The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(84)

“What do you mean, sending me?” I questioned, no longer hiding my annoyance. Reckless, I know. “I thought I was making a normal run.”

“Oh, you are, Al. We’re delivering a healthy sample of our best crop to the Mafia in New York. You will be in charge of getting the shipment to Sal Dash, a low level lieutenant with their families, as an overture for future cooperation.”

“Why me?” I asked, genuinely stunned by the responsibility I was being given, but at the same time bursting with pride.

Neither Manny nor his cousin had said a thing since we arrived. Instead they stood off to the side as if deaf. I guess they knew better than to give me a heads up.

“We’ve been watching you, Al,” he answered, motioning for me to sit back down. I quickly complied. “We’ve seen you in the discos, and we see how easily you can blend in with any group. Manny says you are a charmer, so you can bullshit your way out of certain situations.”

“Well, I do what I can.” I smiled, suddenly feeling my normal confidence return.

“The families in New York don’t know about our venture. These are delicate times as we try to branch into the Northeast, which they control. And if the Northeast Italians discover us encroaching on their territory, it will be unfortunate . . . for you. Understand?”

“I . . . I don’t know about this,” I mumbled, no longer comfortable or as confident about my latest job opportunity as when I strutted in there. But I had parents and sisters that I helped to support. They depended on the money I made to keep my sisters in school and not working in some sweatshop. As much as I feared the road ahead, the idea of winding up another mouth to feed worried me more.

“So, you think you can handle it, or do we need to get another man for the job?” his voice thundered, as he questioned my ability to handle the assignment.

“I will return from New York with every dime you’ve been promised,” I swore to the men who were now watching me too closely.

“Good, because to disappoint us would prove fatal,” my boss assured me, his tone steel and ice.





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1


Then


Neuchatel, Switzerland





My first three years at school taught me more about life than I could ever begin to learn in the outside world. I had sopped up those lessons like a hungry bitch going in on a plate of biscuits and gravy. And now, with graduation right around the corner, I would be the student awarded the grand prize for most accomplished. That’s if I got to graduate, because bitches like this one kept challenging my last nerves.

I tightened my grip around her neck, pulling her into a headlock. She whipped around and flipped me over her head, onto the ground. In seconds I was up on my feet, crouching like a caged animal ready to strike again. Her hand shot out, coming down on my shoulder. The pain shot through me but there was no way I’d let her be the first one to finally take me down. I had an uncontested track record of wins. I kicked her in the solar plexus and kneed her in the jaw, causing three of her teeth to fall to the ground. I grabbed her in a bear hold, bending her arm behind her back until her short gasping breaths grew almost inaudible, making her drop the weapon at my feet. Still holding on to her I slid my hand to the floor and retrieved the Glock 9.

“Ggamdungi,” she spat the words at me.

“Shang nyun, Sheba-nom!” I responded then jerked her arm harder, causing her to squirm in pain.

“Fuck you too, bitch!” She spat the words at me.

“Oh, so now you speak English? ’Cause I prefer to be called a beeyotch in English and not your slanty-eyed language!” I schooled her. Although my orders were not to cause physical harm, I wasn’t feeling particularly generous. Last fool to use the N-word on me couldn’t walk for a week and will probably never be able to impregnate a woman. I swiftly clocked her on the side of the head.

“Paris!” Yosef, my instructor, a former Israeli rebel fighter, grabbed me tightly from behind, his fingertips boring into my shoulder blades. The pain forced me to let go of Jae Kim, who fell in a heap on the ground and passed out. She probably fainted at the sight of her missing teeth.

A group of students gathered nearby, ecstatic to watch the spectacle.

“Knocked her the f*ck out!”

I heard two palms slap together in a high five.

“Bam! Just like that.”

“Damn! I told her not to mess with Paris,” I heard one girl say as Jae Kim stirred near her bloody teeth.

“I wouldn’t. Chick is f*ckin’ lethal,” another added, then received a rousing round of agreement from the other girls.

It occurred to me that this would be a good time to practice passivity and restraint, but my head and my badass attitude were out of alignment with my reality. Fuck him, her, and the rest of these motherf*ckers. I won this exercise fair and square.

“I won!” I yelled out. There was no way they were going to mess up my record.

“Why do you do these things?” Yosef, the gorgeous six foot four inch, 240-pound Israeli instructor admonished me. He smacked me hard on the neck. “How many times do I have to speak to you about your inability to follow orders? Have you lost your f*cking mind? Look what you’ve done.”

I could hear the sound of my own heavy breathing as I tried to contain myself so that I could respond appropriately instead of what I really wanted to do, which was curse his ass out.