Page 2 of Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy 3)
“Care to explain what’s going on here, gentlemen?” The voice was deep and had a faint Italian accent.
Morello. Morello. My brain wasn’t working like it should, but the name was right there. I should know it. Morello.
“Just a street kid shoplifting. Been trying to catch him for damn near two years now.”
A deep laugh followed Ernie’s explanation.
“So either he’s smart as hell, or you’re all fucking incompetent. Which is it?” The man’s tone held no respect for Ernie or the cops, and it clicked in my head.
Holy shit. Morello was Johnny Morello, current acting head of the Morello crime family. They ran this town. Owned this town.
I was screwed, any way I looked at it. I fucked up Morello’s car, and his goon would probably put a bullet in my head for it while the cops watched, their dicks in their hands, because they couldn’t touch him. No one could. And if the goon didn’t kill me, he’d leave me for the cops and Ernie to deal with, and there was no doubt in my mind I was going down. They were trying kids as adults these days for everything they could. No doubt, Ernie would make it his mission to land me in prison for life.
From my bent-over position hanging on to the car to stay upright, I watched as two shiny black leather shoes stepped into my line of sight. I swallowed the urge to puke my guts all over the Mercedes and the shoes, and instead forced myself to stand straight despite the burning and stabbing pain in my ribs as I breathed.
“What’s your name, kid?” Morello’s question was quiet but carried the unmistakable weight of authority. From everything I’d heard, he was a man you didn’t fuck with and live.
I met his gaze, determined to show no fear, which was more than I could probably say for Ernie and the cops. Bet they’re pissing themselves right now.
I hadn’t had a name in the two years I’d been living on these streets. I’d left Michael Arch behind the Dumpster I used for cover while I watched the social worker pick up Hope and Destiny from the church shelter. I was born nameless, so I lived nameless. But I couldn’t tell that to Johnny Morello. And I sure as shit wouldn’t give him the name Michael Arch. Far as I knew, he was still wanted for murder.
“I don’t repeat myself, kid.”
Someone nudged me from behind and I straightened, my ribs crying in pain I’d never show.
Morello’s black eyes drilled into me as my brain scrambled for something to tell him. I remembered the IDs I just tossed down the gutter, and made something up.
“Name’s Lachlan Mount, sir. I apologize for the damage I caused. It wasn’t intentional. I meant no disrespect.”
Morello studied me, no doubt taking in my roughed-up appearance, hard eyes, and sharp features. “Lachlan Mount. Strong name for a smart kid. Is that what you are, Mount?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You been dodging the cops for two years?” His eyes narrowed on me like he was waiting for me to lie. But Morello didn’t realize I had nothing to lose anymore.
“Yes, sir.”
His dark eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Today didn’t work out how you planned, then.”
“No, sir. Not at all.” I gritted my teeth as the pain intensified the longer I stood up straight.
“You fucked my car up, Mount. You owe me for that.”
I nodded and reached into my pocket to pull out the cash I’d just lifted. “My apologies, sir.” I handed it out toward him. “This is everything I got.”
He looked down at the bills in my hand and laughed, a deep booming noise that seemed to echo off the tall brick buildings hemming us in and blocking my escape.
“You know how much this car costs, kid? Because what you got there won’t even fix the hood ornament.”
“It’s all I got, sir.”
I waited for the press of a barrel to my head from behind, because I’d heard these Mafia types preferred execution-style, but it didn’t come.
Morello tilted his head to the side, studying me. “How long did it take you to steal that money?”
“A few minutes. Grabbed ’em on my way to that fat fuck’s store.”
“Hey—” Ernie yelled, ready to defend himself, but Morello raised a hand and he instantly went silent.
