Chapter 4: The Blood On O’Neal’s Doorstep
Ten minutes later, Cassian was sitting in the secure, soundproof back of his armored Lincoln Navigator.
The rain lashed violently against the tinted, bulletproof glass. Cassian reached into his leather jacket, pulled out an encrypted, untraceable burner phone, and dialed his underboss.
Leo answered on the first ring. “Boss. You out of the diner?”
“Leo,” Cassian said softly. His voice was entirely devoid of all human warmth. It was the voice of the Don. “The O’Neal crew. They have two rogue guys shaking down small businesses in the South End. One has a jagged jaw scar. The other looks like a junkie.”
“I know the ones. Mick and Tommy,” Leo replied, his tone shifting to strictly business. “Find them?”
Cassian looked out the window at the passing city lights, his eyes cold and dead.
“Find them. Break their legs. Both of them. And then leave them bleeding on O’Neal’s front doorstep with a very clear message tied to their necks.”
“What’s the message, Boss?”
“The South End belongs to Costa. The next man who crosses the boundary loses his head.”
The very next time Cassian walked through the doors of The Rusty Spoon, the oppressive atmosphere had completely vanished.
It was a quiet Tuesday evening. The flickering neon sign buzzed steadily against the foggy front window, and the warm, comforting scent of freshly baked bread filled the air.
When Cassian slid into his familiar corner booth, Emma practically bounded over to him, a radiant, stress-free smile lighting up her entire face.
“Arthur!” she whispered excitedly, leaning heavily over the table, her face inches from his. “You won’t believe it!”
“Believe what?” Cassian asked, expertly feigning casual ignorance as he unbuttoned his damp denim jacket.
“Those awful men!” she gasped, her eyes wide with total disbelief. “The ones who broke the sugar jar and threatened Mr. Henderson! It was all over the local morning news.”
Cassian raised a single eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“They were found outside a warehouse in Southie,” Emma continued, practically vibrating with relief. “Beaten half to death! Both their legs were completely shattered. The police are saying it was some brutal, underground gang dispute. They won’t be bothering us ever again, Arthur!”
Cassian offered a mild, perfectly practiced look of surprise.
“Well, look at that. Good riddance,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “Karma has a very funny way of catching up with terrible people, Emma.”
“It’s crazy,” Emma breathed, leaning back and pouring his hot black coffee. She looked out the front window into the dark street. “It almost feels like… like someone was watching out for us. Like we have a guardian angel out there in the dark.”
Cassian lifted the heavy ceramic mug to his lips, taking a slow, calculated sip of the scalding liquid. His dark eyes never left her face.
If you only knew what your terrifying angel really looked like, he thought grimly. Maybe you’d run away screaming.
