The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(100)

He followed me in and closed the door. Counting him, there were five guys in cluttered little office and I had only met one of them before.

Two of them were ratty-looking wiseguys flanking the desk to either side. Leaning by the window was some guy about my age dressed a lot more casually, who looked like he could be recruited as an offensive tackle in college football if he could ever pass the drug tests.

He puffed himself up as much as possible when I walked in, muscles twitching as if he was on edge. If they thought he was big enough to impress me, they were sorely mistaken. That was the joy of being at the top of my game. If he was any good at fighting, I would have heard about him already.

You had to be more than just big to stand a chance with me. If he wanted to find out what it felt like to have a broken leg, then he could try his luck.

Still, the very presence of somebody like him, like the guy now standing behind me by the door, and the lack of Enrico Bertolini was definitely concerning. Sitting behind the desk itself, looking smug as fuck, was the one person I recognized. Renato Picolli.

“Nice place you’ve got here. Where’s Enrico?”

“Thanks. It may not look like much now, but it’s about to win some very lucrative contracts from the city. Amazing how things can change so quickly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Where’s Enrico?”

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Renato gestured at the chair in front of the desk.

“No thanks. Something tells me I’m not going to be here very long.”

He chuckled. “Well you might just be right about that. Suit yourself.”

Roid Rage, over by the window, snickered quietly under his breath. I decided I might have to fuck him up on general principal.

“So, like I was sayin’, things can change, and change pretty fuckin’ fast. Take today for example. Big change. Don Bertolini has kindly accepted my proposition to buy into certain sectors of the family’s business here in New Ashby. Hence this fine construction company being under new management.”

Renato gestured around the general area and I gritted my teeth, already having a good idea where this fucking stupid speech was going. My fingers were tingling and I resisted the urge to bunch them into fists. The air was already thick with tension; everybody was ready for a fight.

“Part of the deal is for the Bertolinis’ interest in MMA match fixing. So congratulations, you punch-drunk son of a bitch, you are now property of the great Picolli Crime Family. How does it feel to know I own you?”

“The fuck you do,” I said.

I heard a rustling behind me and a quick glance told me that Old School had pulled out his gun, a shiny little black number with a silencer already fitted. With narrowed eyes, I turned back to Renato, feeling every breath send the essential fuel of oxygen to my muscles.

“The fuck I do,” said the Picolli. “I told you guys he was a mouthy motherfucker.”

“You want me to shut his mouth for ya, Uncle Renato?” said Roid Rage.

“I told you to shut up and listen, Benny,” said Renato.

Great, the next generation of fuckwits was represented here too.

“Listen to your master, bitch,” I said to him.

Benny went red and flexed hard enough that I thought he was going to pop like a balloon. However, Renato had him on a short enough leash that he probably wouldn’t wipe his ass without texting for permission.

“Just in time too, with your big fight this weekend and all.”

“I’m winning that fight,” I said.

Renato leaned back in his chair. “Here’s the thing… no, you’re not. Things are gonna be different around here, punk-ass motherfucker. The way you spoke to Enrico? You don’t speak like that to me, to any Picolli. You do what the fuck you’re told, exactly what you’re told and nothing but what you’re told. Welcome to your new life. Do I make myself clear?”

“I made a deal with the Bertolinis, not you. We had some good times, made some money, but it’s run its course. It’s not such a good deal anymore, so it’s over.”

Renato laughed and leaned forward again, shaking his finger at me. “You cocky motherfucker. You don’t have a fuckin’ choice.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said.

Renato’s eyes went to Old School and he raised his chin for a second. Old School shuffled forward and I felt cold steel against the back of my head.

Big mistake, Old School, I thought.

He never should have got that close to me. He never should have let me know exactly where his gun was without my having to look for it.

“Fuck myself? Hold him there, Al, I think fuckface needs to be tenderized by some baseball bats to help him get accustomed to his new circumstances.”