The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(54)

“Gracias for that,” Chuito said sarcastically as he opened the door. “I’ll remember that, motherf*cker.”

“I’ve hung around for the past three hours just to see this shit,” Tino went on as if he was immune to any threat from Chuito.

Which he sorta was.

Even if Chuito hadn’t sold his soul to Tino’s brother Nova, he was still immune, because Tino might have the rednecks hosed, but Chuito knew what he really was.

Tino had a past darker than Chuito.

Not too many motherf*ckers could claim that.

It was the reason they became friends in the first place. One washed-up gangster in this backward, redneck town was weird. Two was downright bizarre. An Italian mafia hit man and a Puerto Rican gangbanger weren’t supposed to be friends.

Unless they both landed in Garnet.

Chuito could thank Jules for that. She seemed to have a real knack for picking up reformed criminals. Her husband, Romeo, had a record, but he’d never been a gangster. The same couldn’t be said for his brothers. Romeo came with baggage, and part of the baggage was following after Chuito with a spring in his step as he walked to the MMA training cage in the Cellar.

Chuito stopped as he looked into the octagon.

Even through the cage, he could see the tattoos on the guy training with Clay.

Chuito could see them because he had spent a lot of years in Miami looking for tattoos like that. Sometimes out of paranoia, other times out of a wild, rabid need for revenge.

This was not happening.

He could not have Los Corredores shit in Miami going on.

Alaine.

And a Latin Bloods gang member training in his gym, with his crew and bleeding on the mats he had helped lay down.

Tino snorted behind him. “Why have two washed-up gangsters in Garnet when they can have three instead? Can you f*cking believe that shit? They signed on a Latin Blood. I don’t even think they know it. Not even Romeo recognized the ink.”

No, he could not f*cking believe it.

His cousin lost the fighter spot to that motherf*cker.

God officially had a vendetta against Chuito.

“No cobweb, so they f*cking sign him,” Chuito mumbled, thinking of the cobweb tattoo on his cousin’s elbow that signified how much prison time he’d served. “Someone needs to tell Wyatt the good gangsters don’t get caught.”

“Right?” Tino snorted. “Let’s draw straws to see who wins that honor.”

“Fuck it. Let the Mexican explain it to him.” Chuito turned around. “I’m not training a Latin Blood.”

“You can’t leave,” Tino called out when Chuito started walking toward the door. He ran up to him after a moment and grabbed Chuito’s arm when he got to the front desk. Tino looked at the receptionist and pulled Chuito outside. When the two of them stood on the walkway in front of the door, Tino said in a hushed whisper, “You’re that upset about another gangster? You didn’t lose your shit when I showed up. Is this about Marcos? He’s happier in Miami. You said it yourself.”

“That motherf*cker is not just another gangster.” Chuito gestured to the door furiously, his voice loud whether he wanted it to be or not. “He’s Latin Blood. They’re our rivals in Miami. Your rivals. Don’t forget, your family is tied up with Los Corredores now too.”

“But he’s not from Miami,” Tino reminded him. “He probably doesn’t know who the f*ck Los Corredores are.”

Chuito stiffened with insult.

“Look, you’re gonna get vain about this shit? Having a mark anyone recognizes isn’t easier.” Tino gave him a look of incredulity. “Try walking a mile in my shoes. Madonn’, everyone knows the Morettis are mafia. My birth certificate made me a criminal.”

“So did mine,” Chuito said with a growl. “Are we really comparing? Between the two of us, who do you think ninety percent of these gringo *s will cross the street to avoid?”

“Get over yourself,” Tino barked. “In case you missed the memo, you’re famous now, dickhead. People cross the street to get your autograph. You got two UFC Light-Heavyweight belts. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, you switched weight classes and just killed it like a boss and won a Heavyweight belt too. Me, I look like some * from Jersey Shore.” He winced and then added, “Except I have better hair…and better style.” Tino shook his head. “Just completely forget I ever compared myself to them.”

Chuito snorted in spite of everything and couldn’t resist saying, “You do look like you’re from Jersey Shore.”

“Motherf*cker, I’m a New Yorker.” Tino’s dark eyes narrowed. “And I have way more class than the guidos on that show.”

“Whatever.” Chuito shrugged. “It’s all the same difference to me. Short Italian motherf*ckers with big attitudes. You pendejos are probably trying to compensate for something.”

“I’m six feet tall. That’s not short! And I’m not from Jersey.” Tino shoved him. “And I have a f*cking amazing dick. I can give you a long list of references!”

“Oh wow,” Wyatt said when he opened the door. He shut it quick and looked behind him. “Carrie heard that, Tino.”

“Carrie’s seen it!” Tino shouted at Wyatt.

“Really?” Chuito turned to Tino in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that.”