Asa was slumped at Dante’s feet, breathing hard, arm wrapped around his ribcage, his blindfold still in place.
Dante untied it and helped him up.
Asa blinked, confusion colouring his hard features. “Fuck me, you really have changed.”
“Or maybe you’ve never been laid out in front of me before. Maybe I was nice all along and you just didn’t know it.”
“Fuck off.” Asa pulled himself together and ran his gaze over Dante. “You okay?”
“What do you care?”
“You’re no good to me dead.”
“Lucky me.”
Asa snorted and manoeuvred himself to lean against the wall. “They’ll keep us waiting.”
“I know.” Dante mirrored his pose on the opposite wall. “It’s how they do, but if you can get through the grunts at the bottom, the top boy is pretty sound.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“He might be pissed you’ve been playing him all this time, though.”
“Why? He got what he wanted.”
“He’s a details man,” Dante said. “That’s why he liked me, and probably Martell too. We came to him with plans that made sense and contingencies for if shit went south. He won’t get that from the St. Michael’s crew, so you’ll have to convince him there’s a reason he should let you go.”
Asa opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a door at the end of the room opening, casting them in dim light. There was no time to lunge for the blindfolds, but the men who approached them didn’t seem to notice.
One man hauled Dante up. Three surrounded Asa, one of them a face Dante recognised.He shot me. He expected the realisation to jar more than it did, but his soul didn’t flinch.I don’t care about this shit. I just want to go home.
The Albanian muscle led them off the factory floor and down a dank corridor. The space became low-ceilinged and cramped. Familiar, though Dante couldn’t say why.Maybe it’s déjà vu and you’re going to get shot again.A hysterical laugh blocked Dante’s throat.
I can’t fucking breathe.
He was thrown forward again, sending him stumbling to his knees, but it wasn’t concrete this time, it was carpet, and Dante’s cold bones gave thanks.
Asa landed beside him.
Dante spared him a glance, then braved looking up.
Contrary to the expectation that they’d be kept waiting all night, the top boy of the Albanian organisation smirked back at him, lounging on a leather sofa, a woman on his lap, a parrot cage dangling from the ceiling behind him.
“Mr Pope,” he drawled. “We meet again after all this time. I was beginning to think you did not like me.”
“Your muscle put a bullet in my foot,” Dante said. “I figured that had taken me off your Christmas card list.”
Beside him, Asa cringed. Dante knew better. This dude liked banter almost as much as he liked getting to the point once he’d given a captive audience his time.
True to form, he sat forward, ebony eyes glinting. “What do you want? Last I heard you were in prison and on your way to being an ordinary man, no?”
“I’m still on my way,” Dante said. “The Lambeth crew asked me to speak for them. When this is done, I’ll go back to my life, and they’ll go back to theirs. I’m not on the road anymore.”
The Albanian nodded. “This is what I thought. Who is this with you? I was expecting you to come with Benito Martell.”
“He’s gone. This is Asa Gerrard. He’s been running things since last year.”
“Where is Martell?”