Ruthless People (2 page)

“Handle your woman,” I told him.

Neither of them made any sense to me. Declan was quiet, calm, and paler than snow,
while Coraline was loud, outgoing, and well . . . black. My father was pissed she
wasn’t Irish for about ten seconds before he realized he had no room to talk, seeing
as how my mother was a half caste.

“Liam, stop wanking off,” Olivia, Neal’s ever-so-bold wife said. All three were now
infesting my room.

“None of you were invited inside—”

Olivia laughed. “We saw your harlot run out of here like a bat out of hell, so we
figured you were getting ready.”

Stepping out, Neal and Declan grinned like mad fools at their wives.

“If you care about their lives, you will get them away from me fast,” I said through
my teeth.

“Are you threatening my daughters?” my mother asked.

“Yes, as always,” Coraline said, laughing, before giving her a hug. Of course, my
mother returned it, the traitor.

“For the love of God. Get out!” I was going to kill them all.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, young man.” My mother’s green eyes narrowed, causing
Neal to laugh outright.

“Tell him, Mom,” he said.

I pleaded with her.

“Those damn eyes of yours,” she mumbled, and I knew I had won.

Thank fucking Jesus.

“I think we have had our fill for now. Let’s let the boy get dressed in peace,” she
said, and I would have taken offense to the “boy” comment, but I just needed them
to leave without resorting to deadly force.

“Let us know if you need help getting dressed, sweetheart,” she added as they exited.

Where the fuck was I going, prom?

“I am a grown man, Mother.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Real grown men don’t use hookers.”

At that, everyone laughed before closing the door, but I could still hear them. This
was another reason I needed to get married. You weren’t a “real” Irish man until you
had wife. Without one, no matter what I did, I would never gain the respect that was
owed to me.

I would take this Melody Giovanni and form a woman fit to rule at my side. With her
family’s power added to my own, I would own it all before I was thirty. The thought
of that, and what else the future held, got my cock up. Only a small part of me cared
if she was attractive or not. Her last name and her loyalty would get me off just
fine. Thankfully, from what I was told, she already knew what her family did. I didn’t
have time to train her on what to expect or why my clothes may be a little bloody
sometimes.

I straightened my tie before reaching for my gun and placing my brass knuckles in
my pocket. Opening the door, my father stood waiting—correction, hovering. He looked
me up and down before nodding in approval.

Rule Three: Just because you sell drugs for a living isn’t an excuse not to dress
well.

“Here are the Giovannis’ updated finance and business records,” he said before handing
me a thick folder as we walked.

Him and his damn folders.

“How did we get these?” I said without thinking, and then answered knowingly. “Declan
is getting better.”

“He broke through the firewall this morning . . . while you were inside Ms. Briar.”
He glared at me.

“I ended it,” I said once we reached the awaiting cars.

My mother smiled, kissing us both on the cheek.

“Hopefully, or I will have to get involved.” He kissed my mother back. “Goodbye dear,
we will be back in the morning.”

“I know the drill. Let me know when you’ve met her,” she said once Neal and Declan
entered their own car. We never used one vehicle. My father and I rode separately
while Declan and Neal rode together.

Entering my black Audi, I skimmed through the files, knowing that the moment we started
to move he would call. When my phone went off, the driver simply connected it to the
car Bluetooth.

“Finished?” my father asked me.

I smirk. “The bastard almost tripled his profits in less than a fucking year.”

“He’s also somehow gotten his drugs into Valero territories—Greece, Russia, and the
damn Philippines. He has networks going through most of Eastern Europe, the little
fucker,” Declan stated through the radio. Apparently we were on a conference call.

We had tried to put our drugs in that side of the world for the last four years, but
the Valero guarded it tighter than a father on spring break. There were three families
stronger than all the rest. The Callahan, the Giovanni, and the fucking Valero. The
Valero were nothing but snakes—no, worms crawling in the dirt eating their own shit.
Most of them were Russian, some German, all thieves stealing my property and selling
it as their own.

“The man’s got fucking horse shoes and a leprechaun up his arse,” I said. That’s the
only way they could have pulled it off without the Valero filling them with bullets.

“Not to mention their numbers are growing. When I was in Mexico, I saw at least twenty
of Giovanni’s men guarding underground heroin fields,” Neal said, a bit too excitedly.
“Fucking underground, can you believe it? I wouldn’t even begin to understand the
amount of science shit they need to make that work. Down there, the name Giovanni
sends men running and pleading for their lives.”

“
Táimid ag titim ar gcúl
.
¹
 . . and I do not like to be behind. I will not sit idly by as they surpass us. Do
you understand me?” my father replied. “Liam.”

“I know,” I sighed,
for the last fucking time.

“Don’t fuck it up. With this marriage we can steamroll the Valero and anyone else,”
my father added
again
.

“Thank God the poor bastard didn’t have a son,” Declan said.

“Nothing is final yet,” my father replied. “Even after Liam marries her, which will
take a few days if your mother has her way, they won’t just give us everything. It
may take months to make sure it is
our
name that strikes fear into the hearts of men.”

“Liam, can you do this? You are very vain. What if she is not up to your mighty standards?”
Neal’s tone was serious, and I wanted to bust a pipe over his face.

“Piss off.” I wasn’t going to fuck this up. They should know this by now. Orlando
Giovanni’s daughter was the key to every door. “If she isn’t up to par, I will drink
until I can’t see straight. Or until I can convince her to see Olivia’s plastic surgeon.”
I was only half joking. Ugly people didn’t have to stay ugly forever.

“Fuck you,” he snapped.

“Great, thanks Liam, now he’s going to be bitching the rest of the ride.” Declan sighed.

“Look how much I care.” I nodded at the driver who ended our call for me.

I needed a moment, but all I could think about was the little Giovanni that was about
to be part of my life. Taking the ring out of my jacket pocket, I stared at the massive
diamond that would seal our fates. She was Italian, which meant Catholic, just like
us, and that meant:

Rule Four: No bloody divorce.

“Let the games begin,” I whispered to myself. I was going to make this work or die
trying. But, if she was anything like the females I had in the past, she would be
dancing in the palm of my hand, and I couldn’t wait.

TWO

“Even in killing men,
observe the rules of propriety.”

~ Confucius

MELODY

“Ms. Giovanni, we will be landing in h-half an h-hour,” the flight attendant stammered.

Nodding, I simply raised my glass, but the moron was so scared, he couldn’t even pour
the wine right. I narrowed my eyes at the red stains on my new white Armani jacket
before glaring at him. I snatched the bottle from his damn hands.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t say sorry,” I said in a low hiss. “You aren’t even on the threshold of sorry
yet.”

His eyes widened before taking a step back and backing straight into Fedel, who already
had a gun pointed at the back of his skull.

“All we really need is the pilot, ma’am,” Fedel said simply.

Stripping off my jacket, I stared at the moron at the end of the nine-millimeter.
He was young, only a few years older than I was. What would make him take the job
as a steward on my jet? A better question would be, who
cleared
him to be a steward on my fucking jet? Things spoken in here were more sensitive
than the damn Watergate tapes.

“Fedel, how did this fool get on my plane?” I asked, only mildly interested as Monte
handed me another file.

“His sister racked up quite a large debt. I do believe he is trying to pay it off,”
he said, waiting for me to give the go-ahead. He was so trigger-happy sometimes.

“Is that why you’re here? Your sister is a crack whore?”

He frowned, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking again. “Crystal meth.”

It’s too early in the morning for blood.
I shook my head at Fedel. He sulked for a moment but did what he was told and lowered
his GLOCK.

“
If
you want to pay off your sister’s debt, it would be wise for you to stay alive and
not spill my Romanée-Conti, or ruin nine-hundred-dollar jackets,” I told him before
turning back to the file in front of me.

“Yes, M-M-Miss G-Giovanni. It will n-never happen a-again.” His voice sounded like
a dying dog’s. I almost pitied his sister. Was he all she had coming to her aid?

“Count yourself blessed Nelson Reed, 997-00-4279, 1705 Blue Ridge Road,” Fedel said,
making sure the moron was aware that we not only knew his name, but his social security
number and address. Just because we didn’t kill him today didn’t mean we could not
destroy his life tomorrow.

Fedel sighed before taking a seat in front of me. “It was a nice jacket. You should
have let me kill him.”

“My father wasn’t pleased with the bloodstains I left in the last jet.” I smirked,
lifting the picture of my future husband.

Husband
. I cringed at the word.

I wouldn’t deny he was attractive—highly attractive, in fact. But I would need more
than green eyes, dark brown sex hair, and a charming smile. He wasn’t very muscular
either, but he looked fast and strong.

“His full name is Liam Alec Callahan, age twenty-seven. He graduated high school at
fifteen, Dartmouth at twenty,” Fedel said, sorting through the photos.

“Let me guess, top of his class?” I added, waiting for him to pour more wine in my
glass.

Fedel did so before nodding. “But of course, nothing less than perfection for the
Irish mutt. That doesn’t only apply to the schools, but also their fancy half-a-million-dollar
suits, luxury cars, vacations houses, parties, and whores.”

That got my attention.

“He uses high-end hookers?” It shouldn’t surprise me much, all men had their toys.
I would have to put an end to it when we were married, but I understood. The marriage
contract our fathers signed fifteen years ago stated neither side would tolerate infidelity.
It had less to do with romance and more to do with strategic reasoning. Hookers and
lovers almost always led to the fall of an empire. The moment you became comfortable
with one another, secrets were spilled, and information was stolen in the dead of
night. It was just easier to do without it.

“None that we could find. Instead, he just buys them pretty, shiny things like diamond
bracelets, expensive purses, or thousand dollar shoes. They all like their shoes,”
he said mockingly, sliding over photos of all the women Liam had been with. It was
quite a list. At least he would be an experienced lover, but that didn’t necessarily
mean he was good in bed.

“Is he clean?” If he wasn’t, we could buy whatever drug was needed. Ninety percent
of everything out there had a cure . . . with the right credit card.

“As a damn whistle,” Fedel said, almost disappointed. “From his current health records,
he is healthier than a racehorse, which is surprising with amount of brandy he drinks.
His beverage of choice—Camus Cuvee. He has a damn glass, or even the bottle, to his
lips in every photo. He isn’t depressed or an alcoholic, he’s—”

“Just Irish.” I added. They could drink every day, from dusk until dawn, and still
walk a straight line.

“Exactly. From what I’ve gathered, he’s the brains and is also highly skilled in hand-to-hand
combat, boxing being a pastime of his. It looks like daddy dearest has spent most
of his time forging him to take his place.”

“Doesn’t he have an elder brother?”

“Yes, he does. Meet Neal Aiden Callahan, age thirty-one. Married to Malibu Barbie,
aka Olivia Ann Colemen, age twenty-nine, three years ago.” He lifted up a photo of
the happy couple. Neal was all muscle with brown hair and hazel eyes, while his wife
looked like a life-sized Barbie doll. On her wrist was a small tattoo of a Celtic
Knot in the shape of an oak tree.

“A Dara knot.” I told him looking over the lines.

Fedel’s eyebrow rose. “A what?’