Indebted to the Mafia King
Rat Trail

Dante

I adjust my tie in the pale moonlight slanting in through the window and glance at Eleni over my shoulder. She's sprawled across the bed, as always, with her hair everywhere. I pull my attention back and tighten it a little more. Sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night like this feels oddly like a betrayal after the fight this afternoon, but it's not as though I'm going to see Camila. And, truth told, I'll do just about anything to keep as much space between Cal Duncan and Eleni as possible. I pat the gun already holstered on my hip and creep out of the room.

Tony waits for me in a car outside, not idling in case that draws the attention of the neighbors. They tend to have their ears a little extra pricked in the weeks after the barbecue. All the accountants and lawyers around here aren't exactly subtle about wanting an invite, but I don't think they'd blend with the crowd. I slide into the passenger's seat, and Tony turns on the car.

"It's my job as your caporegime to say Cal Duncan might be luring us to a trap in the middle of the night," he says.

"And it's my duty as the boss to do this." I wait until he brakes at a stop sign, then thump the back of his head. "I fucking know that."

Tony snorts. "Right. And that's why you haven't breathed a word to a fucking soul about the fact that we're doing this."

"You don't know that." I stare out the window as he leaves the gated neighborhood and heads for the Verrazano.

"The only reason you'd make me wait outside like a boyfriend you don't want your parents to meet is if Eleni was asleep when you left." He glances at me. "Which means you didn't tell her." "Next time I get to pick my caporegime, I'm choosing someone less nosy," I grumble. "He set the fucking meeting, anyway, and it's your little brother we're looking into the Russians about."

"Seb stumbled into them first, but he didn't start this." Tony shakes his head. "And fuck me, I believe Cal Duncan's scared of the Russians."

I nod, thinking back on the phone call I received after Camila left the other day. Cal had been his usual, overdramatic self, but when I tried to tell him again I had no interest in working together, he'd been very insistent this would benefit us both. Only when he mentioned a potential Russian hideout in the city had I changed my tune. "Accidentally" running into Seb and El was one thing. Setting up shop is another entirely, and I intend to put out whatever fire they intended to start before it blazed out of control. Even if that means working with Cal fucking Duncan.

Tony lets the subject drop, and we drive the rest of the way to the meatpacking district in silence. My thoughts race. Part of me is glad to be prowling the streets in the dead of night. It isn't like I'd be sleeping, with my plans for tomorrow. We pull up to the appointed corner and find Cal standing in the halogen glow of a streetlight. Tony parks, and we climb out.

"Evening, gentlemen," Cal says as we walk up. "I was starting to think you were going to miss our date."

"Stow the attitude, Duncan," I reply. "You said you had something worth dragging my ass out of bed in the middle of the night for. What is it?"

"Now, is that any way to talk to a man just trying to be your friend?" His smile highlights his spattering of freckles. "I notice that while I abided by our agreement to do this as equals, you've brought muscle."

Tony pushes hair out of his ice-blue eyes in the way I know he practices to make his arms seem bigger. Douche. Thank god he's here.

I turn back to Cal. "We're a package deal. Feel free to bring your second next time."

The implication lingers between us. I'm open to a next time. And I'm not scared of whatever he thinks he has up his sleeve.

"Much appreciated." He inclines his head. "Walk with me."

He strides away. Tony rolls his eyes at me. I shrug in agreement and follow the Irish bastard.

"I've a friend I call Russ," Cal says conversationally. "His family's Irish by way of Slovakia, but the difference is lost on most of my men, so they called him 'the Russian' for ages. Does a grand Russian accent, besides."

I stuff my hands in my pockets and try not to look pissed at his meandering story. Tony is doing a shittier job than me, at least.

"When you toppled the Lombardis, there was a bit of a vacuum." Cal leads us into a crappy apartment building. "Your girl did an admirable job stepping up, but the territory was already shaky with Frank gone. So the damned Russians started poking."

"Do you have a friend called 'the point' as well?" Tony asks.

Cal smirks at him as he steps up to the deathtrap of an elevator. "Just waiting for a bit of clean air."

The elevator opens immediately, and I eye the tiny box, then all of us.

"We're not "

"Alas, we are." Cal grins. "It's this or thirty flights of stairs, and I didn't pack my running shoes."

Tony and I exchange another look, then step in shoulder-to-shoulder. Cal fucking Duncan. If anything's going to be a trap tonight, it's this. Despite the squeeze, I work my hand onto the grip of my gun. Cal joins us with a delighted smile and presses the button for the top floor. Gears grind arthritically, but the elevator moves. Sounds like a goddamn stampede of elephants while it does, too.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," Cal says. "To get to your beloved point, I put Russ under with the Russians. Updates are sporadic, and for a tick there, it seemed dead likely he'd left this Earth. Day I called you, he let me know he'd just been given access to a base of operations inside the city itself. Address and all. Looks like our cold-blooded brethren are planning an invasion."

My stomach drops to the ground floor. Most bastards I can handle. The Russians scared my dad. If I went my whole life without fucking with them, I'd be happy.

The elevator rattles to a stop, and Cal shoulders the door open. Cool wind whips across the rooftop as we step out.

"And that very base is"-Cal scans the horizon, then points "there."

A telescope and a set of binoculars sit facing that direction. I stride over and pick up the binoculars.

"So you're inviting us on a fishing trip."

Cal grins. "Settle in, gents."

***

The sky is turning gray with morning by the time I seriously think about killing Cal Duncan. My knees ache, my eyes burn, and the scar where Domino opened me up is none too pleased. And we haven't seen jack shit. I stretch and lean away from my binoculars. "I think—"

"Dante." Tony lifts the camera he brought along as a car pulls up.

I crush my eyes back to the lenses. The white convertible stops in front of the warehouse. It looks vaguely familiar. I crane forward, but there are no plates. This person knows where they are. The passenger door opens, and a broad-shouldered, heavily tattooed man gets out. I don't recognize him, so I train my binoculars on the driver's side. The person in there leans over to kiss the man goodbye, obscuring her face. My fingers start to hurt. A head of blonde hair comes into view, as well as a phone. The pieces start to click.

As the car speeds away, the driver hits a button to push back the convertible top, and I see Camila, talking on the phone in the pre-dawn light.