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“Amelia,” Zane begins, breaking my small reverie. “Before, I really wanted to bring your father down, but after being in the family for a week, I don’t think your father’s the real issue.”

I roll my eyes and run a hand through my hair. The moment’s gone and I feel lunacy at being laid out again. “Again with the stupidity, Maverick.”

“No, hear me out,” Zane says, looking at me after taking another right and leading us further from downtown Manhattan. “I think the only reason Sal behaves as he does is because of Giovanni.” He speaks forward, but he’s leaning toward me. “I’ve seen him with you, Amelia. He’s trying so hard to be tough and keep you in line, but there’s a part of him that I’ve noticed just wants to forget it all to offer you some sort of support.”

“I missed out on fatherly love a long time ago.” I can’t help the ounces of nonchalant emotion from seeping through. I sometimes am able to cope with a heartless father, but others I do just wish he would love me like he used to, back before I became a killer.

“I know you did,” Zane replies, softly.

He starts to offer me support by reaching over and putting a hand on my knee. I look down and want to cover it with mine and just enjoy the comfort, but once more, my own words and decisions lash at me, reminding me to put the distance between.

“Hands to yourself, Zane,” I tease, removing his hand from my leg. There’s a small break in conversation between us, and I take a deep inhalation before I change the topic. “I’m sure you know all about the illegal distribution of Cuban cigars in America, right?”

“Right,” Zane nods with his answer. “I was wondering why your father wasn’t already in with that part of the business.”

“It’s too highly watched, but he found a way to get a cut and keep a hidden identity.” There’s a moment of silence, waiting to see if Zane offered any more input before I continue. “The payment was my father making sure whoever we’re meeting had a bounty eliminated from his head. In exchange for that, my father owns part of his business in importing and distributing illegal Cuban cigars around America.”

“Racketeering,” Zane muses after I’m done. I can’t help but smile; his years as a detective made him a prime candidate to be linked to mafia. He’s a valuable asset, one who’s just beginning to prove his worth.

“Yes, racketeering,” I say, pleased. “I still can’t believe you gave up years of hard work for this. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

“Trust me, if I was to walk into the police station, I’d be a shocking sight for them all.” He chuckles, but I hear there’s a sense of hesitance. He misses it; I know he does. I hate that I’m a reason he had to give up something he loved so much. It’s something I will never forgive myself for. “I miss it, sure, but I didn’t realize how many of my men are linked to your father.”

“Dirty cops are everywhere; you wouldn’t believe how many if I were to really tell you.” I look out of my window and noticed that we’re closing in on the industrial land where my father mentioned the exchange was happening. I notice the unnumbered lot of warehouses and point them out. “It’s those warehouses on the right.”

“Okay, you are going to behave, right?” he asks, as he slows the car and pulls into the vacant lot around the building.

Stone chips start to fly against the metal of the car and I look around to see if the noise of a car slowing down wakens any life. But all I see is a large SUV sitting in front of the large open doors to this grim building.

I nod. “All we’re doing is a pickup and a handshake to seal the deal.”

“Basically, this is the same as Carmello,” Zane comments, musing on how similar this will be.

“Except this time, I’ll be doing the manhandling,” I tease and laugh when he shoots me a serious look. “I am not letting anyone touch me like that fucking brute did the other day.”

“He put a knife to your neck,” Zane dryly states, sardonic tendencies coming with his comment. He doesn’t look at me to shoot me a look of sarcasm. Instead, he draws our car closer to the SUV and parks.

“True, but I’ve had worse than a nasty nick to the neck,” I muse lightly, and I see Zane remembers what Big Al did to me. A small superficial wound to my neck is the least of my worries. “Now, let’s go so we can get these damn things and head home. I need to look good for the party tonight.”

“What’s it for again?” Zane asks as he turns the engine off and prepares to get out of the car.

“Who said there was reason?” I ask as we start to get out. “You need to be ready for impromptu parties like this. They’re basically pissing contests.”

“Sounds like fun,” Zane remarks, his tone anything but excited for the evening’s events.

It’s time Zane got a taste of how Italians party. The last dinner party ended with a man poisoned and another with his jugular severed. The last party I attended ended with the news Zane had been shot. Zane’s less than animated response is very much a reflection of my own. I intend to get merry and stick in a corner.

We both walk together as we approach the building and the moment we enter, I notice two guys in the middle of a heated conversation over something.

“Roscoe?” I call out to the unknown man and his henchman. It was the only name I was given, and I wasn’t aware we’d be meeting little and large. My calling of the name has them turning around to look at me.

“You’re late!” the smallest of the pair says. He looks positively livid with us so I smile sweetly while Zane carries himself like a poised and polite gentleman. “Bobby V said you’d be here by four, it’s almost five.”

“Traffic in downtown Manhattan is a bitch,” Zane states, deliberately sounding sarcastic. “But we were told it was a clean pickup. You hand us over the cigars and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Nah,” Roscoe says and already he’s irritating me. “It don’t work like that. We were told four, you’re an hour late. We’re only here still because Bobby V said he’s forever in Salvatore’s debt.”

“Well, in that case, give us what we’re here for and we’ll leave,” I reply, unable to keep every ounce of annoyance out of my voice. “Or I could make one phone call to my father and have this sorted another way.”

Apparently, the acknowledgement of who I am has the midget piqued with intrigue. I have his interest, but it doesn’t take me long to realize it’s not for a good reason. The look that twists upon his face is of sudden merciless greed. He sees in me what everyone does – an opportunity.

“Oh, he sent his little princess to do his dirty work. Well, in that case, I think you should both come with us because I was told the great Salvatore would be here for me to meet. If he’s not coming, I want something that will force him to step up to his business deals.”

For fuck’s sake
! Seriously, what is it with botched dealings lately? I don’t know about the midget being pissed off, but if he thinks for one second I’m about to let him change the plan and take advantage, he’s got another thing coming. From the way his eyes roam over my body, I already feel an itch to bite.

“Look, I can tell you now that there is no way you’re getting lucky like that,” I state and edge forward. “My father, whom I’m more than sure you’re aware of, won’t tolerate you fucking us around. So we were late, it’s called traffic, maybe Bobby V should have picked a more convenient time and shouldn’t send such narcissistic, petulant children to do
his
business deals.”

“Are you disrespecting me?” Roscoe asks, taking a few heavy steps toward me, his fists beginning to clench.

“Just as much as you are me,” I say, pointing to Lurch. “You know, it’s not very polite to eye fuck a lady.”

“A lady would never have such a dirty mouth on her,” Roscoe comments, his henchman still not looking away from me.

I can feel the sanctimonious smirk twitching at the corners of my mouth, tugging hard. “I prefer to play dirty. It’s the Abbiati in me.” I offer a shrug and shift a little on my feet, getting a reminding jab of the revolver stored in the back of my pencil skirt. I don’t want to use it because that would just aid provocation, but in the same sense, I am not about to be threatened with abduction. “Look,” I begin to say with exasperation, “I can make one call and have you two swimming with the fishes or you can do as we were told. It’s entirely up to you.”

“No, no,” Roscoe states, shutting me up. “We run this my way. Bobby V has been waiting for my ass to trip up, but if I bring him you and the newest Dio Lavoro recruit, then I’m pretty fucking sure I’ll be paid off beautifully.”

“Do you really think I’m about to let you or him lay a hand on her or me?” Zane speaks up, taking a calculated step forward protectively. He’s moved slightly so he’s shielding me with his body. “The last man who wanted my girl had his face pummeled in with a hammer. It’s not against me to do a recreation of it on one of you.” Zane snickers as both men look to one another a little worried. “Who’s first then?” he asks and takes a few more steps forward, this time cracking his knuckles as he does so to show his readiness.

“Whoa, whoa,” Roscoe says and although he’s looking warier of Zane than ever, he does take a step forward. “Clearly, we underestimated you, but this is a business deal. You’re late, you pay. I don’t get paid overtime for standing around for an extra fucking hour. My pay check stopped at four when you were supposed to be here.”

“I’ll make sure you’re made up for your time,” I comment, stepping out from Zane’s guard. I stand beside him, showing us as equals. “Now either Lurch shows me to the cigars or we leave empty handed and Bobby V will have something far worse to worry about than our punctuality.” I anticipate a response, but when I don’t get one, I decide to really show I’m serious. “Fine,” I say and reach into the pocket of my blazer and pull out my cell. “I’ll just make one phone call to my father to let him know the change of plans and be out of your hair.”

“Wait!” Roscoe hollers, stopping me from pulling my father’s number up. “Take the fucking cigars and get out of my face. If you’re late for the next pickup, then I won’t be so lenient.” He pushes his henchman, Lurch, and glares at him as he lights up a new cigarette. “Show her to the back room.”

I had already spotted the small shipment of cigars in a room to the right, so I feel excited that things are finally going back on track for us. I follow Lurch to the side room, spotting the branded Cuban cigars as they sit in on the table, but my eagerness has the better of me as Lurch turns to me, surrounded by abandoned sheets, rumble, paint pots, gas canisters, and what I can only make out as old shipping crates.

“And remember, don’t go easy on her!” Roscoe calls out behind us and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“You fucker!” Zane bellows, and all I hear is him issuing Roscoe the initial punch the moment the words resonate with him.

As I hear them brawl, I look back and seeing Zane getting the upper hand with a punch square to Roscoe’s jaw. However, when I turn back, Roscoe’s wingman is right before and from the predatory glare I’m receiving, I can only presume I’m not about to get
just
the cigars.

I’m not used to greedy men who do the big boss dirty work because I’m not usually placed on the front line like this. The incident with Carmello was the first time I had been out with just three of us doing a drop, but now my father thinks it’s time to teach me all areas of the family business. The one thing he doesn’t know is that I’ve grown extremely bored of men thinking I’m easy. I’m tiresome of men thinking I’m just an object they can touch and grope because I’m not and I’m not afraid to show them that.

So, I allow him to pin me to the wall. He’s a silent man, but his eyes speak volumes. Even glowering at me, a cigarette hanging from between his lips, I know Roscoe’s henchman is just obeying orders. This is something they had discussed – separate us and then strike. They clearly didn’t know who they were taking on and I’m little fucking disappointed that my reputation still doesn’t precede me. If Lurch doesn’t know, then it’s time I enlighten him.

He stands over me, the cigarette burning between his chapped lips, his peppered grey hair lops forward, and the face that stares down at me has been worn and tortured with years as the silent partner.

“Do you do all his bidding?” I ask, taking a drag from the half-burnt cigarette. He nods mutely, so I lift my hand up to his forehead, pushing back the one unruly strand out of his face. “Let him push you around all the time?” I query and again he nods. “Do you know what sort of trouble that can get you into?”

Now he shakes his head and while one hand travels up his chest, the other falls from his face and onto his shoulder. I keep his eyes locked on mine, the intensity of the moment all too consuming. While I watch him lose himself in this moment of foreign intimacy, I draw him toward me while propelling my knee up into his crotch and connecting the hardness of my kneecap with his penis. I feel the sudden exertion of air traveling from his lungs before I release him and he crumples into a heap on the floor.

It never ceases to amaze me that it doesn’t matter the size of man – one knock to their manhood and they’re down crying like a baby. It’s a fucking glorious sight every damn time.

As he lies on the floor, cupping his manhood, I take full advantage. Even with Zane not letting Roscoe win, I don’t step down and talk the situation into a calm; I just react to it – as I always do. While he’s weakened, I take my chance to leap into action. I use the toe of my shoe to kick him hard in the side and cause him to roll onto his back. He looks up at me with watering eyes, and I take a step forward, only to set one foot beside his arm while the other I push down onto his throat, the heel crushing his windpipe a little.