Indebted to the Mafia King
Knife's Edge

Dante

I slam my fist down on the counter, making the cat statue with its paw in the air topple over. "That's not fucking good enough."

Wing, the boss of the biggest triad in Chinatown, looks at me without a flicker of emotion in his eyes. "You storm into my shop. You set your goon outside to scare away reputable customers. And then you tell me I haven't met your expectations?"

I suck in a breath and grab for the fraying remains of my hold on my temper. A week and a half. She's been gone for a week and a half, and I'm not any goddamn closer than I was the night she disappeared.

If I didn't know about the three armed bruisers behind the curtain in this stupid fucking tea shop Wing and I both know handles a paltry portion of their money laundering, I'd already have my gun out. As is, I glance at Tony through the plate- glass store windows and remind myself he can't get in here fast enough.

"Is there anything else?" I ask, not bothering to keep the strain of desperation out of my voice.

"No." Wing stares down his nose at me. "A dozen Russian monsters stormed my warehouse. They destroyed at least as many of my people, and more product. None can identify them because none lived. Trust me, Dante, I would have these Russians already in hand if I could."

"And Eleni?" Saying her name feels like scraping a razor blade along my vocal cords. A week and a half. I don't even know what they could be doing to her right now.

He cocks his head to the side and studies me for a long moment. "Your warehouse 42C shares a wall with one of mine, one I've been looking to expand. If I were to gain access to "

"Done." I shove my hand out in front of me to shake on it. "It's yours if you tell me anything you replace out and turn her over to me if you replace her first."

Wing's first smile of the meeting curves his lips. He shakes my hand. "Now that we're partners, I'll admit one more thing. Those Russians peeled out of the docks headed north."

I thank him profusely, bob a quick bow as my father taught me when dealing with the triads, and storm out of the tea shop.

Tony falls into step beside me as soon as I exit. Exhaustion blurs his normally sharp features. I've sent nearly all of the Saints to ground as the Russians tear a hole through this goddamn city, but I couldn't give him up. I know it's selfish. Seb hasn't even been buried yet. But without my caporegime, I would come completely unglued.

"Anything?" he asks.

"They headed north," I hiss. "The Russians should be holed up in Brighton, where they'll blend."

"You can't exactly put those tattooed motherfuckers on the Upper East Side." Tony clenches and unclenches his fists. Like me, he's barely slept. We are more fury and caffeine than men, but maybe that's what we need. I nod. "I'm thinking upstate."

Tony snarls. "That bitch would make it hard on us."

That bitch being Camila. The Russians are playing hardball with the city's drug trade, but they're barely bothering to do more than take out the people they replace in other syndicate hideouts. The only reason El would be missing is if Camila took her. Chasing the Russians might take me from their boss to her, but if I can just get close enough, she can't fucking hide from me. Not now.

My phone rings. I slide it out of my pocket and surreptitiously check the caller ID. Tony and I have been living in each other's back pockets, sleeping in my office more often than not, but I haven't told him about my deal with Henry. I'll milk the fucking fed for all he's worth, but I don't need to drag Tony through the mud with me. The only clock on his hunt is his revenge. I need to replace El.

Unknown number. Outer boroughs area code. I pick up.

"Dante," Cal's normally loose brogue sounds tight. "I come bearing gifts."

We reach the car. I slide into the driver's seat and put my phone on speaker instantly.

"What kind of gifts?" I ask.

"The Eastern European sort you're so hungry for," Cal replies.

Tony's scowl deepens. My heart skips a beat.

"Found a bar," Cal continues. "Old Russian hangout. Upscale thing, penthouse."

"How the fuck are you getting into a penthouse bar?" I throw the car into drive and peel away. If Cal doesn't have a plan worth explaining, I still need to get back to Staten Island fast enough to gear up for a proper raid and return. "Owner's a friend of a friend." I can hear the bitter smile in his voice. "It turns out they're not much fonder of their tenants than we are."

"Count us in," I say. "When?"

"Tonight."

I hiss a breath through my teeth and press the pedal closer to the floor, bobbing and weaving through traffic.

"Sorry, gentlemen, you haven't given me reason to trust you in planning stages," Cal says. "If you were willing to talk about a partnership—"

"We'll be there," I spit.

"Grand." Cal hangs up before I can.

I start to coax the car faster and faster, the engine whining, but then the dashboard clock blares the time. I'm going to be late if I go home now. I slam the brakes and spin into a turn, sending Tony knocking against the door. Two more sharp corners, and I park in front of Lou's Deli.

Tony looks at the secret headquarters we've always held on this side of the bridge, then at me. "You know some bar raid isn't going to tell you shit."

My temper strains at my weakening hold. "You don't know shit."

"It's Cal Duncan," Tony says tiredly. "He'd shoot at clouds if the rain pissed him off."

"Cal is a lunatic." I squeeze the wheel. "He runs the Kings with an iron fist, and I wouldn't spend an evening with him if I had another goddamn way. Right now, he's got a lick of territory and a quarter of the manpower the Russians have, but he has an in, which we don't."

Tony looks at Lou's again. "What did you promise Wing?"

Like a pricked balloon, all my righteous rage dribbles out of me. A week and a half of stealing half-hours of sleep on the couch I first fucked Eleni on slam into me like a fist to the gut. I'm so goddamn tired. I just want to replace Eleni and take her home. No, not even that. I want to take her far, far away from here, where no one has ever heard our names.

"I have a meeting," I say. "I'll pick you up in a couple hours. Be ready."

Tony doesn't say anything as he gets out of the car, but the way he slams the door tells me everything I need to know. Seb is sitting on ice in a funeral home somewhere, waiting for Tony to have five fucking minutes to bury him, and I'm dropping Tony off to be babysat.

I pull away from the curb. I can't be late.