Free BANE: A Devils' Due MC Romance Novel by Ora Wilde Page B

was a slut with STD," he proceeded to share. "We are so drowned in our rules and our codes and our culture. For us, a rat is a rat... and everything about a rat stinks, including his children."
     
    "What do ‘ya want me to do, Veep?" I wanted to get straight to the point. It was obvious that he was leading me somewhere. I wanted to spare him from having to badger his way to what he really wanted to say.
     
    "Watch over her," he replied. "You're pretty close to the girl... well, closer than anyone of us at least. Keep an eye out for her. Protect her. Make the brothers know that she ain't a problem. You're already doing that... whether you realize it or not. I just want you to keep up the good work."
     
    I nodded.
     
    "That's all?" I wanted to know as I was itching for another bottle of beer.
     
    "No," he remarked. "I'm gonna meet up with the Captolis tomorrow to sort out this mess before they decide to do something... drastic."
     
    "Good plan, especially with Prez still in jail and all."
     
    "Yes. We have to protect the club."
     
    "Aye."
     
    "So Bane," he added, "get an early shuteye. We'll leave at seven tomorrow morning."
     
    Aw shit! Why didn't I see that coming?
     
     

     
     
     
    Veep and I rode towards the southeastern part of Route 25 until we reached Fort Laramie, a little past Glendo Reservation Park.  There are Easton Avenue - the busiest street in the district - was a quaint little tailoring shop called Vito’s Biancheria .  They specialized on made-to-order clothes that used Italian linen, what many believed was the most beautiful and elegant textile in the world.  Now, I dunno if that kind of shit sells in America, but I haven’t seen a single customer grace the shop during the few times I visited that place.
     
    It was just a front, though.
     
    There was a door at the back of the counter that opened to a long alleyway leading to another building that couldn’t be viewed from the street.  It was a relatively luxurious building, with stylish interiors and moody lighting.  It was actually like a small hotel during the forties, the ones that were always portrayed in noir films throughout the years.  There was even a reception desk, a voluptuous woman... a Ginny from all indications though she was too soft-spoken and polite that she made me doubt, initially, if she was indeed Italian.
     
    She guided us to the elevator and pressed the button that would bring us to the sixth floor.
     
    The doors closed, and when they opened again, we were greeted by a bunch of Guidos in suits, surrounding a table where an old man sat restlessly.  The grampa was Don Vito Captoli, patriarch of the clan and head of the family.
     
    There were no hallways in that level.  There were no rooms, no partitions, no windows.  The entire floor was the Don’s office.
     
    A tall, middle-aged man stood beside him.  He had a receding hairline and thick glasses.  He looked like a younger version of Mr. Burns’ assistant - the faggity fuck from that Simpsons show - and the thought made me want to laugh.  He smiled at us before I could chortle.
     
    “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Sirs?” he asked with mild-mannered courtesy.
     
    “I swear, Lazzaro... your civility scares the shit out of me sometimes,” Trevor told him and I finally let out a laugh.
     
    This Lazzaro fella was about to speak, but Don Vito raised his hand to stop him.
     
    “I will handle this, Consigliere ,” he said weakly.  It was very apparent that the Don was ill.  he has been for years, though no one knew what he was sick of.  “The Devils are here for one thing and one thing only, after all.”
     
    “Don Vito,” Trevor quickly replied, “we would like to apologize for what transpired.  There has been a betrayal in our ranks, a fact which you already know.  We have dealt with the traitor and our club is once again cle...”
     
    “You have dealt with the traitor?” Don Vito interrupted him.
     
    “Yes,