“I'm Dante Simone, and by the end of this meeting, I'll have your consent to restructure the Miami organization.”
SIX
MEETING ADJOURNED
“And what makes you think that, Mr. Simone?” croaks the man seated directly across from me. He’s old, like fucking ancient, with an oxygen tank at his side and a wheelchair beneath him. His thin gray hair is greased to his head, and his hand shakes as he holds it out in question.
“I don’t think,” I snap, my hard stare burning a hole through him. “I will have everyone in this room’s support by the time we’re done today.” My eyes leave him and trail over each man as I push down the rising anger. “Let’s take a step back so you can introduce yourselves. I like to know who’s speaking when they fucking question me.” I motion to Lorenzo. “I assume you all know Lorenzo Bellini, as he’s been in close contact with each of your organizations.”
I shift my gaze to the man on the other side of Lorenzo, prompting him to stand. I take my seat as he begins his introduction. “My name is Ernesto Caruso, and I’m the Boss of the Seattle mafia. The man to my right is my son, Eros, and he’s the Underboss.” His gaze passes across every man before coming to a stop on mine. “Mr. Simone, if the things we’ve heard are proven true, we will one hundred percent be backing your proposal today.”
I tilt my head, appreciative of his preemptive support, and move my eyes to the younger man seated with the decrepit fuck. He gives me an overly confident smirk as he stands, and I suppress a growl. “My name is Sasha Donati, and I’m the Underboss. We, of course, are from Vegas, and this is my grandfather Eli, our long-standing and very prosperous Boss.”
“Prosperous, eh?” I smirk, my gaze falling to the old man. “So, all your organization’s enterprises have your rubber stamp of approval?”
“Of course,” Sasha answers before the old man can speak. “His body may be old, but his mind is still sharp as a tack.” The old man preens under the praise, and I take note.
“Interesting,” I muse, feeling like the geezer and I both are being fed a line of bullshit. “I’ll be sure to recognize that later.” My gaze shifts to Aiden, dismissing Sasha instantly. “Mr. Doyle, the floor is yours.”
Aiden stands, glaring at Sasha until he takes his seat. “I’m Killa Doyle and The Hub is my fucking city, so be mindful of that while you’re here.” He spreads his arms wide before placing a hand on Johnathon’s shoulder, who’s sitting to my left. “I’m Irish, so we don’t have that Italian title bullshit, but this is my brother-in-law, Johnathon Bedacholli, and he’s one of my top men.” He drops back into his chair and jabs the table with his pointer finger. “As far as I’m fucking concerned, you can kill the whole fucking Kent family, and the world would be a better fucking place.”
I give that fucker an appreciative smirk and motion for Lorenzo to place my briefcase on the table. Opening it, I pull out the stack of copies I made last night and stand, closing the case. I slide a sheet to each set of men and drop the rest of the stack on top of my briefcase.
“This is Harold and William Kent, the current Boss and Underboss of the Miami organization,” I start, sneering as I glance at their pictures. “As you can see, they both have a rap sheet a mile long, not that it fucking matters.” I look up with a shrug. “It’s just tacky as shit and shows what goddamned idiots they are.”
“Where’s Roger?” Eli Donati says, his voice as sharp as it gets for a living sack of bones. “He’s always kept these miscreants in line.”
“Since you asked”—I pass around a second sheet—“that may have been his fucking downfall. What you’re looking at is the last known photo of Roger Kent. As you can see in the details below, it was taken two months before a private fundraiser held at the Kent home. That fundraiser is his last confirmed appearance, and it was almost a year ago.”
“Impossible!” Sasha says, tossing the piece of paper to the table. “The suggestion that Harold or William killed him is ludicrous!”
“By all means, enlighten the rest of the fucking class,” I say, spreading my arms wide. “Make all of us privy to your insider information.”
“We have no information,” Eli says, tugging at Sasha’s arm, prompting him to retake his seat. “Roger and I are the longest ruling Bosses, so there have been occasions over the years where we’ve collaborated.”
“Speaking of collaboration,” I say, lifting the next sheet and sliding it across the glass surface. “Would this be one of your joint ventures?”
This copy contains every detail Parks could scrounge up on Miami’s long-standing and very profitable, yet nasty as fuck, child sex trafficking operation. Giving Eli a minute to look over the information, I pass a sheet to the other men seated around us, making sure to slip Sasha my copy since he seems uninterested in looking at the one Eli’s holding.
He ignores it still.
Gotcha, motherfucker.
“Disgusting,” Eli spits, his wrinkly face scrunching up to match his tone. “I begged Roger for years to give this up, and I honestly thought he had.”
“As you can see, not only did he continue, but his sons have ramped it up in the past year.” I press my hands against the cool, flat surface and lean forward, my challenging glare on Sasha. “You must be the stupid fuck who has the Vegas organization tied up in this bullshit.”
“How dare you?” he says, standing in fake outrage. “My grandfather would have me iced if I did something so stupid.”
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