Free Shoot 'Em Up by Janey Mack Page A

with. Until now.
    Hank’s Law Number Three: Don’t let your lizard brain go rogue.
    â€œWolf? About that drink . . .”
    He raised a thick hand at a hovering, white-jacketed waiter. “Scotch.”
    â€œAnd for you, miss ?”
    â€œRakija,” I said, feeling mean enough to hunt a boar with a butter knife. “Bring the bottle.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I took in the bastard who’d tried to have me killed.
    Out of jealousy.
    Coles was obsessed with Stannis. And while we’d tangled before, it wasn’t until I became Stannis’s beard that he wanted me dead. He couldn’t stand the closeness between us. And so he’d used Vi Veteratti’s coked-out brother, Eddie, to arrange a hit on me.
    My skin rippled in revulsion.
    At his arm was a delicately handsome Latino man wearing an Italian suit so snug, I was glad he was sitting down. Coles’s fingers grazed the man’s wrist.
    Stannis might be gone, but Coles would never get over him.
    The waiter returned and poured a shot tableside, set down the bottle of Žuta Osa, and left.
    â€œYou drink that Yellow Wasp shit?” Wolf asked.
    â€œThe bastard child of Manischewitz and Everclear? What’s not to love?” I raised the glass, holding it delicately in my left hand, intact pinkie raised, Stannis’s diamond engagement ring winking in the candlelight, and waited.
    Wolf swung his heavy head to look over his shoulder.
    Coles noticed me, then.
    Message received.
    His lip recoiled in a sneer, his overly white capped teeth gnashed the butt of his stout nub cigar.
    I threw back the shot, not breaking eye contact. I held the glass out to him, turned it over, and planted it on the table.
    Apparently I am petty enough to hold a grudge.
    A dark chortle came from the Wolf. “I thought you Irish Catholic girls were all about forgiveness.”
    â€œTry eternal damnation.”
    He got up and pulled back my chair. He held out his arm, and we disappeared behind the velvet curtains. I could feel the slime and the fury of Coles’s glare, felt it even when I knew he couldn’t see me.
    And I liked it.
    * * *
    Violetta Veteratti hadn’t wasted any time transforming her twin’s office from Italian cigar library to Palace of Caserta baroque. It leant a certain majesty to her hard, mannish face.
    Jimmy the Wolf leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
    â€œSo,” the Mafia princess said from behind her desk. “You wanna head Renko’s operation.”
    â€œJust until he gets back.” Tread gently. This was the razor-fine edge between getting what I wanted and screwing things up for the Bureau of Organized Crime.
    â€œYeah?” she said. “When’s that?”
    â€œI’m not exactly sure.” I tipped my head from side to side, ponytail swinging like some idiotic cheerleader. “He’s, uh . . . gone to ground.”
    â€œWhat’s the holdup?” Jimmy said.
    I crossed my legs and adjusted my skirt. “Stannislav’s best players are either in jail or under surveillance. I need time and—”
    Vi smirked. “How much?”
    â€œAbout that . . . I was wondering if I could call in my chit.”
    The favor. The one you promised me in return for not letting Stannis kill Eddie.
    Her hatchet face turned keen. “How much you think my brother’s worth?”
    Not as much as mine.
    â€œI want you to vouch for me with the Grieco cartel.” The words came out as smooth as if I’d asked her to pick up my dry cleaning. A favor almost too small to be asked.
    â€œEntering the narcotics market, are we?” Vi asked.
    â€œCapital is necessary in every business.”
    â€œI can supply that,” she offered silkily. “Lawyers on retainer, too.”
    I’m sure you can. With ankle shackles and iron chains. “Thing is, I’m one of those master-of-my-own-destiny kinda girls. I just need the