All Chapters of The Enigmatic Mafia Boss: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Beatrice’s POVNolan and ten other guys are hanging around some vans and SUVs just a couple of blocks from The Corral. Even though we’ve been running errands together for weeks, this place feels unfamiliar to me since it’s in Morfil territory. Being here makes my heart race in a weird way. Sometimes I worry I might actually have a heart attack trying to keep my cool while everything inside me is going crazy. I really need to get rid of the note in my pocket. With so many people around, I can’t risk keeping it. I pull it out and crumple it up, tossing it into a garbage can as I walk by.As we get closer, Nolan’s eyes lock onto me. He steps aside and motions for me to stand next to him. I slide in beside him and glance at the others, trying to figure out how to bring up Flint showing up in Newport out of nowhere.It’s like Nolan can sense my tension. “Flint followed you,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.I squint at him. “You knew?”“That’s why I let you go solo. Thought my screw-

Beatrice’s POVFlint pushes away from the counter and leans over the island. “What the hell is my brother doing taking you to the Morfils?” I bristle at his words. “You got a problem with me going to The Corral?” “I’ve got a problem with anyone getting mixed up with the Morfils.” “Except you used to fight for them.” “That was just a means to an end back then.” “What do you mean by that?” “I had my own agenda. Didn’t turn out the way I hoped.” “Got it,” I say, nodding. “That makes more sense.” Flint laughs a little, resting his forearms on the granite island. “Please tell me my brother isn’t thinking about getting cozy with Terry.” “Not sure. I wasn’t feeling great.” I lift my spoon. “Apparently, the human body needs food to keep going.” He sips his beer quietly for a bit while I finish my stew. His face is hard to read. “How does The Corral work?” I scrape the last bits of stew from the bowl. My brother’s name keeps ringing in my head. The picture of Claude on th

Beatrice’s POV Saying I don’t know James makes me look clueless. But agreeing to it just complicates things further. “Yeah.” I pretend to be oblivious and tilt my head. “Yeah, you might be onto something.” “Coincidences drive me crazy. Go talk to him in the alley. I need to know why he’s here instead of Newport.” As we step into the bright sunlight, Flint scans the bustling street. “Take Dalton with you.” “I can handle one bartender,” I scoff. He gives me an irritated look. “This isn’t a shakedown. I want info, not cash.” Playing dumb is my least favorite way to buy time, but sometimes it’s all I’ve got. “I know that.” My tone is sharp. “I can take care of this. Want to watch? Go ahead. You brought me here, so you might as well put me to work.” With his hands in his pockets, Flint watches the cars go by, his face hard to read. The other guys shift around behind us, some lighting up cigarettes. “You’ve got five minutes to give me a reason I can accept. After that, I’m sendi

Beatrice’s POVA couple of weeks later, I’ve managed to dig up some secondary info that could help with a conviction, but neither of them has let me in on their chats. Those seem to happen while I’m either asleep or off doing something else. My skills aren’t getting much practice. Instead, they circle each other like boxers, more focused on defense than actually landing a punch.I’m whipping up some lunch when Flint walks into the kitchen. “Heard we’ve got company coming over tonight.” He grabs a coffee mug from the cupboard next to me.“Yep,” I reply. “Got a problem with that?” I don’t even look at him as I add more Tabasco to the sauce on the stove.“If I did, I wouldn’t be talking to you about it.”“Right, you’d go chat with your brother.”Flint raises an eyebrow while pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, I would.”“It’s not cool to make fun of his accent.”“He’s my brother. I can do what I want. Just because it makes you all giddy to hear it doesn’t mean it’s not a bit ridicul

Beatrice’s POVI didn’t think twice and just hit the button while Dalton swerved again. The motorcycle jerked to the side with us. “Tris, what the hell!” he yelled over the roaring wind. “You’re gonna get me killed!” As they leaned in closer, I took a deep breath to steady myself. My heart was racing so hard, I could feel it in my fingers. I shot at the driver’s leg, and the motorcycle swerved back into control. The guy on the back adjusted his aim, but before he could pull the trigger, I hit the rider in the arm. The gun fell to the ground in the dark, and the bike wobbled before speeding up next to us again. “Aim for their damn heads!” “I’m trying!” Not really. Killing people means a ton of paperwork with the bureau. This stuff is supposed to be preapproved. The driver fired off a bunch of shots at the car, but they missed. This guy couldn’t steer, aim, and shoot all at once. The passenger was slumped over, holding his arm. “Ram them!” Dalton swerved again, and