Page 60 of Bloody Savage God
I take him in for a long moment. His chiseled features, dark looks, and steely gray eyes are undoubtedly attractive. He has a similarly powerful energy as Mikhail, but in a more caged way. Like a dangerous animal that could break free at any moment if he doesn’t keep himself in check.
We might be sitting here having a casual dinner, and he may be wearing an expensive suit, but like myself, the violence is just barely contained in Riccardo.
And that’s the problem. We are too similar.
Unlike Mikhail, who doesn’t keep his violence contained, but accepts my punishments for his unruliness instead.
The thought is disconcerting, and I quickly disregard it.
Again.
It’s becoming a fucking annoying routine.
“I don’t make a habit of doing what people expect,” I say, focusing back on the topic at hand. “I much rather do the things that are smart and most beneficial. In our case, a marriage might help funnel our business ventures, but I don’t suppose it would have as much longevity as we can gain if we keep things to business.”
Riccardo leans back, relaxed and with another small smile. “I agree. Which means we might as well share a different sort of pleasure while we’re here together.”
For a second I honestly think he’s coming on to me, but then his smile changes into a grin and he nods towards the table where our Tiramisus are waiting for us.
Heading out of the restaurant, the summer air hits me with its intense humidity. After the air conditioning inside, I take off the cardigan I brought to wear during the meal. Heading east, I walk down the street to the parking garage where I left my Cadillac.
The meeting went well, given I got Riccardo’s word that an alliance is in place assuming I deal with Mario, but it also highlights that I’ve got to get focused. Mikhail has been a distraction. Maybe not in the way my uncle intended, but he continues to pop into my head uninvited. Between Mia’s warning about Mikhail being untrustworthy and Riccardo’s talk about strategic marriage alliances, there is one thing that’s apparent. I need to stop fucking around—literally.
It’s time to attack Mario with all my attention. This is what matters most. Not some guy who is fun to play with but will sell me out once he’s got his own revenge.
He might crave me the way I crave him, but that won’t hold up against the loyalties we have to our families.
To what’s left of mine, anyway.
Reaching the top of the stairs that have taken me to the third level of the parking garage, I notice a silver car that somehow seems out of place. It’s parked at the end of the line, a few cars across from my own. It’s instinct more than training that has me keep an eye on the driver who is still inside his vehicle. Something about him has the hairs at the back of my neck stand at attention, even though he isn’t doing anything but sitting, his head slightly bent, as if he’s on his phone.
Inconspicuous.
Or it should be.
I walk at a measured pace, directing my steps and my eyes to my own vehicle, but from the corner of my eye, I still watch. Watch as the guy starts his engine when I’m only about halfway between the stairs and my car. He pulls out of his parking spot, as if ready to drive off, except when he’s passing by me, he doesn’t glance at me.
My alarm bells ring, despite it being a minor thing. I don’t really know why, except perhaps that usually people like to stare at you while they pass on by. Or maybe it’s just the knowledge that my uncle is no doubt planning something.
Whatever the case. I quicken my steps and head to my car, pushing the key fob to unlock the driver’s door.
I realize too late what I should have actually been paying attention to. Someone hidden in the shadows between the vehicles moves. My hand is outstretched, in the process of reaching for the door, but sensing the movement, I spin. Unfortunately, all that accomplishes is that instead of grabbing my arms, which would have been preferable, the guy manages to reach for my neck, apparently considering it the best alternative, now that his initial target is in motion.
His hand is huge. Big enough to encircle half my neck, and he doesn’t hesitate before he presses down on the carotid arteries on either side of my trachea.
The edges of my vision grow blurry, but I haven’t been training with Mia every day for the past five years, only to be taken out by one random guy in a fucking parking garage of all places. I yank my knee up, missing his crotch, but he doesn’t expect the follow up kick I deliver to his knee. It’s not enough to have him let go, but his hold on my throat eases slightly.
I fling my right arm up and over his, twisting as I press down. He’s strong though and clearly motivated. My left arm reaches under my belt, pulling out my switchblade. I thrust it forward, but he’s paying attention and moves his hips back just in time, my switchblade cutting through his black shirt and nothing else. At least his movement changes his center of gravity, and I take advantage. Switchblade in hand, I let myself drop, forcing him to either let go or come down with me.
He doesn’t let go and I move quickly, yanking my feet up to push them into his groin. Using our momentum as we go down, I grunt as I catapult him forward. For a moment I’m not sure I have enough momentum, already seeing him come down on me, crotch on face, but with another jerk of my legs that makes my muscles burn, he flies further and a bit to the side, face planting on the concrete of the garage floor.
Take that, asshole.
I’m up before he can get to his feet, though the fucker isn’t far behind. And this time, he’s pulling a gun.
Well, shit.
Most men in my organization like to carry weapons at all times. I have no doubts about the efficiency of a well-aimed shot, but while I’m not against shooting anyone, the usefulness of a weapon on a daily basis in a city like Toronto is less than one might think. Plus, you don’t go into a meeting with another mob boss carrying. The only thing that accomplishes is giving your potential opponent another weapon, since their security will confiscate any guns before you actually go into the room together.
