The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(59)

Winning.

Thanks Mom.





Chapter Twenty-Three




One of the shittiest jobs that came with the title of Victor’s enforcer was sitting on a mark. Sitting in a car, sometimes with a pair of binoculars, waiting for someone to make a move was boring as fuck. Most times, when the order came down the pipe I cursed Vic to the high heavens. I wanted a piece of the action and following a schmuck around the streets of Brooklyn wasn’t my idea of action.

I’d follow whatever asshole played Victor dirty like a shadow, learn his routine—down to the time he took his final shit of the day. In the early days I’d report my findings to Vic and he’d dismiss me of my duty, sending in the big guns to take care of whatever beef he had. As the years went on, Victor loosened his hold on the leash he had on me and after I gave him my intel he would send me back to take out the garbage.

It’s been a long fucking time since I sat in my car with a lukewarm cup of coffee, staring at a dark building waiting for signs of life. The last time I was in this position was when Vic gave me the order to check up on Maryann Valente and Mike. The night I followed him after he got the call she was in the hospital and we found out she had passed.

I thought my days of doing this shit were done but I’m the asshole who took it upon myself to sit here. There was no order, no mobster demanding I sit here with my thumb up my ass. No, this shit was all my fucking idea.

The people in my life are hurtin’ and I don’t know how to make it better for them. There is no one to blame, no kneecaps to break, no fucking cocksucker to whack. In the Pastore crime family we’re all about an eye for eye. The need to place blame heavy in our black hearts.

I can’t take Vic’s cancer away, can’t add more time to his existence and I can’t break the son of a bitch out of jail so his final days are with the people who love him, the same people I love.

But sitting around and waiting for him to die isn’t an option either. I can’t sit back and watch my wife cry trying to prepare herself for her final visit with her father. I woke up this morning and found her sitting at the kitchen table feeding the kids and writing a list of things she wants to say to her dad. She’s worried she’ll forget something and knows there is no second chance, not in death.

Victor and I have had our ups and downs, our fair share of bad blood and resentment, but the truth of the matter is I’ll always be thankful for the gift he gave me when he gave me his blessing to finally make a life for myself and his daughter.

The Pastores are just as much a part of my family as my mother and sister. I hold Nikki in the same regard as I hold Lauren. Then there is Grace, they don’t make them like her anymore. That woman doesn’t have a bad bone in her body, been through hell and back and still she smiles.

Her smile is fading, and it’s a fucking shame to watch.

I’m sure people will talk, they’ll call me an asshole, say I can’t let go of the life. But this is my life, this is all I know and when I’m at the end of my rope, running out of options it will always be this life that leads the way.

My connections in the mob may have diminished and my pride keeps me from reaching out to Rocco, but when there’s a will, there is a motherfucking way. Luckily my sister fell in love with a fucking genius. Riggs is a goddamn asset. I wish we had his expertise back in the day, maybe he could’ve gotten my ass released from jail sooner. One click of the mouse and he erases life and creates new. It’s fucking sick, especially for me, I barely know how to operate an iPhone.

Anyway, with a couple of strokes of the keys Riggs can get the information it would take me weeks to get if I did it the old fashioned way—following someone, collecting their secrets and using it against them. Maybe I snatch the person on the way to work, or there is always a good old fashioned beat down, either way they’re gums get loose and they spill.

“I’m fucking starving, where is this douche?” Riggs complains, digging into the console of my truck and pulling out a bag of Reese’s Pieces. “Jackpot,” he cheers, tearing open the corner of the package and pouring the candy into his mouth.

I keep my eyes trained on the headlights approaching the barbed wire fence as Riggs grabs his phone and pulls up the license plate we’re waiting on.

“Showtime Bianci,” he confirms as the black sedan crosses the gates and turns onto the gravel road.

Shifting the car into drive, I wait a beat before peeling out of the spot and following the Buick.

Riggs lifts his ass, pulling out a clip from his back pocket and loads his gun before nonchalantly going back to chowing down obnoxiously on the candy. I hadn’t asked him to tag along on my mission, all I asked was for him to get me the information I needed, but his stubborn ass insisted he come along.

It’s been a while since you pulled a trigger, bro, your finger might be rusty.

He had no fucking idea.

Not a clue.

I could hit my mark with my eyes closed, but I wasn’t planning on filling anyone with lead tonight.

“Tell me again his routine,” I order, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as I lift the ice cold cup of coffee to my lips. Shit was putrid.

“You don’t give a fuck about his routine, you want the dirt on him, you’re going to use that shit against this slob and if he doesn’t agree to the terms then we’ll blow his dirty little secret wide open. Fuck that, we’ll grab both the wife and the whore, introduce them to one another before making the dickhead choose which one gets to live,” he growls.