He lifted his eyebrows, surprised at my request then simply nodded. I wasn't planning on sitting by my father's bedside. The next twenty-four hours were vital in exacting revenge in an appropriate manner. As far as a crystal clear plan? Fuck if I knew.
"I'll do that, boss." Grinder hesitated, as if ready to offer advice but lumbered away instead. The man was a true enforcer, his nickname well suited. He'd been an MMA fighter before coming to work for the Cappalini organization. Even with his continued dislike, I knew I could trust him, which was vital at this point.
All I'd have to do was issue a single mandate and the war would begin, but I was much more cautious than my father. I was also behind the eight ball with regard to knowing all the ropes. Sure, I knew enough, my father drilling certain aspects into my head whether or not I gave a damn to listen. That had started as early as kindergarten. As a kid trying to fit in, having a beefy armed soldier everywhere I went certainly created a lot of questions.
I took a sip of the same scotch I'd had only the day before, wincing as the liquid burned, making my throat raw, fueling my increasing rage. I swirled the liquor, concentrating on the sound of ice clinking in the bottom. I'd pushed my father away so hard during the last four years that I was numb to the fact he was tethered to a hospital bed, perhaps dying from his injuries.
Then all hell would break loose.
I heard a rap on the door and stiffened, still half expecting to see an officer of the law. They'd already grilled me standing outside the hallway where my father was having surgery. The lead detective was damn lucky he'd made it out of there without a broken jaw. I'd thought about complaining but figured certain 'friends' of my father's would eventually intervene. Fortunately, the press hadn't been alerted yet, allowing me to slip away without being seen. Everything was far too precarious.
"Kelan."
Dominick Lugiano's face was stoic, his usual dancing dark eyes piercing. I took comfort in his deep baritone, a man I was closer to than any of the others. His father was the boss of the New York syndicate, another ruthless man with no conscience. Dominick had followed into his father's footsteps, ready to take the helm the second the throne was relinquished. He didn't share my hatred of the crime syndicate.
"Dominick. I'm glad you came." I moved toward him, my arms outstretched.
"You certainly know how to call a meeting, buddy." Dominick pulled me into a hug, slapping his hands against my back. "How's your father?"
"Tough old bird. He'll live." Although I had my doubts. The initial hit had obviously been meant to take out my father as well. They simply came back to finish the job. I took a step back, holding up my drink.
"The two hits were careless. Sloppy."
"To a point," I replied, the anger still flowing. "Scotch?"
"Yeah, what the hell. Shitty ass flight." Dominick walked closer, scanning my father's office. "Nice digs." He headed toward the oversized window, admiring the view. "Very nice digs."
I snorted as I poured him a drink. "Not sure that new wife of yours would appreciate it." I handed him the drink, giving him a watchful eye.
"I can look. I'm still a red-blooded carnal male." Laughing, he held up his drink. "I forgot. That's your nickname."
I rolled my eyes as two of the others walked in. Lorenzo Francesco, son of the Chicago Don and Miguel Garcia, firstborn son of the Miami Cartel. Only Aleksei Petrov remained absent. He was true Bratva, his immigrant father having secured the Philadelphia syndicate with brutal force, more barbarians than well respected mafia. Aleksei was no different. We all agreed the man had no soul.
We'd formed an alliance years before, a secret we'd all sworn to keep. We provided aid in certain measures to each other, eliminating our enemies. I had one that was going to require finesse to eradicate. Their help could prove vital, even necessary. The bastard from Italy wouldn't know what hit him. After all, we were the sons of darkness.
"Damn, brother. LA is good for your tan," Miguel teased as he sauntered into the room, dancing as if I had music playing.
"Yeah, well, that's what I get paid to do," I said absently.
"You're not your father, that's for sure," Lorenzo huffed, walking immediately toward the bar. "Whoa, baby. Would you look at that set of knockers." He adjusted his crotch as he leered out the window.
I rubbed my eyes. Lorenzo was a man I respected but could barely stomach. "She's not to be touched."
"Same old Kelan. Or should we call you boss, now?" Lorenzo snarled.
"That's enough shit, Lorenzo," Dominick chastised. "We're here for a reason. Any rumblings of a war?"
"Only from my lips," I said without conviction. I knew what was expected of me.
"How's your father?" Miguel asked.
"Touch and go."
"Who the hell was responsible for this shit? It's all over the news. Might as well help you move in and take care of this prick while we're here." Lorenzo guzzled his drink.
"Louis Saltori, cousin to Don Dante Massimo. Don Dante is without a doubt the most brutal monster I have ever come into contact with. You can bet he has more on his hit list, including you, movie star. Saltori is just his bitch, but from what I understand, he's been gunning for a territory for years." Aleksei stormed into the room, taking swaggering steps, his long blond hair flowing from the force of his gait. He approached, glancing from one to the other, the rather surprised looks. "I do my homework. I listen. I learn. You, my friend, have a big problem on your hands. Now, I need a drink. You Americans do not understand the meaning of a decent flight or customer service."
I bristled hearing the words, but the confirmation was well timed.
Dominick chuckled, waving his hand at me as he walked toward the bar. "Our Russian friend is right. About Louis Saltori anyway. Talked to Pops. He mentioned he'd heard some rumblings of a possible takeover two months ago. He just didn't know where. Now we do."
I was definitely on the target list or at least would be soon enough. Let the bastards try to gun me down.
"Takeover? That shit hasn't happened for years. Wasn't Saltori working with your father?" Miguel asked.
There were few secrets it seemed.
"He was. Now, he wants his own piece of the pie," I stated, hearing the exhaustion in my voice.
"He should be eliminated immediately." Miguel's world was simple, much like the Russians'. Kill or be killed.
"Not sure what the fuck I can do. From what my father's capos have told me, there's no proof that Louis was involved. No offense, Aleksei, but no one has stepped up to the plate taking credit. If Louis is anything like his son, he would have no trouble gloating about the near kill. What we do know is that the hit was clean, executed with knowledge with a single intended target. My father. The two capos were simply baggage."
"Your capos," Aleksei said with no emotion. When I turned in his direction, he shrugged. "They're your soldiers now. You need to direct them. You're in charge and this is an obvious vendetta situation. Whether you believe my information or not, you need to act quickly."
Sighing, I moved toward the bar to refill my drink. I planned on getting stinking drunk tonight. Screw the rest of the shit.
"How can we help? You need a plan and fast. If this Saltori is involved, he won't sit back on his laurels. If you've found the bastards who gunned down your father, we can start there." Lorenzo stated the words with the kind of conviction that I needed.