The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(18)

“What the fuck do you have to do with them?”

“Ordinarily? Nothing,” I said. “I was hoping you could tell me. I thought you were supplying them, so why would they track me down?”

“We cut them off. They played their part, they got it out to the people, helped with early distribution and getting the word out, but we don’t need them anymore. They want it, they can pay end-user prices now. What I wanna know is why, for a guy who’s supposed to be so fuckin’ smart, they knew about you at all? So what did you give ‘em?”

“Nothing. Kicked their asses.”

“You?” Giovanni laughed, and his puppets around the room chuckled on cue. “Well, whatever, what… actually, you know what? I don’t give a fuck. This blind-eye shit stops now. There is no “spare” product anymore. It ain’t fuckin’ yours. You make it, you don’t distribute it, you piece of shit. I hear about you supplyin’ anything and I’ll force-feed five pounds of the shit down your mother’s throat until she’s fuckin’ fizzin’ from her eyeballs, you hear me?”

Maybe I had some buttons of my own, because there was nothing I wanted more in that moment than to feel his face pulping under my fists. I could feel this red-hot rage rising, and I gripped the sides of my chair as I fought to keep it down.

Not now, Ryan. Soon. All of them.

I had planned on dialing my own personal sales back anyway after my wake-up call last night, but it was a kick in the teeth for it to look like I was complying with Giovanni’s demands with my tail between my legs. He saw that he’d got under my skin, and it was only his smug fucking expression that helped me bring myself under control again.

“I hear you,” I said through clenched teeth. “But you’re going to have to do something about them, keep them off my back. Here’s what I need for the next delivery.”

I reached into my pocket and slid the folded piece of paper across his desk. He picked it up and started unfolding it.

“For fuck sake. We’ll have to send some guys to give them a message. It’s going to cost us, and it’s coming out of your pay. What the fuck do you need all this extra shit for?”

“Research and development.”

“Fuck that, we’re not buying all this. Phosphorus? What the fuck is cyclo… cyclohex-”

“Cyclohexane. Pay me my money and buy what the fuck I have listed there, or tell Alberico that you decided it wasn’t worth my time working on what might be the next F-Pro.”

I could see Giovanni mulling over how that conversation would go, given how my new product aimed at the sports market had given them an income boost in direct sales, as well as affecting their sports fixing income. A brain like mine was too good an opportunity for them to waste.

“Fuck it. Fine. Here.”

Giovanni pulled a briefcase out from behind his desk and spun it so the latches faced me before sliding it across. I stood and opened it and made a little “Mmmm” of appreciation. This was a sight that would never get old.

Out of all the crime families in the country, the Acardis were the newest. They were still old as shit, but because they’d started their existence as the most modern of them all, they had a kind of acceptance of new technology and methodology that that the other families were slower to adopt.

The Acardis focused on a different set of schemes than the others. They were involved with cyber-fraud, and I even heard they had a team devoted to online dating scams, where they not only extorted cash from lonely men and women, but if they hooked a person in any kind of position of power, they blackmailed them too. Politicians, business men and women, you name it.

This technological slant they had was why I always transferred the cash into my own backpack, and took the money to the lab before I took it anywhere else. I had the equipment there to check it for anything they might do to trace it. So far they hadn’t, but the last thing I wanted was for them to know where my stash was.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Yeah. Don’t forget your fuckin’ place again. You’re gettin’ paid more than some of the fuckin’ Italian guys and you’re on thin ice.”

“Right. Have a fuckin’ nice day, and take care of the Cannibals.”

I shouldered my backpack and headed to the door, noticing Johnny watching Giovanni for any signal that I should be reprimanded for my less than respectful exit. Apparently no signal came, as I didn’t have a gun shoved in my face again.

Daydreams of dropping Giovanni in a vat of acid comforted me as I took the elevator down. By the time I reached the ground floor, I was over it. He’d get exactly what he deserved in the end.