Page 9 of Mob Queen

I head back to G who has the door to the car open for me. I slide in, and wait for G to enter the car. Dario pulls the car away and heads home. “You don’t pick a fight with a person we need,” G warns.

“I didn’t pick a fight with her.”

G runs his hand through his thick salt and pepper hair then pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have to be careful, Frank. 15 is an assassin, she doesn’t give a shit if she puts a bullet between your eyes. That’s her job, and you can’t afford to piss her off.”

I place my hand on G’s thigh, and gently squeeze. “Trust me, it’s fine.”

He looks to Dario, then to me. His jaw is tight and his eyes are dark with rage. “Be careful.”

G’s right, I was angry when I approached her, but then a measure of respect passed between us. Something I’ve never seen her give my father in the past. I give us a few moments to sit in the quiet before I say, “Have the boys ready for distribution of the weapons.”

G’s nostrils flare, but he takes a breath and calms down. “You negotiated a good price on the Barrettas,” he says of the meeting we had with Pace earlier. “We’ve already got two more buyers wanting them.”

“Who?”

“One of the smaller cartels down south approached us and asked for two thousand units.”

“Who are they?” G rattles off the name and I’m impressed by them. “They won’t be small for too much longer.”

“We might be able to work with them.”

“No.” I shake my head. “We’re not buying anything they’re selling.”

“It’s good for business relationships, Frank.”

“No,” I say firmly. “They traffic and I don’t like traffickers.”

“I think...”

“We’re done,” I say and turn to look into the darkness.

I’ll sell to them, but they have nothing I’m interested with. And that’s final.

Chapter 3

Frankie

“What do you need done so we can bury dad?” Rome asks as I pull out the chair to sit for breakfast.

“Everything,” I say as I look for Mya. “Mya,” I call for my cook.

Mya enters the dining room already holding my coffee. “Good morning,” she says in a small voice as she places the cup in front of me. “Breakfast, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you.” I pick up the cup and take a sip. “Dad’s in the basement,” I tell Rome,.

“Shouldn’t he be at the county morgue?” Rome bites into his toast.

“If those fuckers get their hands on Dad, they’ll tear him apart.”

“He’s dead, Frank. What can they do to him?”

“I don’t care. The doctor’s been here and a death certificate is already being prepared. Dad’s being sent out in fucking style, because that’s what he deserves.”

Rome sighs and shakes his head. “Tell me what you want me to do to help.”

“Thursday we’ll have the funeral. We’ll do it here.”

“Do you really want other families coming to your home?”