Furore (The Night Skulls MC #1)(8)

He ran to his Mickey Mouse borgata like a scared shitless little girl. I stood, waiting to see if any of his amici was going to come over and start some shit, itching for some action, but all they did was some eyeballing before they took their worm under their wings and left.





CHAPTER 5


Furore



Three Weeks Ago



When they said I had a visitor, I wished it’d have been my boy finally agreeing to see me or just coming to give me shit about what I’d done, but it was likely one of the brothers updating me on business or a sweet butt coming to give me some company and show me a little bit of what I’d been missing.

What was waiting at the table, though, was a suit as expensive as my bike on a shiny scarface with enough grease in his hair to butter up an entire engine.

He smiled like we were best friends, not two strangers that were meeting for the first time. “If it isn’t the infamous Laius Lazzarini himself. Piacere.”

I narrowed my gaze at him, sizing him up. “The name is Furore.”

“Certo. Furore it is. I’m Armando L—”

“I know who you are.” I pushed my elbows on the table and tilted my chin up. “The new coyote.”

He gave a low laugh. “Word travels fast. Do you know my cousin?”

“Can’t say that I do.” All I knew was Domenico Lanza was the Lanza famiglia enforcer and a motherfucking bastard that flayed his enemies and fed them to the coyotes. That was how he got the name Il Coyote. Last winter, he had an accident and had to retire early. At least, that was the story the Mafia lords of San Francisco were feeding everyone. But the rumors were—more than rumors if you asked me—shit hit the fan between the Lanzas and their best buddies and recently in-laws, the Bellomos—the Mafia lords that ran Chicago. Domenico Lanza paid the price. Some said the son of a bitch had it coming. Others were sobbing tears over the Italian Dom. Me? Didn’t give a shit. Never would I over a Mafioso. I cared about no one but my own family. The Night Skulls and my own blood. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your precious visit?”

A cocky smirk curved his mouth. “As you know, the Night Skulls and the Lanzas have always been good friends.”

“Maybe with the San Francisco chapter, which, as you know, is a fucking memory. One we don’t like to remember.”

He chuckled. “Not just with that chapter. The ones all over Europe are still great allies to the Lanzas. We’d like to be friends with the chapters in Texas, too. You’re the man that can make that happen.”

I didn’t like where this was going. Running with the Mob was shitty business, and I’d managed to stay out of it until now. Besides, the Lanzas ran the west coast. Since when did they or any mobster have interest in the South where gambling was a shit show? Why are we really having this conversation, Lanza? “I only run Houston.”

“C’mon, Furore. We all know you’re their leader. You even have significant weight with the rivals. If there’s one man that can get the South under one call, it’s you.”

This wasn’t about getting friendly with the Night Skulls. This was about easing a way in to a new turf. A connection that could build a bridge that would lead not to the MCs or the casinos but straight to the cartel. Looked like the rumors weren’t horseshit after all, and no matter how the two families were trying to sugarcoat it, the Lanzas and the Bellomos honeymoon was over. The Lanzas had lost their cut in the Midwest, and they wanted to get their hands on a new territory. Yeah, I didn’t like where this was going. No one in the South would.

But you didn’t say that with a straight face to a fucking Mafioso, especially when you had twenty-one months more to serve in a fucking can. “When I’m out of here, I’ll be happy to discuss said friendship with you and pass it to the other presidents in our quarterly church. We’ll vote on it.”

The arrogant smile he had on vanished as he slowly leaned forward. “How’s your son doing, Furore?”

Was this little shit trying to threaten me? Leveraging my own boy against me? It was one thing to keep my shit for the sake of keeping business going without unnecessary wars, but when it came to my own family, I didn’t give a fuck. A mafia enforcer with an army behind him or not, nobody threatened my family.

“Piano.” He must have read my face and got the hint because he was flashing his friendly smile again, asking me to take it easy. “I mean, I’m sure you’d like to get out of here as soon as possible and try for a family reunion with him. Two years seem a little too long. You must miss him.”

I squinted at him. “Twenty-one months.”

“When you put it that way it sounds even longer. I don’t know, but if I were you, I’d do anything that could get me out of here in, say, three months, or…maybe even now.”

Taking a deep breath, I blinked. So it wasn’t a threat but an offer? “No judge will reduce the sentence to six months because of my priors and how that filthy fuck is connected. I was lucky to get just two years. It could have been four. That bitch called the cops on me herself and said I was gonna kill both her and her wife beater of a husband. I didn’t even point that gun at either of them, but her testimony stood.”

“It’s just words, Furore. She can change them.”

“She’s my boy’s mother. I won’t let any—”