Chapter 15

SPARROW

After my head canon about Mafia board rooms, the last place I expect to end up is an all-male strip club.

"This where the Morettis do all their business?" I ask, craning my neck to follow the sway of a very perky bare ass framed by a black jockstrap, I'm sure there's a man attached to it as well, but fuck if I could pick him out of a lineup.

"More or less," Xaviaro answers, sounding rather bored by the whole thing. He straightens his already perfectly even tie and slows his steps, his attention zeroing in on a table just ahead of us where three men in suits are already seated. Elio is missing, of course, no doubt still trying to remember where he left his car during his drinking binge last night.

I assess each one of them as we approach. All three of them have dark hair and olive skin, just like I expected, and two of them are wearing the standard issue Mafia suits—high end, unwrinkled, classic. It makes the other man's fashion choice stand out even more than it already would have if he were sitting on his own. His suit is peacock teal with a black-and-gold vest underneath. It's bold, all signs pointing to him being the Big Boss… except, I don't think he is. Something about him is too casual, like a man who gets plenty of sleep every night, not someone who has the weight of an entire criminal enterprise resting on his shoulders.

When we reach the table, one of the men in black stands up, his movements confident and fluid, commanding without him needing to utter a single word. Lorenzo Moretti.

He doesn't even spare me a look, his eyes immediately on Xaviaro, his expression tight with just a hint of softness underneath that I doubt he wants anyone to notice. Like a parent reprimanding their child, they're not mad,they're just disappointed. Ugh, the worst.

"You realize if you were anyone else, you'd already have a bullet in your head, right?" he asks blandly. A threat? A warning? Maybe just an intimidation tactic for my benefit. Who the fuck knows. What I do know is that my blood boils instantly.

I round the table towards the man, my eyes narrowed as I point a finger right at his face.

"Hey, I don't know who the fuck you—" I'm cut off by Xaviaro's hand across my mouth. He yanks me back against his large, sturdy body.

"Lorenzo Moretti," he answers the clearly rhetorical question I didn't get the chance to finish asking.

I shove his hand away, my hackles still up and my blood still rushing in my ears. Seriously, I don't care who this asshole is. Lorenzo Moretti is about to find out who the fuck I am.

"I don't give a fuck." I step towards Lorenzo again, setting my jaw and glaring at him. "You think keeping the people who work for you afraid for their lives is the only way to hold on to power? It's weak as fuck, dude. Loyalty isn't earned through fear and threats."

He furrows his brow and flattens his lips. Weeks ago, I ran scared from Xaviaro, terrified that he was going to murder me for breaking his nose. But I'm not that version of myself anymore. I thought I was tough shit then, and compared to the pampered, soft man I used to be, I was. I've killed a man, I've stared down my own mortality, and I've learned that the only way to survive among criminals and killers is to swing your ego around like you have the biggest dick in the room.

There's a single beat of silence before I notice amusement dancing in Lorenzo's hazel eyes. He barks out a laugh, his eyes flickering over my head towards Xaviaro.

"Is he fucking insane?"

"A little bit," Xaviaro answers.

"Excuse you," I scoff. At Xav's answer or maybe at the big, bad Mafia boss for asking it, I'm not really sure.

"You realize I could have you killed, right?" Lorenzo asks matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, yeah." I wave a hand dismissively. "Either do it or give up the intimidation bullshit and tell me why you wanted to meet me."

The other men are holding their breath, and I can practically feel Xaviaro's unnatural stillness behind me, all of them waiting to see if their boss is going to pull his gun or let me live to tell my tale of mouthing off to the one and only Lorenzo Moretti. Another chuckle slips out of his mouth and he takes his seat again, picking up the steaming mug in front of him and taking a sip.

"I get it," he says, the statement seemingly directed at Xaviaro. "Sit." That one is for me as he gestures at the chair to his right.

I pull it out and take a seat. My muscles quiver but I hold back the relieved breath that wants to rattle from my chest. Xaviaro pulls out the chair on my other side and sits down as well. The other two men are still watching with silent caution. The one in the peacock suit is looking anywhere but at Lorenzo, and the other one, who was previously reclining with his feet up on the table and his chair tilted back, is now sitting up straight like a kid afraid he's going to be called into the principal"s office. Elio finally joins us as well, completely oblivious to the guarded tension lingering around the table as he approaches with a big, dopey grin as if he wasn't half dead from a hangover an hour ago.

"I'm Sparrow, by the way." I thrust a hand towards Lorenzo. His lips twitch again and he takes it in a firm handshake.

"I know. And Enzo is fine," he says. Based on the way Peacock Suit's eyebrows jump up, I'm guessing that the privilege of calling the boss by a nickname is a rare one.

I grin and lean back in my seat, crossing one leg over the other and glancing around the table again. Xaviaro takes it upon himself to introduce the others now that it's clear this meeting isn't going to turn into a bloodbath.

"Salvatore Moretti," he says, pointing to the man in the teal suit, who inclines his head and then reaches across the table to shake my hand. "Alessio Bianchi." Alessio flashes me a charming smile and shamelessly gives me a once-over. "And Elio Moretti." Xaviaro introduces the underboss like I didn't already threaten him and then mix up a hangover cure for him this morning, so I pretend it's our first time meeting and shake his hand as well.

"Do I have to pay for a lap dance to get one of those lattes or what?" I ask once introductions are completed.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind me and I turn my head to see a gorgeous man with copper skin and even darker hair and eyes than the rest of the men at the table. He's not wearing anything but a pair of tight leather shorts that show off an impressive bulge, and he's waxed bare save for a strip of black hair that starts just below his belly button and disappears into his shorts. Most importantly, he's carrying a tray with three more steaming mugs that smell like heaven on earth.

"If you still want that lap dance, just come find me after the meeting," he says, shooting me a wink as he sets one of the mugs down in front of me, offering the other two to Xaviaro and Elio.

"Watch it, Dante. Xaviaro's already pissed a circle around this charming little psychopath," Alessio says. "Figuratively speaking… I'm assuming."

Xaviaro neither confirms nor denies, keeping the same stony expression he's been wearing since I tied the harness under his clothes. I smirk at Alessio, leaving him to wonder what types of kink we get up to behind closed doors, and take a sip of my latte.

"Shame. He's a pretty one," Dante says with a sigh, giving me another flirty look before strutting away with a sway that jiggles his half-exposed ass cheeks with every step.

Lorenzo clears his throat and we all drag our eyes away from Dante's ass. Well, all of us except for Xaviaro, who seems like he hardly would have noticed if the gorgeous stripper had been fully naked. Damn, when he's in stone cold mode, he's unflappable. Why is that so fucking hot?

"What've you got for us, boss?" he asks, jerking his chin towards the tan folder on the table in front of Lorenzo.

He flips open the folder and slides it across the table towards us. I lean over to get a look at the photos. At first, I have no clue what exactly I'm supposed to be seeing other than a bunch of unwashed dudes talking to some other, much more put-together dudes. But it only takes me a minute to notice the Sleepless Reapers patch that the unwashed dudes are wearing in every picture. My pulse speeds up instantly and I search the faces for either of the two men who are left on my list. None of them are familiar though.

"Goddammit," Xaviaro mutters, shoving the photos away again and scowling. "The Fitzpatricks?"

"The Fitzpatricks," Lorenzo confirms solemnly.

"Who the fuck are the Fitzpatricks?"

XAVIARO

I dart a glance towards Elio. Is this what he was trying to tell me last night? He didn't know about my vested interest in the Sleepless Reapers at the moment, but the Fitzpatricks getting into bed with the biggest thorn in the Morettis' side? Yeah, that's some serious fucking news.

"Bunch of Irish cunts," Alessio answers Sparrow's question.

"Fine. What the fuck do I care about them then?"

"Can men be cunts?" Elio asks, tilting his head curiously like a little puppy.

"Sure they can. That's sexist, man," Salvatore argues.

"How is it sexist?" Elio frowns.

"Women can be dicks, men can be cunts. You've gotta break your gendered thinking," Alessio says, tapping his temple for emphasis.

"A bunch of Irish assholes, how's that for gender neutral?" Sparrow cuts in. "Why should I care?" He repeats his question with audible frustration.

"The Fitzpatricks are Irish Mafia," I answer. "They've been expanding just outside our territory for five years now. They're careful to never actually step a toe over the line, but they get damn close. They're looking for trouble, but they're hoping we'll be the ones to start it."

Sparrow looks at the pictures again, his jaw ticking as he absorbs the information.

"And they're in bed with the Reapers now. Or at least getting friendly with them," he summarizes, chewing on his bottom lip for half a second before shrugging and fixing Enzo with a bored look. "I don't give a shit. Your dick measuring contest with a bunch of fire crotch idiots has fuck all to do with me. Is that everything?" He pushes his chair back from the table and makes a move to get up.

"A week ago, you went parading around the city playing Mafia enforcer with the weight of the Moretti name behind you," Lorenzo says in a dangerously calm tone that even Sparrow seems to know better than to cross. He plops himself fully back into his seat and leans his elbows on the table, silently listening to the rest of what the boss has to say. "As far as the Fitzpatricks, or anyone else, are concerned, you're with The Family now. If the club is under the protection of the Irish, letting you pick them off one by one could be seen as an act of war."

"It's not one by one. It's two more fucking lowlifes and then I'm done," Sparrow argues. Lorenzo levels him with a bland look and my little bird curses. "God fucking dammit all to hell. This is complete bullshit."

He actually does stand up from the table this time, but he doesn't go far. He just paces a few steps away, running his hands roughly through his hair before stomping back.

"Sparrow," I say his name calmly, nudging his chair out, but he ignores it.

"So, that's it? A few pictures of some red-headed assholes in suits talking to a couple of meth-head bikers and you're telling me I have to stand down? What happens if I don't? I don't work for you," he rages.

"He kills you, kid," Salvatore answers for Lorenzo.

My blood would run cold if it weren't already pure ice. I hold myself perfectly still, refusing to let so much as a cheek twitch.

Sparrow eyes Salvatore and then Lorenzo, seeming to gauge the seriousness of the threat. I see the exact moment the fight drains out of him, his shoulders sagging as he lowers himself into his seat again.

"Enzo, these men didn't just kill my brother, they brutalized him." He looks over at Elio and then back at Lorenzo, hitting the boss with some big, round puppy dog eyes. The words find their target, making Enzo shift in his seat and clear his throat, which is practically an emotional outburst from him.

"I understand your position, I do. And I think you're misunderstanding what this means for us." Lorenzo's attention zeroes in on me. "The Sleepless Reapers operate within the city limits, which is solidly Moretti territory. If the Fitzpatricks are working with them, then they're no longer flirting with our boundary lines, they're stepping right over them and waving the middle finger at us."

A menacing growl rumbles low in my throat and I nod. "Maybe they're outright asking for a war," I conclude.

"Exactly. Best case scenario, they're simply playing nice with the Reapers to gain leverage. Either way, this is officially a Moretti problem." He turns his head to address Sparrow again. "What I'm asking is for you to stand down until I can make some decisions about how to proceed from here."

Sparrow works his jaw silently for several seconds before nodding.

"Fine, I'll wait… for now. But it sounds like you're going to need to crush the Reapers one way or another, and I want to be there when you do. I want the fuckers who took my brother from me."

Lorenzo inclines his head. "Done."

"A war! How exciting," Alessio says gleefully, but from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like Lorenzo has a hell of a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. I don't blame him. War means a lot of dead bodies, and they're never limited to just the enemy's.

"You can go," Enzo says. "Except for Xaviaro and his unhinged associate."

Sparrow grins at the way Lorenzo refers to him. The other three get up and take their leave, off to run their own corners of the Moretti empire.

"To be clear," Lorenzo says as soon as we're alone, "my comment when you arrived about getting a bullet in the head wasn't a threat. We both know how distracted you've been lately and if you weren't my best friend, well… let's not pretend that our relationship hasn't made me soft when it comes to you." A flicker of a smile passes over his lips. "But I'm not the only one in this city who carries a gun."

He's referring to my near miss yesterday. Or, more likely, to all the potential near misses I could face on any given day if I don't have my shit together and my head in the game.

"I know," I say gruffly, the soft weight of the rope harness around my chest all I can think about for a moment before I pull my attention fully back to my boss and best friend. "I have it under control now," I assure him.

"Good, because I refuse to attend your funeral." If I didn't know any better, I'd swear there was a slight hitch of emotion in his voice.

"That's fine, you can just roll my body into the ravine and skip all the pomp and ceremony," I say, letting a hint of humor seep into my cool tone.

"Please," Enzo scoffs. "My body rolling days are over. There have to be at least a few benefits to being the boss around here."

I let out a chuckle at that one and Sparrow shakes his head.

"This is possibly very touching," he says dryly.

"I can see what Xaviaro likes about you. Don't get him killed," Lorenzo says.

"Wouldn't dream of it." The words are flippant, but there's the weight of a promise in Sparrow's tone.

Lorenzo stands up and fixes his suit jacket, a signal that this little heart to heart is officially over. He has strategizing to do and fuck knows what else piled on his plate. He comes around the table, surprising me by pulling me into a hug as soon as I stand. He pats my back roughly before releasing me.

"Don't take him on any more rounds unless you want to put him on the payroll," he says sternly.

"You got it, boss." I put an arm around Sparrow's shoulders. I need to take him home and get to work. Not only do I have my regular collection rounds, but it sounds like there might be a war to prepare for.

I squint against the sunlight as we step outside, leaving the dim lighting of the club behind us. When we reach my car, I stop before opening the door for Sparrow, using my grip on his shoulder to turn him towards me.

"You'll behave, won't you, little bird?" I ask with one hand under his chin, searching his eyes for the truth. Will I have to go back to stalking his every move to keep him from making an impulsive decision about the Reapers?

He sighs, tilting his face towards mine like he's waiting for a kiss. I lean in and brush my mouth against his, a quiet moan rumbling in my throat from the sharp nip he gives my bottom lip.

"I'll behave," he promises. "For now."