Broken Queen

Page 12

“Don’t,” I tell him. He’s outnumbered, and he’s not completely stupid.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Sonny demands, coming through the door as he tugs his shirt over his head. I catch a glimpse of his hairy, round stomach I wish I didn’t. He stops short when he sees the number of men assembled.
“Uncle,” I say by way of greeting. Bastian and I climb the stairs. Sonny stands his ground, and I walk right up to him. The man at his back puts a hand on the butt of his pistol. “Tell your man to stand down.”
Sonny’s gaze moves over my shoulder again. I guess he’s counting my men. He turns to his soldier and nods, and the man folds his hands in front of him.
“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Bastian asks.
Sonny steps aside, and we enter. I take in the living room. It’s overcrowded, every surface covered with something gilded and hideous. A woman rushes out of the bedroom wearing what I’m sure is the smallest bikini ever made. She’s pulling on a wrap and her long hair is loose down her back, her lipstick smeared. She stops dead when she sees us all.
“Nadia, right?” Bastian says, looking her over. She tugs her wrap closer and shifts her gaze to Sonny. “Did we interrupt?” he asks her. “You’ve got a little something,” he starts, pointing at her mouth.
The woman flushes and wipes the corner of her mouth.
“What the fuck is the meaning of this, Amadeo?” Sonny asks.
“We’re going to need you to leave,” Bastian tells the woman and makes a point of taking out his wallet and unfolding a couple hundred-dollar bills. He holds them out to her, and her gaze shifts from Bastian to the money then to Sonny.
“This is my house,” she says stupidly.
“Yeah, well, if you’d rather stay,” Bastian tells her. Tucking his hand into his pocket, he pushes his jacket back so she can see his pistol.
“Nadia. Go,” Sonny says.
“Yes, Nadia. Go.” Bastian takes more bills from his wallet. I don’t miss the way my uncle looks at her. It’s certainly not like him to care about anyone other than himself. “We’ll try not to make a mess,” Bastian tells her with a grin that quickly disappears as he gestures for her to exit. She gives Sonny one more look before taking the money and heading to the door, her heels clicking all the way. “Your wife know about her? Or the dozen others? I do hope you’re using a condom, Uncle.”
“Explain yourselves,” Sonny says once she’s gone. “You can’t just charge in here like you own the fucking place—”
“My wife was attacked.”
Sonny’s face gives nothing away. He doesn’t even blink.
“She’s fine, thanks for asking,” Bastian says, moving to close the windows and blinds. Sonny doesn’t miss what he’s doing.
“An attack on your wife has nothing to do with me,” he says.
“Of course not. What reason would I have to attack her?”
“To show us you can,” I say. “Six of our men were executed.”
His eyes narrow.
“Twelve of yours are dead.”
“It wasn’t me, nephew,” he says, sitting on the couch casually, too casually.
I sit on the edge of the coffee table.
His eyes narrow, but he also leans away. He’s nervous.
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “You have many enemies. Where should I begin?”
“Uncle, have you ever considered just telling the truth?” Bastian asks, coming up behind him and setting the muzzle of his gun to the back of Sonny’s head. Sonny doesn’t blink. I hold eye contact with him. When Bastian cocks the gun, Sonny flinches. “Say the word, brother.”