Moe tilted his head. "And this man. I take it that you tracked him down?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Then it's over." His eyebrows rose expectantly, knowing full well it wasn't over.
I shifted in my seat. "Not yet."
"You mean … he got the best of you."
Leaning back in my seat, I gave him my best devil-may-care grin. "It happens, Flacco. Until it doesn't."
"Guess that's why we've all been wary of you, Mick. Either you're the most dangerous man alive, or the luckiest one. Either way, you've been a wild card in the game for a long time. But you know just like anyone else that every game comes to its end sooner or later."
"Is that so? Sounds like you heads of fam have been doing some chatting in your little group therapy session, Flacco."
He exhaled a casual stream of smoke. "Something of the sort. There's a lot of resentment toward you, Mick. Since you surfaced, you've had quite the run taking our people down." He ticked the names off on his fingers. "Big Louie. Pike. Tommy Tsunami. Now Madame Goryacheva. Not to mention your more clandestine activities."
I raised a wry eyebrow. "Clandestine? Do tell."
His jaw stiffened. "You know what I'm talking about. Running around with your hat low and your face covered. Moving and talking like an entirely different person. This Hunter alias you created, building a nearly invisible operation that undermines all that the collective families have worked for. You got Greco working for you, coming up big after being a clown for so long. Vitto sharking loans and real estate in your name like a boss. A lotta small fries turning into big earners, all of them working for you. You thought I didn't know? I've known ever since you attacked my crew and framed Pike for the hit. I gave you a pass on that because it benefitted my operation in the long run. Had I known you'd be building an empire behind the scenes, I would have rubbed you out right then and there."
A tight smile curved my lips. "You're one to talk, Flacco. What would your people think if they knew you were working with the HSSC?"
I had to hand it to ol' Flacco. An accusation of that sort should have sent him into shocked silence or murderous rage, but instead, he barely batted an eye. "You're talking about the situation with your psychotic ex-girlfriend."
"The situation being you helped her fake her death so she could escape? Yeah, that situation."
I enjoyed a cold smirk while gauging the reactions. I couldn't see No-Nose Nate directly, but I saw his shadow stiffen at the remarks. Electra was much easier to read, even if she kept her face nearly as expressionless as Flacco. But the sidelong glance, the slight firming of her lips spoke volumes. When she met my gaze with eyes glimmering with anger, I knew I had her.
Flacco didn't appear to notice. "Natalie had insurance in that situation. She had my wife—capiche? While we were beating the streets for my daughter's killer, your Natalie took out six of my best enforcers and had one of her men hold my wife hostage in a remote location with one way to keep her alive: sparing Natalie. I didn't know until the last minute, right when I had my gun pointed at Natalie's head. I got a call through my datcom with instructions on what to do. I wasn't going to lose a wife in addition to a daughter, so I chose to be diplomatic. I only grazed her head with that shot, made it appear like an execution. That's called compromise, Mick. Not cooperation."
I shrugged. "Not sure if the rest of the fam will be able to see the difference."
"They won't have to, because that information will never leave this room. You see, that experience taught me something. Natalie was never the problem, Mick — you were. Take you out of the equation, and Sophia never dies. My wife never gets kidnapped. The HSSC never infiltrates New Haven. My operation keeps running like a well-oiled machine. Do you see what I'm getting at? So, looks like it's up to me to do what I should have done from the beginning: take you out of the equation."
It was mighty gracious of Flacco to give himself away, but I was watching No-Nose Nate's shadow from the corner of my eye anyway. So when he unwound a garrote wire and tried to use it to try to strangle me, I was plenty prepared. My arm snapped up at the last second, stopping the cable with a wrist protected by my exodermis suit that enhanced my strength and kept him from using his weight against me. My other hand seized his necktie, yanked him over my shoulder, and slammed him into the mosaic carpeting with enough force to splinter the hardwood underneath. A savage punch directly into his prosthetic nose was enough to stun him for the second it took a close-range gunshot to boom like thunder in the room.
When I looked up, Moe slumped over in his chair, head blown open by the Ruger revolver in Electra's hand. She glanced at me, a tiny smile on her lips.
"Like I said, Mick: you and me aren't meant to live quiet lives."
Chapter 9: Blood for Blood
No-Nose Nate clutched his damaged prosthetic, blood streaming through his fingers as his eyes widened. "You killed Moe? Your own family — what the hell, Electra?"
Her upper lip curled. "You heard it from his own mouth, Nate. He worked with the Feds, going against everything we stand for."
"For his wife, damn it. Don't tell me you wouldn't—"
Her eyes glinted dangerously. "I wouldn't. You don't form attachments in this business. Business and reputation before everything. If you get soft, you get smoked. That's the main thing Moe taught us. If he wanted a happy little married life then he should have retired."
No-Nose Nate lurched to his feet, wincing. "And you think you'll lead the family now? You're kidding yourself, Electra. After what you did, even the lowest soldato will fill you with daylight without blinking."
She raised the revolver, face as steely as the gunmetal. "Like the dead man said: that information will never leave this room."
Nate barely had time to look shocked before his head snapped back in an explosion of pink spray. He was already dead by the time his limp body slammed into the floor.
I cut a glance at Electra. "Wasn't Nate your brother?"
"Stepbrother." She turned and fired two times at the window, carefully angling her shots. "The room is soundproof, so we have a minute to get the story straight before I let the guards in. The word is that an assassin got on the grounds and took them out, okay?"
I rubbed my chin, looking at the stiffs. "Anyone looking at the evidence will see the glass on the outside, not in here. Won't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened."
"In a few seconds, this place will be filled with soldiers trampling over any forensic evidence, none of them very bright. With all the family heads on grounds, it won't take much to convince everyone that one of them attempted a coup. No cops will ever be allowed to examine the scene because they'll never hear about this. You can use the chaos to get the hell out of here before anyone starts to grow a brain."
"You sure about this, Electra? Flacco wasn't the only one who wanted my head on a platter — all the other family heads agreed too. If word gets out that you helped me, you're gonna make a lot of enemies real quick."
Tucking the gun away in her clutch, she shrugged. "The family heads are right where I want them, Mick. They wanted confirmation of your death before they called it a night. Right now they're in the ballroom, drinking too much and enjoying themselves. Perfect time to pin Moe's murder on someone in the group. By the time I'm through, they'll either be kissing the ring or put in New Haven trench coats. No one's gonna be thinking about Mick Trubble for a long time."
Removing my Bogart, I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "I owe you big time, Electra. I know we have our thing, but I didn't think you'd go all out for me like this."