath. “Look, I get it. It was a stupid move, but a million dollars is big time for a nothing crew like theirs. The way they saw it, all the risk was on them. The girl was willing to take a non-deadly bullet for a hundred grand, and the shooter thought he’d get away. Now, they’re a man down and a poor woman’s life is probably ruined.”
“Probably?” I lift a fucking brow. “I just sent Agent Tate with evidence to get a confession.”
“Shit.” Lorenzo turns his wise eyes in my direction. “You need to stop him, Dante. I know we’re a cut-throat organization, but this woman had no idea what she was getting into when it comes to the Outfit. She probably has kids.”
My eyes narrow, and I kill off my whiskey. “You want me to let her off clean?”
“I want you to take down the real offenders here,” he counters, lifting a pointed brow. “This has to be a Miami stunt, but what worries me is how did they know about the hiring agency? Where are they getting this info? That needs to be our focus, not punishing this nothing crew.” At my hardened expression, he holds up a hand. “Think about it, Dante. If all goes to plan, we think it’s Miami trying to get to Madeline, but if anything goes awry, as it did, we turn our attention to our own streets and become distracted with punishment. Either way, our focus has been interrupted. We can’t let them lead us around by a string.”
My jaw is clenched so fucking tightly my teeth feel like they might shatter under the pressure. Lenience is not my forte, and it goes against every particle within me, but I chose Lorenzo as Consigliere for a reason. He’s a wise old man who’s been in this game for a long fucking time.
“What kind of message does that send to the other wannabes in Chicago?” I ask, slamming the empty glass on the coffee table. “If I let this pa—”
“I’ve already thought of that,” he breaks in, earning a harsh glare and ignoring it. “Use this, Dante. Let’s get the word out on the streets so if they try it again, the next crew will come to us instead of making a move against us.”
“The Outfit rules from fear, Lorenzo,” I snarl, standing to pace off some of the angry energy before I use it against him. “Death and destruction awaits if you choose to go against us, and you want me to give someone a pass?”
“That’s my counsel,” he says, standing. “Just think before you act, son. I’m heading home and we’ll meet again tomorrow. We’ll be in Boston in two days. We can end this as long as you keep your cool.”
Before I can reply, Carlos enters from the hallway. “Boss, nothing new from the agency. They say they sent the most qualified candidate they had available. We pressed them hard.”
I growl, tugging on the ends of my hair. “I know who’s responsible. Tell our guys to back off.”
“Tomorrow.” Lorenzo tilts his head in approval and moves toward the elevator.
“So who’re we going after?” Carlos asks, plopping down on the sofa.
I shake my head and pace several more times before lifting my empty whiskey glass and slinging it into the wall, shattering it into a million tiny shards. “No one. For now, anyway. This shit is on Miami, and our focus needs to remain there.”
Carlos stands, his eyes questioning. “Are you sure about that?”
“No,” I snap, kicking the fucking coffee table. “But this is my decision … for now.”
“Eh, you’re the Boss,” he says with a shrug. “Call me if ya change your mind and want some skulls cracked.”
As Carlos leaves, I turn to the three bodies in my peripheral vision. Ivan, Madeline, and Piper are all standing around, looking on with wide eyes. “What?”
“Everything okay?” Ivan asks, taking Madeline’s hand and moving toward me.
“Is it ever?” I scrub my fingers through my hair and sit in the closest chair with a sigh. “It will be. I want you to go find out how Miami knew I’d be calling a hiring agency for a new manager.”
“You think this was them?” he asks, baby blues wide behind his glasses.
“Who else?” I shrug, fucking over it all.
Madeline clears her throat. “I’ve used that hiring agency many times in the past for Dark Star.”
My eyes narrow as I consider this shit. “How much of Mimi’s deceit have you been able to dig through?” I ask Ivan, my mind working to form a likely scenario. “It’s possible the name of the company was passed along by her, but that still doesn’t tell us how they knew about the manager position.”
“Not all of it,” he replies, shifting his glasses. “I can run a search using the hiring agency’s name, and if it’s there, it’ll come up.” He pauses, his extra-large brain working overtime. “Do you think it’s possible they didn’t care which position? Any employee shooting would send us a message.”
“No.” I shake my
