Page 2 of The Mobster’s Prize

Lopez leads the way, hauling the horse trailer, while I follow in my truck. It’s a good three hours east, straight over the state line and into Nevada before we’re pulling onto a gravel road and coming to a locked gate. My phone starts buzzing while I wait for Lopez to make contact with Masters to let us in, but as soon as I see the number that’s calling, I send it to voicemail. I’m in no mood to listen to my ma right now. She’s been on my ass lately about my love life, and I have no interest in being set up with one of her friends’ daughters. Or even worse, one of my sisters’ friends.

At thirty-four, she expected me to be married with grandkids on the way for her, but I’m not even dating anyone right now. LA women don’t seem to be my brand of whiskey. They’re loud, fake, and only after one thing: money. In my line of work, I have to know I can trust the person who I’m sharing my bed with, and I don’t trust a single one of those city gals. If the right price came along, they’d rat me out in a heartbeat.

The gate opens right as my mom’s voicemail buzzes in. I’ll save that for later. I’ve got business to attend to.

“You must be Dagastino,” the old man states, coming up to my truck as I climb down. “Name’s Orson Masters.” He holds out his calloused hand, giving me a strong shake. He’s got a firm grip for being an old man, which, along with that scar running down his neck, leads me to believe he was someone different in his past life.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I turn back, signaling for Lopez to join us. “The boss says you have something for me.”

“I do.” He smiles. “Come.”

He leads me inside the barn and over to a locked stall. The stench of manure hits like a blast of heat. Thick and heavy, and hard to breathe in. If I have to be in here for much longer, the smell is going to saturate my clothes and make this fine Italian suit smell like horseshit.

“This here is Moonshine.” He pats the horse on the snout, and it nuzzles into his hand. “I almost don’t want to part with this one, but your boss offered me a price I couldn’t refuse. He won the Kentucky Derby this year. Got me that gold trophy you see up there.”

He points to a gold cup sitting up on the shelf, and to those in the horse world, I suppose it’s significant. But to an Italian mobster from Sicily, it looks like something I’d rather piss in than display as artwork. But to each their own.

“That’s excellent,” I state, forcing my politeness. I’m ready to pick up the goods and get on the road. I’ve got another four-hour drive ahead of me.

“The boss is going to be thrilled.” I nod. Now, for the real reason I’m here. “Heard you have something else for me too.”

“That there.” He points to a wooden trunk, which must be filled with the guns. I step up to it and remove the lid, wanting to inspect the goods and make sure everything’s accounted for before I call the boss. But it’s filled with nothing but horse stuff. Reins, ropes, a brush. Random shit that is of no value to me.

“It’s his bridle and his favorite saddle pad. His records and authentication are in there too, along with everything that came with him.”

That’s nice, but where’s the shipment I’m looking for?

“I was told something else came in on the horse trailer.” I place the lid back on the box of shit I care nothing about, trying to keep my impatience in check. This here is exactly why I need to lock myself away for a while.

He looks to Lopez, and I gather that’s the reason he’s stalling. Though our trusted ranch hand would never utter a word to anyone or he’d no longer have a tongue to utter a word with.

“Lopez, why don’t you take that trunk to the trailer while we finish up our business. I’ll come get you once the horse is ready to be loaded up.”

He silently tips his chin, grabbing the old wooden trunk and taking his leave. As soon as he’s out of the barn, Orson turns.

“I’ve got your package in here. She was causing quite a ruckus, so I had to lock her up.”

She? I don’t understand. Am I taking another horse home with me, or is that some strange code for an automatic rifle?

He slides back another stable door, and there sitting on top of a block of hay is a woman. Tied up, mouth taped, glaring at me like she’s mentally assassinating me on the spot.

Who the hell is this?

Thought I was here for a case of weapons or a shipment of contraband. This girl isn’t an AK 47 or a case of moonshine. That body is certainly lethal though. Killer curves. Long brown hair. Chestnut eyes. And she’s braless, poking right through that tight shirt she has on. She’s hot as fuck.

But who the hell is she? And why didn’t Dario tell me I’d be collecting a woman?

“I need to make a call.”

I turn, stepping outside, dragging in a long, deep breath of that cold, fresh air. My nerves need a moment to calm the fuck down before I talk to the boss. I’m not used to taking captives. I bust noses and break ribs, making sure people know what will happen if the boss doesn’t get his money. I don’t ever deal with this shit—and never in women.

I won’t ever lay a mean finger on a broad, or I’m sure my nonna would find a way to make my life miserable from her grave.

“Did you get it?” Dario asks upon answering.

I’m not exactly sure what he’s referring to: the horse, or the so called “shipment?”

“The stallion?” he says, only concerned about one thing. “Is he as beautiful as the picture? I want you to have Lopez give him a thorough lookover. I don’t want to get him back here only to find out he has a limp leg.”