“Fergal Sweeney,” Durante mutters, popping his meaty knuckles. “The Elephant never forgets. I’ve always found that nickname slightly ludicrous. Who in our business does forget?”
Nario makes a grunting noise that might be a laugh. We share a look and I know he sees the anger that flares through me like wildfire even if none of the others do.
I remember the day Sweeney tore my life to pieces so vividly it could be playing out in the ornate golden mirror that overlooks us all. But I shut my mind to it.
“He won’t forget my Wesson in his nut sack, I promise you that,” Santo growls. “Let me have ’em, boss, you’ll see.”
I take a small sip of whiskey and lean forward. “I would like to hear what Nario thinks.”
My lieutenant pushes back from his place and walks over to the table. He stands with
