Whatever You Need: (A Chicago Mafia Syndicate) (Castaletta Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

your sister." I pulled out my phone and shot her a text, letting her know I was at the house and looking for her.
    "I don't know about that. We busted him a few days ago in his apartment when he was high, and I'm pretty sure he got to see a side of Izabella that scared the shit out of him."
    "Oh yeah?"
    "Yes." He glanced over at me, his eyes a little wide. "It scared the shit out of me, and I was stone-cold sober."
    "She has the ability to do that." I got up and picked up my plate. "I'm heading back to the house to watch NCIS. Seems like I need to brush up on my detective skills."
    "Why's that?" Marco put his fork and knife down and tilted his head a little.
    "The Don wants me and Daniel to help with the situation out at Madam Gizelle's place."
    "Lucky boy." He smiled. "I get to hunt down my little brother and pray he didn't kill my mother. I'd much rather play around with whores and end up the hero at the end of the day."
    "You don't think you'll be a hero when this is all said and done?"
    He snorted. "Not at all. I'm sure I'll end up the Villain in one way or another... either I save my little brother or lead him to the slaughter. Neither is a good option considering the situation, right?"
    I nodded and toted my plate to the sink, letting the weight of his words rest on my shoulder. I didn't have any siblings, but I couldn't imagine having to step in Marco's shoes. Dealing with the whore house suddenly seemed like a much better option. That being the case, only if we caught the bastard terrorizing the girls before anyone was really hurt, or killed.
    I dismissed the thought. Nothing was going to happen beyond what we could deal with. Everything was going to be fine. We'd figure it out. Right?
    Fuck.
     
     

Chapter 4
    Demetri
     
     
    "I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to go talk to Gino." Izabella glanced over her shoulder at me before she walked out of the large dining room. We didn't need anything nearly as big as Gino's back room where the family met for meetings and big dinner, but I wanted Marcus to feel comfortable. The fucker didn't know us, and bringing out to the house seemed like a bit much.
    My phone buzzed as I moved to stand near a painting of the sea by the back wall. Charles DeSalls. The old timer was a good friend of Joe's that worked money laundering for us, but needed to be replaced. Joe wouldn't let me remove him just yet, but he was getting there. Charles never called with good news.
    Never.
    "This is D," I barked into the phone and checked my watch. Marcus had three minutes to get into the room, or the interview would be over before it began. The last thing I put up with was disrespect of my time.
    "D, this is Charlie." His thick Italian accent poured from the phone. "I gotta a problem with those Dragos guys again. You know the ones, right?"
    "Yes, Charles. Fix the problem like you're paid to do. It's getting damn old to have to clean up your shit all the time. You know this right? Joe's patience is running thin with you. A man of your age and stature should understand that. This isn't surprising right?"
    "Yeah, I just need a little more time to deal with it. You guys know how these things go. I mean-"
    "I don't fucking care what you have to do. Fix it, or I'll send Izabella to see you, Charles. Understand where I'm at with this." I glanced over my shoulder and nodded as two guys walked into the room. "I have to go. Stop pulling my chain. You're out of links."
    Marcus was a big guy, muscled out and standing eye to eye with me. His bland head and tear-drop tattoo gave him the perfect appearance for the job. Most men shrunk in my presence, but I was glad to see him standing with his shoulders back, his chest pushed out a little, chin up like he found the idea of anyone fucking with him humorous. Me included. I didn't know who the smaller guy was, Russian from what I could tell. Covered in tattoos and long dark hair that needed a trim. The grimace on his face seemed to be permanent, but it didn't matter.