Vito: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dirty Dons Club Book 3) by Naomi West

Author:Naomi West [West, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-09T18:30:00+00:00

15

Vito

“This thing don’t even fit.” I shrug on the sports jacket, zipping it right up to the chin. When I flex my arms the material squeaks and hugs my forearms like it could just tear right up the middle. I kick my legs out in the bright blue pants. They don’t hug me as much, but the material grinds against my skin. Sweat sticks like acid to the hairs on my legs. “Who’d wear this shit in a desert?”

Robert shrugs. “People could say the same about suits.”

“Yeah, sure. But shit …”

He leans against the van wall, his gun across his knees. “So you’re just gonna go in there and hope they don’t recognize the seven-foot giant walking through the door?”

“No. They’ll recognize me.”

“And kill you.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, Vito. Don’t act like you’re some fuckin’ lunatic. You don’t wanna walk in there just to die.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to do it. But I also don’t want Uncle and Tommy and Anthony and the girl in that bastard’s cage to die either.”

“Yeah, I get that. But your uncle wouldn’t—”

“This is how it’s going down, Bobby.” I crack a knuckle. Pop. I crack another. Popcorn microwaving right here in the van, bouncing off the metal. Ralph’s lighter snaps metallically from the front of the van. “Any last words?”

“We’ll be ready to move in. Just give the signal. Don’t be shy about it.”

“Two shots into the air, bang-bang. Right next to each other. You know what to listen for.”

“With the little pistol.”

I take it from my pocket. “Yeah, the handbag pistol.”

It’s like a miniature of a real weapon clutched in my fingers. I hold it up, grinning at Robert. After a moment a smile twitches, but he kills it right away. “All right, Vito.” He offers me his hand. “Good luck.”

I take it, shaking it hard. “See you soon.”

I climb from the back of the van and walk down the street, the sun setting behind the bar a good half mile down the dusty strip of road. The van pulls away behind me, kicking up dust. Always kicking up dust in Dust. Always something crumbling to tiny gravelly pieces. Except I can’t let that happen with Tammy. I can’t let her life turn to dust. Her mom just ran away to England. What sort of a mother does that? Her daughter raped by her dad and she just—

I clench my fists.

The bar is all that matters; the killing. A light wind tickles the back of my neck. More sweat pours down me, sticking the shiny material to my chest and arms and legs. My feet pour sweat into my socks and my forehead rains sweat into my eyes. I press the pistol close to my side, pushing through against my belly. As though the metal means something. As though this isn’t the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done.

The doors swing back and forth in the light wind, Western doors, the sort they have in movies where the hero always catches the bad guy. I push through and walk to the corner of the room, dropping down.

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