Page 42 of Bloody Savage God
“Girl talk done?” His question only confirms my earlier impression. He didn’t like being sent outside so we could chat privately. Well, too bad. He’s lucky I don’t have a kennel. There are far worse fates than taking a little stroll down to the shore of Lake Simcoe.
“Let’s get to business.” I stand up from the kitchen island, and square my shoulders. “My uncle’s next game is tomorrow night. I’ll go and check in on how things are going. Not only will that piss him off, maybe even enough to get him to make an uncalculated move, it’ll also give me some face time with thesoldati. They need to see me taking over.”
“Is taking that risk worth it?” Mia asks, and I know she isn’t hesitant because of cowardice. “He’s likely to have his closest supporters near, isn’t he? You might walk yourself into a bad situation.”
I wave away her concern, even though she has a point. “He won’t be prepared to see me, since I’m not typically at any of the gambling dens. And he won’t risk alienating our own people by making it obvious he’s stabbing me in the back.”
Mikhail makes a noise, and I turn to face him. “Do you have a better plan?”
Shrugging, he says, “Maybe. Maybe not. But it seems to me that you’ve got two problems, and we might be able to deal with both of them.”
“Oh yeah, and how wouldwedo that?” I give Mikhail a skeptical look, still not convinced that letting him in on anything is a good idea. He has very good reasons to sabotage me, and I’m not likely to forget it. He’s heir to the Bratva the same way I’m supposed to be the heir to the Bruno syndicate, my uncle be damned.
And heirs will do whatever it takes to stay on top. I should know. Which means I’m keen to keep my eyes on Mikhail. For those reasons alone, of course. It has nothing to do with the lust coiling deep in my body at the sight of him, hair disheveled and looking ready to go on a bloody vendetta.
Mikhail
One of the things I’ve always enjoyed is getting my hands dirty. Helping Gianna set her uncle up? Now that is pure pleasure. Even if it meant she was too preoccupied with strategizing last night to indulge in a little repeat performance of what went down in the dungeon.
The key thing with illegal gambling is that high amounts of money are being gambled without any oversight. Bilking customers and rigging games is the name of the game. All of that only works if you walk the line and ensure you have people coming back again and again.
Bless addictions.
My very own addiction is currently sitting next to me. In the driver’s seat. Turns out the Mistress of pain is a bit of a control freak in all aspects of life. Go figure.
Luckily I’m secure in my masculinity, especially knowing how she jumped my cock the first chance she got. Yeah, hard to mind her being behind the wheel when I can hardly pretend I don’t like her hands wrapped around things. Like steering wheels. Or my cock.
Bad Mikhail,down boy. It’s time to focus.
The property we’re at is a villa near Earl Bales Park. It’s a sweet set-up for a gambling den. The long driveway and busy road make it hard for anyone to track just how many people come here on any given night. Traffic noise is a constant, and the hedges and trees ensure the spacious parking area is well hidden from sight. The whole thing gives me a new appreciation for the strategic planning behind a moveable operation like this.
“You must be pretty choosy about what properties you use for these games of yours.”
Gianna gives me a sharp look, and I raise my hands placatingly, even if I do nothing to suppress my grin. “Not out to steal your trade secrets.” Although I bet Anya would get a kick out of analyzing exactly what went into the set-up of the games.
We are parked on the opposite side of the street, watching the driveway. Tinted windows ensure that we won’t be made. Plus, Gianna has pulled a hat and glasses on, obscuring herself even more, which has me fighting down the urge to make a Godfather joke.
“So, how do your games go down then?” I ask, both because I’m curious and because I want to make sure there are no holes in the plan we’re coming up with.
Gianna gives me an assessing look. Over the last years my father has done a hell of a lot to get our organization in line, with fewer rogues drawing unwanted attention to our business. Maybe Gianna wasn’t tracking just how much we’ve grown, but she’s sure catching on now. I would bet her father must have kept an eye on us, so it’s interesting that she wasn’t more aware. It’s no surprise now though that she’s not overly eager to share. Except, for now, the Bruno enterprise is still at a different level, having abandoned much of the seedier stuff in favor of more lucrative enterprises.
Or maybe not more lucrative. Our girls and the protection business bring in what I suspect is a pretty similar amount, but we have to drain a whole lot more pockets to get that bottom line, whereas Gianna’s family can get the same with fewer gigs.
Gianna’s eyes move away from me, tracking another car that pulls into the driveway of the villa that is currently one of Bruno Properties’ listings. Apparently deciding that she might as well tell me, she explains, “I scout the properties based on a few criteria. Then we purchase and use them for a few weeks, in rotation. After that, we remove any evidence and they actually go on the market. After a good cleaning, of course.”
I grunt, annoyed that she’s explaining the obvious. “Sure, but how do you get the info to the players?”
This time she grins. “I don’t think you need to worry your pretty little head about that. It won’t affect our plans for tonight.”
“Spoil sport,” I accuse, even though I appreciate that she’s keeping her cards close to her chest. Unlike her uncle. “How about other logistics? Time, transport of tables, and all that.”
This time Gianna doesn’t hesitate to share. This, after all, is relevant to shaking things up tonight. “There are two vans used to transport our stuff. We keep the things in the villa during the entire duration of running the games there. Usually, that’s the ledgers, an automated Mahjong, a blackjack, and poker tables, plus chips and cards. And, the cash, of course. There are five tables, with a croupier on each table. In addition, Uncle Mario has a minimum of tensoldatirunning security.”
“And your uncle is at every game?”
Gianna nods. “Yeah, he is. He loves the status he has there.”
That’s about what I had pegged him as, from Gianna’s descriptions. Power hungry and a narcissist.
