Page 3 of Bloody Savage God
Not for long though. I’ll be back for her.
Chapter Two
Gianna
Beatingaguyupin a parking lot isn’t what my days usually entail, but as I put my Cadillac XT5 into park in the country club’s parking lot, I’m fucking glad it is today. It’s been a long day at the office, and while I love my job, it’s been lacking excitement lately. This, on the other hand? This is what I’ve been missing out on. In fact, my body is humming with the excitement I usually only experience when I head to Club Steel, which has been much too infrequent lately.
My father, the don of the Bruno Syndicate, doesn’t usually call on me to do the dirty work. Being the public face and CEO of our most profitable venture, the family’s real estate business, doesn’t mesh terribly well with street level assaults. We wouldn’t want to sully my public image, even if I’ve been heading the company’s less than legal subsidiary enterprises for several years as well now.
Today’s exercise in old-fashioned mafia enforcement is an exception.
And a welcome one at that.
Times are changing and even good old-fashioned Mafia families like my own are moving more into the upper echelons of white collar crime rather than wasting our times with turf wars, which is why Toronto is home to not just my family, but another Italian syndicate, the Angelos. And the Russians, of course, though nobody really wants them around.
That higher standard of crime I mentioned? Yeah, the Russians don’t qualify.
Not that there is anything wrong with getting your hands dirty. I know some other women in our life that aren’t eager to mess with their manicures, or perhaps they are just glad to stay away from the danger, but I’ve been going mad without it. There is only so much excitement you can get behind an office desk. Or in a sex club, for that matter. Even if both involve threatening powerful people into doing whatever I demand of them.
The rush just isn’t the same when no blood flows.
“There he is.” My cousin Eric, whom I’ve assigned to act as my second today, points to a man leaving the villa and heading down the walkway to the well-lit parking lot. Benny Ronald, my target for today.
The light is a problem since it’s early afternoon rather than late at night, which is when Hollywood apparently assumes shit like this takes place. There are also cameras facing the rear of the building where the parking lot is located, but, luckily for us, those aren’t running right now. Courtesy of a well-greased palm in the security office.
“You ready?” Eric asks, not moving his eyes from our target.
I stop myself from snapping at him. Certainly, no woman would be so asinine as to even question me on this. Eric is probably the only man to get away with asking me that question, since I know he is simply going through his own readiness checklist. He’s a psychopath, sure, but he’s an organized psychopath.
He’s also known for his outbursts of physical aggression. My infrequent public displays of violence, on the other hand, means that some of thesoldatiin the family constantly seem to forget that I’m not just the fancy business woman who represents our family to the public. Or even a spoiled mafia princess, as some of the more recent initiates into the family seem to assume. I’m a Bruno, and I can carry my weight just like the rest of them. I simply prefer to act on my desire for causing pain and demanding respect in a more private environment.
Usually, that is.
Today is a pleasant exception, of course.
The slow tingle cursing through me now is a stark reminder that I’m not only capable of violence, but that I enjoy it. More than anyone in our organization knows. And today I’m here to deliver a personalized message.
Benny Ronaldo messed up when he decided to give out personal loans at one of our gambling dens. Poaching our business and on our own turf? It doesn’t get any more stupid than that, even for a spoiled rich kid like Ronaldo junior.
“Let’s go.”It’s time for a hit of endorphins.
I open my door, but stay in the space between my vehicle and the Cayenne parked in the next spot over, my switchblade already in hand. It’s not the most practical weapon for most people, but I love my switchblades. Light-weight, small to hide, and with a bit more class than some of the hunting knives Eric likes to run around with.
My cousin comes up next to me, raising his eyebrows. “It’s your gig.”
I nod. This is why he can get away with more than anyone else. As my cousin, he enjoys teasing me, but he’s all business when it comes to shit like this. And he’s my father’s top enforcer, which means he has a much better idea of the darkness inside of me. More so than most, anyway.
“I’ll wait for him at his car. You cover the exit behind him.”
Eric nods and we get moving. I don’t want Benny to see me just yet, so I use the parked cars to shield me from his view, all the while checking his progress. When I make it to his Lexus, he still hasn’t left the white graveled walking path, so I lean against the car, letting my arm hang down to keep my switchblade hidden behind my thigh.
As he gets closer, I get a better view of his face. Benny Ronaldo looks younger than I expected. Average looking, but wearing an expensive suit in a strange light blue that’s probably meant to compensate for his boring features. I’m not impressed, but then I wouldn’t be, even if he looked like Hemsworth himself. I prefer men with a bit more bite than this boy scout.
Tattoos and scars, that’s my kind of thirst trap.
I shake the memory of the stranger I spotted the last time I visited Club Steel. He was scening with someone else, covered in tattoos and scars, his head covered with a black mask. It was a good thing I hadn’t started drooling.
But now isn’t the time to lament the fact that I’ve been too busy to return to my favorite illicit establishment. Time to remind everyone that the Bruno syndicate doesn’t tolerate anyone messing with us or our income.
