King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)
King of the Cage: Chapter 35

It was official. I was stalking my own wife.

I parked my motorcycle around the corner and jogged over to Declan’s car. He got out. There was no point in hiding. The Italians knew we were there around the clock, just like they were. We had lasted over a week that way. It was a miracle there had been no bloodshed.

“Any movement?”

“Her friends visited and stayed the night, but nothing else. She’s not left the place, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“We can’t let Santori lock her up at Casa Nera,” I reminded Dec.

If he did, I’d never get to her. So, they watched her, and we watched them, and they watched us back.

It was an unsatisfying loop of exchanging glares with the De Sanctis men. I hadn’t had a glimpse of Giada in days.

“What if that’s what she wants?” Dec lazily lit a cigarette.

He offered me one, and I shook my head firmly.

“I quit.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t remark on my sudden change to a lifelong habit.

“So, what’s the play here?” Dec asked.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, how long do we give them until we take her and do things our own way?”

I leveled a look at Dec.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Just wondering if you’ve always been a mind reader or if this is a recent development.”

Declan laughed. “Great minds think alike, I guess. Heads-up, we’ve got company.”

A heavy-looking black SUV pulled up behind us. I recognized the wheels. Few motherfuckers traveled in such style.

Elio Santori had arrived for his daily visit to his sister.

The Italian left the car and strolled toward me.

“You lost again, O’Connor? Hell’s Kitchen is over Midtown way.”

“I’m here to see my wife,” I bit out.

“Alas, she doesn’t want to see you. You’d think you’d have gotten the message by now, seeing as it’s been over a week. I suppose your skull really is as thick as they say it is, Lost Boy. Besides, the doctor told us not to fill her in on too much, not to confuse and overwhelm her. I won’t allow you to do that,” he warned.

I took a deep mental breath and forced a smile. My charm, which used to come easy, felt paper-thin and painful to don.

“I think we need to talk, properly. About Giada, about The Enclave… all of it.”

Elio sensed my seriousness. He nodded. “I agree. It’s time.”

We went to Pino’s, Giada’s favorite food spot. Being there reminded me of us, handcuffed in a booth. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“So, you want to tell me what all this is about with The Enclave? Why are you so interested in them? Why were you and Giada messing around with some investment club?”

“First of all, I never wanted your sister involved in any of it. Once she was, I tried to protect her. Clearly, I failed. They’re bad news.”

“So why haven’t you taken them out? I thought you were an O’Connor?”

“My da doesn’t think like me. I can only rely on myself and my inner circle. A few men can’t take down the evil of something like The Enclave alone. If I could have isolated the production sites or the person behind it, maybe… but I’m beginning to think the leader is a front for the real power.”

Elio’s eyebrow had risen at my use of the world evil.

“And Aldo Sepriano is a member?”

I nodded. Aldo. He’d been unreachable since this all went down, though Regina Calloway had relayed to us that he’d been busy the night it had happened. My own sources put him at a fundraiser downtown, so his alibi held water. It was the only reason he was still breathing right now. There was something going on, and I wasn’t going to react until I knew what.

“An investment club doesn’t sound that dangerous. Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“They are dangerous. The drugs they’re developing… there’s nothing standard or ordinary about them. They produce this shit, Z Juice⁠—”

“They produce Zombie Juice?” Elio immediately cut in.

“You’ve heard of it?”

Elio nodded, a slow, restrained movement. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Well, The Enclave is where it comes from, and who knows what other kinds of fucked-up shit they’re making.”

“Why do you care? You want a cut? Does your father want to move into dealing Z Juice and you’re trying to make him proud?” Elio’s face was impassive.

I took a moment to answer. I knew what kind of answer he probably expected. The one my father would give. Something about profit margins, or competition, or wanting in on the action. But I was all out of bullshit.

“I don’t do shit I’m supposed to do, just ask my da. He’ll be happy to list all the times I’ve disappointed him.”

“Then why do you care?” Elio pressed.

“Take your pick of reasons… Because it will only get worse from here. Revenge for your sister…”

“That’s now. Why did you care before?” Elio interrupted. He didn’t want a glossed-over version. He wanted the truth, and only the truth.

I blew out a breath. “Because a man’s life should mean something, shouldn’t it? I won’t let this shit get a grip in my city. I might be a fucking criminal, a killer… just like you,” I added. “But there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Someone has to draw that fucking line and then stand by and enforce it.”

Elio stiffened at my words, an unreadable emotion passing over his previously blank expression. He stared and stared. The kind of stare that takes the measure of a man.

Then something passed through his eerie pale gaze, and he leaned forward, extending a hand to me like an equal, for the very first time.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, O’Connor.”

I took Elio’s hand and shook it firmly. “Likewise, Santori.”