Chapter 12: A Call From The Grave
Dominic stared at the glowing screen, his jaw tightening into a lethal, angular line. He tapped the call button and pressed the phone to his ear, hitting the speaker icon so Riley could hear every word.
The line rang twice before a raspy, heavily accented voice answered.
“Tell me the fat cow is handled, Paulie,” Declan Fitzpatrick growled through the speaker. “And tell me you found Arthur’s ledgers.”
Dominic let the silence stretch for three agonizing seconds. He wanted Declan to feel the void.
“Paulie is currently indisposed, Declan,” Dominic finally spoke, his gravelly voice dropping the temperature in the room even further. “He’s hanging from a meat hook, bleeding out over a drain grate. And you just cost me a very expensive suit.”
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the line. “Castelli.”
“You overstepped, Irishman,” Dominic stated, his eyes locking with Riley’s. “You tried to intercept my shipments. I let it slide because war is expensive. But you sent men into my territory to kill a civilian under my absolute protection. That is a debt paid in blood.”
“Protection?” Declan laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You’re protecting a butcher? Arthur Hayes ruined my uncle! That woman is sitting on twenty years of syndicate secrets!”
“I don’t care about your uncle,” Dominic replied smoothly. “I care about my city. You have twenty-four hours to pack up your Boston operations and take your rats back to Providence.”
“Or what, Castelli?” Declan sneered. “You don’t have the muscle for a full war.”
Riley suddenly reached out, her thick fingers snatching the phone directly from Dominic’s hand.
“This is Riley Hayes,” she barked into the receiver, her voice echoing with raw, undeniable authority. “You want my father’s secrets, Declan? Come to the shop. I sell meat by the pound. Let’s see how much you weigh.”
Would you ever dare to taunt a ruthless mob boss over the phone, or would you leave the talking to the professionals?
“You’re a dead woman,” Declan hissed, the venom practically dripping from the speaker.
“I’m a butcher,” Riley corrected coldly. “I break down animals twice your size before breakfast. Bring your boys, Declan. The grinder is hungry.”
She ended the call, tossing the phone onto the stainless steel table. Dominic stared at her, his chest heaving with a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated arousal.
“You just declared war on the entire Irish syndicate,” Dominic whispered.
“No,” Riley said, turning back to the terrified, bound Paulie. “I just invited them to dinner. Help me get him off this hook. We have work to do.”
