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  “I don’t know any of them, Slade, but if you need backup I’m there,” Mac promised.

  “You know he had to have help,” Kix said. “He wouldn’t be able to accomplish something like this without knowing times and schedules.”

  Slade’s mind began to run with possibilities. “Greg was Tony’s first lieutenant and Robbie was his enforcer. Normandy was his accountant. If all three kids were gone, that would leave the business up for grabs between three remaining capos.”

  “One of those capos betrayed Tony,” Kix surmised.

  “Give me names, Slade, and I’ll start digging into their finances,” Mac said. “If this Barese guy paid them off, I’ll find it.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time, Mac,” he replied. “Barese took Normandy.”

  “Then let’s think this through,” Kix said. “Tell me about Tony’s lieutenants.”

  Slade forced his frantic brain to slow down and follow Kix’s calm reasoning. “All right. Tony’s childhood friend pushes pussy. He makes a nice profit on the porn trade. There’s another friend who takes care of the gun running for certain businesses. He’s rarely ever here in St. Louis. And his cousin Harry, who takes care of the drug movement. More into prescription drugs and heroin than the meth we peddle.”

  “A cousin would be the logical course to take over the family business,” Kix murmured.

  “Yeah,” Slade said. “As soon as I said it I thought that.”

  “You need backup?”

  “It’s not your fight.”

  “If it’s your fight, Slade, it’s ours. Brothers stick together.”

  “Sweeney Barese will have an army protecting him,” Slade warned.

  “Then it’s better if you have a whole fucking club behind you,” Kix said resolutely. “We’ll be there in two hours.”

  “Thanks, Kix.”

  “Sweeney Barese is gonna realize if you mess with one brother you mess with all of us.”

  ****

  Slade glided his Harley to the side of the street and turned it off. He kept his sunglasses on and the half-helmet that protected his head, and stared at the breakfast diner that used to be owned by Tony DiLuca. It teemed with customers and through the front window he plainly saw Tony’s cousin, Harry Bianci, drinking coffee and perusing the newspaper. His self-satisfied demeanor was a clear testament that something had rotted in the DiLuca family.

  Slade waited, and as he sat staring at the man who probably had committed the gravest sin of all … betrayal … he couldn’t help but remember a time when things had been simpler. He had known his place within the structure of the DiLuca Borgata, a faithful soldier not afraid of dishing out anything Tony told him to do. He’d run drugs or guns, handled millions in cash, and never once had he thought about betraying the man who had taken him under his wing. Tony had become the dad his own father could never have been, and even though the organization wasn’t legit, Slade had learned early on where to place his trust.

  It had killed something inside him when Tony had told him he’d never approve of him as a son-in-law. Normandy, he’d said, was a smart girl who’d go far in the family business, emphasis on the word family. What could he possibly give to her, except exile from that family? Kix’s offer of becoming V.P. of The White Death had come at the most opportune time, life support to the heart that had been torn to shreds. Looking back now, he should’ve fought for Normandy. Should’ve fought for their love. But placed in that moment under a microscope, he couldn’t think about anything else than doing what was best for the woman he loved more than his own life. So he’d run back to Rider Pass and had embraced a new destiny.

  Or so he thought.

  Now he knew he couldn’t leave her again. He wasn’t that strong. He loved his club, was loyal to the patch on his cut, but if it came down to choosing her or choosing The White Death, he had no doubt which would win.

  Harry Bianci left the diner and Slade wanted to eliminate that smug smile lingering on his face. He started up his motorcycle and followed Harry’s expensive sports car and when it stopped at a light, Slade pulled next to him and took off his sunglasses. Harry glanced at him, and all the color drained from his face. He mouthed his name and Slade pulled out his gun and aimed it at the old man.

  “Pull into the next alley,” Slade called out. “We need to talk.”

  Harry wanted to run; Slade could see the indecision on his face and he lifted the gun a little higher. Fear flashed quickly and when the light turned green, he did as Slade instructed. Slade parked his bike behind the car and dismounted, waiting for Harry to get out so they could chat.

  “It’s not what you think, Michael,” Harry said.

  “Get out of the car.”

  Though the tinted windows, Harry fumbled around for a second before exiting his car. Slade waited until Harry faced him before pulling a silencer out of his pocket. As he screwed it on, he kept his gaze on Harry and watched as fear consumed the older man.

  “Like I-I said,” Harry stuttered. “It’s not what you think.”

  Slade snorted. “I think it’s perfectly clear how clichéd it was to kill your family to rise to the top.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Harry said.

  “Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t sully your hands like that.” He aimed the barrel of the gun at the traitor.

  “So what is this, huh?” Harry motioned to the weapon. “You think that scares me?”

  “I know it scares you,” Slade said. “I think you’re about to piss your pants, you’re so scared. I also think you told Sweeney Barese the change of plans and where to find Tony, Greg, and Robbie that day, and then he had them killed. Doesn’t make the invisible blood on your hands any less red.”

  “You have no proof,” Harry sneered. “You think you’re so high and mighty, so righteous? You walked out on the DiLuca family years ago, so don’t pretend you’re their savior.”

  “Normandy is my wife,” Slade announced. He had a brief second of satisfaction when he saw the surprise filter through Harry’s eyes. “And Sweeney Barese has her, so you’re gonna tell me where she is.”

  “Normandy is alive? And you married her?” Harry shook his head. “When did this happen?”

  “Two years ago. Where is she?”

  Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Slade lowered the barrel of his gun and shot out Harry’s left knee. The old man screamed in pain and fell, clutching his leg as blood poured from the wound.

  “Where is she?”

  “Fuck you!” Harry screamed.

  Slade shot out his other kneecap. Harry sobbed, a blubbering mess on the dirty alley road.

  “Where. Is. My. Wife?”

  Harry held out his hand, as if trying to ward him off. “I don’t know. I swear it. But … but … Sweeney went back to his home in Alton. In Fosterburg. I… I c-can get you the address.”

  “That’s all I needed to know,” Slade said. He walked up to the fallen man and pointed his gun down, aiming at Harry’s forehead. “You betrayed Tony for what? A promise to be Boss? You should’ve known you’d have to pay the price for betrayal.”

  “No! No … please God, no,” Harry cried.

  Slade pulled the trigger and Harry’s cries abruptly ceased. Then he returned to his bike and put his sunglasses back on before taking the silencer off and slipping it back into his pocket. Then he slid the gun inside his holster under his jacket before he pulled out his phone, and called Mac.

  “Give me the location of Sweeney Barese’s home in Alton, Illinois.”

  “On it,” Mac said. “I’ll text you the info.”

  Slade slid the phone in his pocket. Without looking back, he rode past Harry’s body and left the bastard dead in the deserted alley.

  Chapter Eight

  Normandy sat in the dining room of Sweeney Barese and watched as the asshole enjoyed his lobster and steak dinner. The plate in front of her had the same mouth-watering food, but the thought of sharing any type of meal with the man
who had killed her family turned her stomach. She eyed the knife on her place setting then glanced at the goon standing guard behind Sweeney. If she believed for one minute that she could throw the knife and hit him in the chest before the hired bodyguard could protect him, she’d do it in a heartbeat, regardless of the consequence to herself. But she wouldn’t serve her family in the slightest if she ended up dead before the lying motherfucker sitting across from her managed to eat a bullet. She never wanted a gun so badly in her life.

  “Eat up,” Sweeney said, pointing to her plate with his fork. “I had this specially flown in for our supper.”

  “I’d rather stuff this lobster down your throat,” she said.

  He smirked. “You say that now, but wait until you hear my proposal.”

  Nausea churned in her gut. “I’d sooner stuff this lobster down my own throat rather than contemplate the thought of marrying into the Barese Borgata.”

  “Normandy, it’s more than just marriage at stake. I’m talking about you and Damon forming a partnership. One day he’s going to take over my enterprises, so why not form that alliance now? You as the last DiLuca and Damon as the last Barese.”

  “I’m the last DiLuca because you killed my family, you sick fuck! So no!” She pounded her fist on the table. “There won’t be any type of alliance between me and your son.”

  He sighed. “I was afraid you’d be stubborn about this. Are you PMSing?”

  “Oh, my God, are you fucking serious?” She shook her head in disbelief and picked up her knife. She noticed the bodyguard took a step closer to Sweeney. “I promise you, you will die. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but you will die. No matter how much you pay your thugs to watch over you, one day your guard will lower and when that happens I will happily watch you breathe your last. Do you understand me, Sweeney Barese?”

  “I kept you alive for one reason, Normandy DiLuca, and that was to unite our families and make it easier for the other two capos to fall into line. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

  She blinked. “You mentioned a traitor earlier. I don’t think I believe you.”

  He grinned. “The seduction of money and power goes a long way in shadowing that word.”

  Her heart thundered with apprehension.

  “Who?” she demanded.

  He put another bite of meat in his mouth and began to chew, taunting her with the name left unsaid. Normandy thought about the three capos who helped her father’s business, not believing any of them could betray her father. They were family.

  Weren’t they?

  “No,” she said, making up her mind. “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged and swallowed his bite of food before taking a sip of his wine. “How else did I know your father and brothers wouldn’t be at the diner for breakfast?”

  Her beliefs shattered. It was one thing to lose her family, but to know they had been betrayed by someone who supposedly was part of that family … it was hard to contemplate.

  “Who?” she whispered.

  “Harry Bianci. But don’t worry. I’ll soon take care of him. If he betrayed his own family then eventually he’d betray me, and I can’t have that.”

  She wanted to cry, but knew tears wouldn’t solve anything or mean a damn thing to Sweeney, so she pushed the hurt aside. She’d deal with it later. Right now, she had a bigger fish to fry.

  Just then, the lights went out. For a split second, confusion filled Normandy, but when Sweeney shouted, it jump-started her self-preservation. She fell off the dining room chair and scooted along the floor, heading in whatever direction it would get her the hell away from Sweeney.

  “What the fuck?” Sweeney yelled. “What the hell happened? Lights, lights! Where’s the fucking lights!”

  Normandy crawled along the floor out of the dining room. She tried to remember the layout of the house and turned in the direction where she thought the front door was located, but that was when all hell broke loose. Bullets zipped through the window, shattering the glass where some of it landed on her head. She covered her head with her arms and knew she was a sitting duck, so she scooted into the living room, hoping the furniture could help protect her from being a target.

  ****

  “The last thing we need to do is start a war,” Slade said to Kix as they surveyed the large house. The back yard was concealed by a tall brick wall so they’d have to go through the front door. “Normandy is in there and I don’t want to do anything where she might be hurt.”

  “I agree,” Kix said. He looked through night vision goggles. “I count two men posted at the door and four walking the perimeter.”

  Slade looked at Mac. “Who’s inside?”

  Mac studied his IR thermal imaging camera. “Four bodies standing. Two bodies sitting. Hardly an army, but their position raises concerns.”

  “Okay,” Kix said. “We need to surround this house, but nobody start shooting. We need to take out those six men in the yard as quietly as possible.”

  “Agreed,” Slade said.

  As Kix organized the men, Slade couldn’t help but feel a huge dose of gratitude toward his Brothers. The White Death had become his salvation when he’d left the DiLuca family and he owed them more than they would ever know.

  He waited on pins and needles, wanting to charge in and rescue Normandy, but he knew they had to play it smart. Her safety, as well as the safety of his Brothers, was the most important, but he had to admit, a huge part of him wanted to burst in there and beat the shit out of Sweeney Barese.

  Kix gave orders through hand signals and the Brothers moved out, keeping to the shadows. Things were going as planned when something happened. A noise, or perhaps the wrong movement in the darkness, brought the attention of one of the bodyguards and before Slade could blink, the sound of a gun discharging changed everything.

  “What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

  Hollering erupted from the yard as the bodyguards gelled together and started firing into the tree line, which, of course, made The White Death riders shoot back in self-defense. At the sound of breaking glass, Slade began running.

  “No!” he yelled.

  He’d only taken a few steps when he was tackled from behind. As he fell forward, a loud, buzzing sound whizzed by his ear, and he realized he’d just avoided being shot.

  “Watch where you’re running,” Kix growled at him. “I don’t want to see what your brain looks like.”

  Slade gave a grim nod and continued to the house. The guards went down like flies, moaning in pain as bullets flew. He hurried up to the front door with Kix right behind him and they took up a defensive position on each side of the door. They looked at one another, guns up and ready, mouthing off a one, two, three scenario then kicked open the door. As expected, the roar of answering gunfire met them, so Slade and Kix ducked back to the safety of the walls.

  “Give it up, Sweeney!” Slade yelled into the house. “Your men can’t help you!”

  As if to prove his point, the fighting ceased to a trickle until it stopped all together. All that came were the occasional sounds of pain-engulfed moans. The battle was over almost as soon as it had begun.

  “That may be so, but I’ve got your precious wife, Michael. You fuck with me and she’s dead.”

  “If you wanted her dead you already would’ve done the deed. I think you spared her for a reason. Why is that?”

  “Imagine my surprise when you let it slip you two were married.”

  “Oh,” Slade replied as the light bulb suddenly went off in his head. “You wanted to marry her yourself.”

  “Hell, no! I’m an old man and my time is limited on this earth. I wanted her to be the anchor that gives my son everything.”

  “You thought if she married Damon then the Barese family would get all of St. Louis. Distribution rights up and down the Mississippi.”

  “It is a helluva market. Now back up from the door,” Sweeney ordered. “Normandy may not be my anchor anymore, but she can at least get me
to safety.”

  Kix nodded at him to comply, and they both backtracked from the door, guns level and ready to fire at the first opportune moment. Slade bit back his sigh of relief as he saw Normandy, unharmed and looking pissed off. Their gazes met and held and he hoped to god she could understand all he was thinking. Stop, drop, and roll away. Worked with fire and it would work with this asshole. And a second later, she got the chance when a sports car came to a sudden stop in the round driveway and Damon Barese bounded from the car. Normandy yanked her arm from Sweeney’s grip, but just as she was about to run toward Slade, Sweeney swung his gun around to aim on her.

  “What the fuck?” Damon yelled. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

  With a 9 millimeter in one hand and the other hand held up in an attempt to keep hold of the situation, everyone froze as Damon’s voice boomed.

  “Now I don’t want to shoot anyone,” Damon said, “but what the holy fuck is going on? I thought we had a truce, Normandy.”

  “We did, until your father killed mine,” she said bitterly. “Until he killed my brothers.”

  Damon stared at her for a long moment, slowly shaking his head, before looking toward his father. “You’re wrong. We respect your family. Dad would never… Dad?”

  He faltered as Sweeney Barese lifted his chin.

  “No,” Damon said. His shaking head became more firm. “Dad, what did you do?”

  “I saw an opportunity to expand our business into Missouri,” Sweeney replied coldly. “Who wouldn’t jump on the chance to further our business dealings?”

  “But … but … we had a peace agreement,” Damon said, a bit incredulous. “Grandfather created it.”

  “My father was a bleeding heart,” Sweeney spat. His upper lip curled in disdain. “He was too weak of heart to take the entire Midwest for our own!”

  “God damn it, Dad! What the fuck did you do?”

  “Don’t you be a bleeding heart, too!” Sweeney shouted at his son. “You need to kill that motherfucker Slade and take Normandy as your wife, then we’ll have an empire none will dare attack.”