Page 14 of Dancing With Redemption

7

Lincoln

“Thanks for arranging this meeting,” Lincoln said to Paulo, a friend of his with connections to the less than savory parts of New York City life. Lincoln didn’t get his fingers dirty if he could help it, so Paulo was an asset at times like these.

“It’s my pleasure, Lincoln. Just don’t make me regret it,” the older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a finely-lined face said. His hard gaze met Lincoln’s across the car Lincoln was driving, a warning from brown eyes much darker than Lincoln’s. “I have to live here. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lincoln said, in lieu of a promise. He wasn’t going to promise a damned thing to anybody when it came to finding out where Roxie was. He’d move mountains and destroy whoever he had to if it meant he’d get her back. If that included stepping on a few toes as well, so be it. He’d crush anything that stood in his way.

His plane had landed without word from June, or anyone else for that matter. He’d decided not to call June back, he didn’t want to panic her more than he had. Instead, he’d called Paulo, intending to get some answers. If June hadn’t heard from Roxie, something was wrong. No amount of reassurance from June or anyone else would make him believe he was wrong. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it, he knew it.

The car pulled into an open bay of a warehouse and came to a stop. Why were these meetings always in fucking cold, damp warehouses? Lincoln thought to himself, looking out of the window of the car. He could see the typical chains hanging creepily down from the ceiling, and the way the floor gleamed with water, taking it all in without a verbal comment. If the guy he was about to meet wanted to be the typical mobster without a clue, he’d keep his judgments to himself. So long as he got answers, he didn’t care if the guy wanted to meet in the Statue of Liberty with Lincoln holding a dozen roses.

“That’s them,” Paulo said and opened his door when another car pulled in from the other side of the warehouse. Lincoln followed him out, pulling his black wool coat around him and buttoning it up. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling for the small 9mm pistol he’d tucked into the deep left side. The gun had been left in a small box on the backseat of the car he’d had his PA arrange for him.

He’d removed the gun from the box, placed it in the pocket, and put the coat on before going to pick up Paulo. The older man, slightly portly after a car accident left him with a broken leg that had never quite healed right, hadn’t suspected that Lincoln had the gun, or if he had, he hadn’t said anything about it. It wouldn’t matter if he had, Lincoln wasn’t going into this meeting unarmed or unprepared.

There may be no need for the gun in the end, but better safe than sorry.

“Let me do the talking,” Paulo said, waving Lincoln back a little to stand behind him.

Lincoln took up the position, but wasn’t about to stand there like a spare dick if Paulo couldn’t get the answers Lincoln wanted. His friendship with the man had begun a few years back when Lincoln first started his fintech venture. Paulo had invested in the startup and had made a tidy profit from the venture. Lincoln didn’t ask where Paulo’s money came from, and Paulo had offered his services if Lincoln ever needed them. Up to now, Lincoln had not needed those services.

Lincoln would do his best to stay calm and collected, but if this mob guy didn’t give him some answers, Lincoln would gladly break his neck. Which would get him nowhere but with a contract on his head, put out by the guy’s family. Even he knew not to mess with the fucking mafia, and the guy in the back of that black Maserati was definitely in the mob. Now if he could just remember that and not curb-stomp the guy, that would be good, Lincoln reminded himself silently.

The mob guy’s name was Matteo Mazza, now head of the Alfonsi family. He was no relation to the Alfonsis but he was related to the old boss of the family, a woman, oddly enough. She’d taken over the organization when her husband was taken out quite a few years ago. It seemed she’d appointed this Matteo guy as her successor when she decided to retire from mob life. Nobody knew where the woman was, but Matteo hadn’t been hard to find. He wasn’t often in this part of the world anymore, but he was now.

That was another reason Lincoln suspected Matteo was behind Roxie’s disappearance. The guy was in town just when Roxie went silent. That seemed too convenient, and Lincoln couldn’t ignore it. Suspecting the guy was a reach, if you didn’t know that the two men who had been at Roxie’s the night her parents died worked for Matteo. Lincoln also suspected they might be the men Roxie’s ex, Nathan, had been in debt to. Or the family that shithead owed money to, at least. That was two too many connections, so Lincoln was meeting with Matteo to find out what the fucking problem was and to get Roxie back.

“Paulo, good to see you.” A man around Lincoln’s age stepped up to the older man with his hand held out. He was in a tailored, camel-color overcoat with a black scarf around his neck. His black hair was cut stylishly, and his skin was tanned. And that wasn’t the kind of tan you got from a sunbed, it was from somewhere tropical with lots of sunlight.

“Good to see you too, kid. How’s the wife?” Paulo asked, taking Matteo’s hand. Paulo wore an overcoat as well, but his was tight around his stomach. Lincoln looked at the back of Paulo’s coat, noting the threads in the back seam were pulled tight. Paulo needed a new coat, or to lose some weight.

This was all just a way for Lincoln to distract himself while Paulo talked to the mafia guy, but Lincoln still caught the gist of the conversation. They must be on good terms if Paulo could call him kid, Lincoln decided, and let the gun in his hand go, for now.

“She’s good, Paulo. Suffering a little, but that’s to be expected.” Matteo shrugged a little, his gaze shifting to Lincoln. “Who’s this?”

“This is Lincoln Young. He needs some information, if you can help him out, Matteo.” Paulo gestured for Lincoln to move forward. Lincoln walked up, his hand out, even though he wanted to punch the guy with the defined jawline that he’d probably break his fist on.

Hard gray eyes looked Lincoln over, as if summing him up with one look. Matteo seemed to come to some kind of decision when his eyes met Lincoln’s as he nodded in approval. “What can I do for you, Mr. Young?”

“I need to know where Roxie is,” Lincoln answered shortly, not letting Paulo direct the conversation. It might be a breech in protocol, but Lincoln didn’t exactly give a fuck. At all.

“Who?” Matteo inquired calmly, his eyes softly blinking once before he gazed back at Lincoln steadily.

“Roxie Simpson. Your guys have her, right? I want her back. Name your price, it’s yours.” Lincoln stood his ground, not backing down, even when two men stepped out of the car, guns on display in their hands.

The two giants with black hair, twins by the looks of it, moved behind Lincoln, their arms crossed casually, but the guns still there. All they’d have to do was lift their hands and they could take Lincoln down before he even blinked, and he knew it. Best to try to negotiate, for the moment.

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about,” Matteo responded, waving the men back. He wasn’t threatened by Lincoln, but that wasn’t a smart move. All Lincoln had to do was lift his own hand, still in his pocket, and the man would be dead at his feet.

This was no time for a pissing contest though.

“Bullshit,” Lincoln spit out, ready to pull out his phone and show him the photos of the men that had been there the night Roxie’s parents died. They were older, but still the same men. And they were with Matteo in the pictures.

“Excuse me? Do you know who I am?” Matteo asked quietly, his eyes barely changing, but there was now a deadly tilt to them, a threat in the tightness at the corners.

“Yes, I know who you fucking are, I just don’t care. Roxie is missing, and I know your guys had something to do with it.” Lincoln paused, gathering his composure, or trying to. “What’s your price?”