Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 13Adelina

Chapter Thirteen

Adelina

The arraignment this morning had been nothing but a farce. And now, only a few hours later, we were back at the hotel I’d once called home, sitting in the conference room in Wilde’s suite—a more opulent one than where my father had put me up, if that said anything about his motives.

The Parisi Hotel might be a paradise for high rollers and Mafiosos, but every corner had eyes; every wall whispered secrets. It reminded me of a gilded cage. The same bars that trapped me until my father had traded me to the MC—a rough group I despised not too long ago, but somehow wanted to lose myself in now.

Papà might have connections in the police department, but we only had so much reach. None of the Parisi money or threats gave us the power to get Sas out of jail once the law got fully involved.

Being tied down wasn’t new for me. Hell, I’d been bound to a table by my husband when he’d pierced through my virginity. These knots around our hands now, however, chafed so much more.

The others in the conference room—the officers, Wilde, Angel, Graff, Rafe, Ward, Teller, as well as Lanie and the three prospects. Merry and Pip scrolled through their phones, and Ghost stared out the window with a calculating look that made me cold. Regardless of their chosen fidget, everyone seemed to chafe at the figurative bonds.

No one, however, called this church, so I guessed it was just a meeting of the minds this time around.

“Updates on Sas?” Wilde barked at Lanie, his voice whiplike, cutting through the tension that fogged the in-suite conference room.

Leaving Angel’s side, Lanie slid a file across the table. She and I had been in court with him this morning, but this was the club’s first update.

Wilde’s eyes flitted to the folder, then he snapped, “The short version.”

Prez clearly didn’t like being on the defensive, and Sas’s situation was putting us there.

Lanie, standing straighter, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “The hearing this morning was shit.”

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Understatement of the year.”

No one seemed to hear my mumbling, keeping their attention focused on the lawyer and waiting for more details with bated breath. Unfortunately, said details wouldn’t come, but I’d let the lawyer tell the story.

Although Melanie looked professional in her tailored blue suit, she vibrated with frustration. Angel placed a hand on her hip, and she visibly calmed. The same way I settled under Graff’s touch.

Releasing a breath, she continued, “The DAs are blocking me at every turn. I’ve handled tougher cases in states that are harder to navigate, but here? It’s like someone’s got their thumb on the scales.”

With his keen, ice-like gaze, Prez searched the faces for answers—from Angel and Lanie to the prospects Ghost, Merry, and Pip and Ward.

I crossed my arms, considering the club’s hacker myself and what we needed to do with the heist. He didn’t look much like an IT nerd. Dark eyes, gauged ears, high-and-tight cut, and dark tattoos snaked up his neck. But he’d been useful to the club, that was absolutely clear.

When Wilde finished with everyone else, his attention lingered on me and alternated between my men. Could he read the dynamics we had started to develop? Did he judge us?

Thankfully, whatever ran through his mind, though, he kept to himself.

And I desperately tried to ignore the furnace that sparked in my cheeks.

Graff sat by the window, his posture tense as he scanned the street below. With an earbud in, he traced a ghostly pattern along the seam of his jeans. I felt certain he paid attention to everything in the room, but no one would know it if they didn’t understand that, for him, the music and drawing helped him focus.

Rafe paced near the table, his frustration evident in the way his hands flexed, released, and then tightened into fists. Unlike Graff, he needed to be in motion. In control of a situation. This conference-room game didn’t suit him, and not for the first time, I wondered about his position in the club as secretary.

Wilde’s imposing presence with his ripped muscle, skull cut, and the rose tattoo commanded attention even in silence. Everyone’s except my uncle’s.

At the head of the conference table, Wilde called out, “Rafe!”

The jolt stopped him in his tracks. “Yeah, Prez?”

“Sit. The fuck. Down.” Wilde pointed to an empty chair.

Rafe only half-way followed his command by leaning on the back of the chair and meeting Wilde’s gaze. “Ya know, Prez, with all the roadblocks, there’s gotta be someone else pulling strings.”

“My Lanie’s been pushing,” said Angel, his instinct to protect his woman showing through in the way he gritted out the words, “but Nevada’s toying with her license. Throwing up technicalities and shit to stall and keep our man behind bars.”

“Exactly my point,” said Rafe.

Ward reached across the table for the file and started thumbing through it.

“Oh, Ward, there’s a photo in there too,” said Lanie. “Need you to run some details on Sas’s cellmate, Miguel. Met him this morning, and he seems. .. off.”

Silently, Ward started pecking away on his laptop.

Wilde’s jaw tightened. “Who would have this kinda pull over the legal system?” His eyes flashed to me. “Your father?”

Damn, his question weighed heavily on my shoulders. We all knew my father’s reach extended far—throughout the Yuma Triangle since he’d eradicated the Gambinos, save for the old Don rotting in prison—but this game felt like a maze with no out. Designed to keep our wheels spinning.

“Possibly,” I admitted, my voice tinged with frustration. “But it doesn’t add up. He wants to control, not outright sabotage. This is... messier.”

“Or maybe more sinister.” Rafe huffed. “We’ve been through this. It’s not my brother’s MO. He’s not really one to use the law to further his business objectives either.”

Graff, who had been watching the exchange silently from the window, turned and spoke up. “Could be someone else. Our boys at the border have already gotten wind of some odd shipments along the southwestern routes.”

Angel dragged his hands through his hair, quirking his scarred brow. “Worth keeping tabs on.”

Wilde nodded slowly. “You got someone you can trust on the res yet?”

Angel glanced up at his ol’ lady. “Working on it.”

“Work harder.” The Prez leaned back in his chair, considering for a long moment before he started trying to work it out again.

“So...” he drawled after a pregnant pause. “If we’re assuming it’s not Parisi manipulating things, someone else is pulling the motherfucking strings. Ward?”

“Yeah?” The man looked up from his laptop.

“Got anything on that Miguel guy yet?” Wilde didn’t look hopeful as he asked. “Or the traffic?”

Ward shook his head. “All the shipments moving across the Southwest seem to be on the books. Nothing suspicious. The deets on Sas’s case look legit so far too.”

“Shit,” said Wilde. “Any place else you can dig?”

“I’ll see if I can get around the LVMPD firewalls, but no promises. Oh, and Miguel...”

“Yeah?” Lanie perked, raising both brows.

But her small amount of hope petered out when Ward said, “This Miguel person’s a ghost.”

“No prints?”

The Warden shook his head. “None. Nothing else on him either.”

“Keep digging.” Wilde traced the edge of the table. “You help Lanie make it a fucking priority to get Sas out while the rest of us deal with this fucking heist.”

The Polycom in the center of the table buzzed and beeped. Everyone looked around at one another. The tension climbed so high, I expected someone to pull out a gun and shoot the thing.

It buzzed again, and Rafe reached forward, hitting the button. “Yeah?”

“Package delivery for a Melanie Flemming at the front desk,” came a digitally filtered feminine voice.

Rafe looked over to Sas’s lawyer and answered the receptionist, “We’ll send someone down.”

“Pip,” Prez called.

And without any more than his name, the prospect knotted his wavy blond hair into a man bun and made for the door. Since they didn’t serve much purpose here, it made sense to send the prospects on the errand.

Apparently, Wilde agreed. “Merry, Ghost—go get food. I’m about to fucking eat my left arm.”

“Merry can handle that, Prez,” Ghost objected.

Many heads swung around to see if the Prez would react.

But Wilde only pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exacerbated sigh. “Just go.”

As Ghost followed Merry out, I rubbed my temples, trying to rid myself of the mounting pressure.

Sas still in jail.

Lanie’s legal magic sputtering out.

The arraignment, a bust.

Still, here we were, trying to plot our next move under my father’s watchful eyes.

Glancing around the room, I asked, “Anyone check for, um, crickets?”

“Clean,” said Ward, not missing a beat with his work on the laptop.

I exhaled the stress of that suspicion, trusting the Warden for reasons I didn’t understand. I didn’t know him from Adam, and he hadn’t said a lot, but he always seemed to be looking out for the brothers.

That won points in my book.

The irony of our situation with Papà wasn’t lost on me. Whether he’d bugged the room didn’t matter. My father was a puppet master, always had been, but he’d learned from my grandfather, Ivo Parisi, and probably more from working for the Gambinos. We were dancing on his strings whether we liked it or not.

Before long, Pip slipped back into the conference room in the suite and held out a manilla envelope to Lanie.

Wilde jerked his chin at the door in a wordless order, and the prospect left. Perhaps joining his friend or maybe getting ready to plop down in front of the TV wall and put on another biker flick.

Lanie ripped open the envelope and her eyes scanned over the text, her scowl growing deeper with every pass her eyes made. I chewed on my cuticle as we all waited, and then...

She slapped the papers down on the table. “Roadblocks everywhere!”

Again, Ward reached for the scattered documents.

Lanie planted her hands on her hips. “Nevada’s licensing board denied my petition.”

I furrowed my brows. “In less than a day?”

“I’ve gotta take the state’s goddamn bar exam.” She placed her hand around the back of her neck and dropped her head back. “It’s their prerogative. I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve requested it before when I had a serious case. But there’s no reason for it here. It’s not like Sas is in the clink for murder.”

The fire in her eyes said she wasn’t used to being told no, and right now, it was all we were hearing.

“It’s not really the licensing, is it?” Graff asked, his voice low, but tight. “This stinks like someone’s making damn sure you stay out of the way.”

Lanie slumped into the chair next to Angel. “Every angle I’ve tried ends up with another locked door. I’ve got contacts, people who owe me favors, but suddenly they’re not picking up calls. Someone’s making sure I stay on the sidelines.”

I glanced at Rafe, my brow lifted. “Papà’s got no reason, but...”

Rafe had settled into listening with that calm intensity he always had when things were getting really serious. “Agree that it’s more than state bureaucracy, but I’m still not sure it’s Mass.”

Wilde leaned forward onto the table, pinning me with his stare. “Your father’s got fingerprints all over this, but?—”

“Shit doesn’t sit right,” added Angel.

Rafe piped in. “True. We need to look further.”

I listened in awe over how they finished each other’s sentences. This was a brotherhood, through and through, and my uncle was starting to fit like a glove. I’d overheard many of Papà’s meetings with his capos, and they’d never been so in sync.

The VP from Park Ridge, Sas’s equal in the club, pulled his wicked hunting knife from the sheath strapped around his calf and started whittling away at a chunk of wood. Apparently, my father’s security let him slip right through, or he’d planned well.

If I recalled correctly, he was one of the men present when Papà overthrew Enzo Gambino. Not the one who got shot, but that was a good enough reason to sneak in weapons.

I swallowed hard, the familiar ache bubbling up into my throat. The unpredictability that always came with my father. I didn’t doubt his willingness to meddle, and even though other villains lurked in the shadows, I needed to be certain he wasn’t behind this.

As I was getting ready to head out and storm into my father’s office upstairs, the Warden cleared his throat.

“Graff’s right.” He pointed at the screen.

Graff looked over at the table from the window, confusion in his scowl. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Before.” Ward waved a hand in the air as though pointing to something behind him. “You said it might be something else. Or someone. While the shipments coming through the Southwest seem on the up and up, there are far more of them than usual. Something’s happening somewhere. Someone’s gearing up.”

“Any clue what’s in ’em?” Wilde asked.

“Can’t find a record,” answered Ward.

A prickle ran across my skin, but I kept quiet.

He clicked through a few other things on his keyboard, then added, “Nothing crossing the border, but trucks moving along I-10.”

Angel’s dark eyes flashed up to the growly tatted computer whiz. “Not hitting the res, is it?”

I scowled as Lanie covered Angel’s hand with hers. He still held the knife poised above an animal half-finished in the wood. A wolf, I thought.

“No,” answered Ward, and both Angel and Lanie let out a long breath.

I hadn’t been in the picture when the shit went down with them, but Maddie had clued me into a little of it when she came to the clubhouse in LA. She’d asked me how I stood being part of the Mafia under the Gambinos, and I’d explained that it never really influenced my daily life.

Learning about their trafficking operation after the fact turned my stomach, and I had wondered for a hot second if my father had been justified in his little coup with the prior regime.

I chewed my thumbnail for another minute, then asked, “Anyone kept tabs on the Rojas brothers?”

Ward eyed me, shrugged like I might have a good point, and went to work on his computer.

A knock on the door interrupted us again. I stiffened, the hair on my neck standing at attention. Rafe came to my side.

Ghost popped his head into the room, beady eyes scanning over me and landing on Wilde. “There’s a suit outside, three actually. Two are carrying heavy cases. The main guy said he needs to see the Prez.”

Glances passed between the MC members. Angel slipped the knife and his carving under the table. Wilde palmed his gun and slid it into his lap too. Graff straightened on the windowsill, his hand snaking around his back. Even Lanie reached inside her purse and pulled out a tiny pistol—small enough to conceal in her folded arms.

“Let ’im in,” said Wilde.

“Sure thing, Prez,” said Ghost. “Want the food in here too?”

“Nah. We’ll come out after.” Wilde’s shift in the chair said he probably wouldn’t be able to eat with the “suits” in the room.

“Right back then.” Ghost stroked his beard and disappeared, leaving the door to swing shut.

The Warden looked up, tipping his head to Teller, who got up and held the door closed.

Then, Ward pinned me with surprisingly green eyes—they’d seemed dark before, but now I realized that was just his lashes and brows. When he looked straight at me, they seemed like emeralds.

In a low voice, he finally answered my question about the Rojas brothers, “Flight records show all three of them heading back to Colombia last Friday from LA.”

The door rattled.

“Give us a sec,” said Teller.

“Ah hell,” grumbled Rafe. “That was before the wedding.”

“Doesn’t rule them out, though, right?” I asked, looking from around as though I could convince someone to agree.

Ward planted his elbows on the table, stretching his button-down shirt across his broad shoulders. “No, but makes it less likely.”

He lifted his chin to Teller, who stepped away from the door, letting the handle rattle.

In the next second, the door slammed open, and I jumped. One of Papà’s men entered, flanked by two men carrying heavy-duty cases. I recognized him immediately—a slick and smiling snake in a suit.

“Nicolò?” I said on a ghostly whisper.

“Boomer?” asked Rafe, louder.

Nicolò Bellucci, Papà’s fixer and a pyro if I ever met one, gave me a lopsided grin. The patch over his one eye shifted as his cheek clenched. The burn scars that ran down that side of his face bunched like they were giving off a sick grin as well.

Rafe moved to my side, and Graff planted both feet firmly on the floor, ready to pounce.

This man always made my blood run cold, and now was no exception, but I needed to be strong. For Sas and the club. So I measured my breathing as my eyes followed the four cases his men brought in. They lined them up on the floor along the wall.

“What’cha got there?” Wilde asked.

“Bombs,” I whispered. I had only ever heard rumors of the extent of Boomer’s obsession with explosives, so I tensed in preparation for what I might see next. “Probably C4.”

“Smart girl,” said Boomer and blew me a kiss.

Rafe pushed me behind his body, a muscle bouncing in his jawline. Then, he marched over to Boomer, fisting his shirt. “Out. The Prez and officers will chat with you outside this room. Without the civilians.”

“Rafe,” I called him off, using a low tone that I knew would break through his determination.

If I was going to really be part of this—and there was no way I would be sitting on the sidelines now—I had to deal with men like Nicolò. And Alessio, and others.

“It’s fine. Let them stay.”

As Rafe slowly moved back to my side, I straightened my shirt and lifted my chin, emboldened by the number of guns I knew had my back. “Show us.”

Nicolò, keeping his one eye on me as he grinned and snapped his fingers. “Gio.”

His man—Gio Barone, one of Papà’s cleaners—hefted one of the black cases framed by silver onto the table and flipped the latches. Boomer approached the case with a grin on his lips. His other man stood off to the side still, and I didn’t recognize him by face. However, from what I understood, Sergio Pagnano and Gio Barone came as a package deal.

With the case opened, Nicolò ran his hand over whatever was inside as though it were a precious child. Sick fuck.

“These are from the Don,” Boomer said.

He turned the case around to show a row of brownish-beige cylinders with fuses at each end. With three more of these cases, these explosives enough to blow our plans wide open, literally and figuratively.

I held my breath, watching Wilde’s reaction. He kept his expression neutral, but across the table, Graff’s left eye started twitching. That was enough to send a frisson of unease coursing through my chest.

Boomer slapped the top of the lid shut and leaned his weight onto the case. “I’ll be accompanying you on our little adventure out east. Along with my boys here, Gio and Serg.”

“What happened to Alessio?” Rafe asked.

That’d piqued my curiosity too. At least with the man everyone called the Wraith, we wouldn’t have to worry about someone on our team blowing everyone on the mission to smithereens. It might seem extreme, but Boomer had done that once upon a time. They said it’s how he got those nasty scars.

Boomer spread his hands. “Get wha’cha get, brother.”

The Mafia wasn’t supplying us; they were embedding themselves, binding our hands with favors that came with invisible strings.

Rafe moved in front of me again, placing his hand on my waist and pushing me behind his body. “Fine, Boomer, but you go in one car and the explosives ride with me.”

“Aw, man.” Boomer cracked his knuckles like he was prepping for a fistfight. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Not gambling with our lives. End of fucking story,” said Rafe.

I stepped out from behind my protector, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. “Besides that, Nicolò, we’re not in this gig for fun .”

He shrugged. “Maybe not you, ragazza .”

I grabbed Rafe’s shoulders before he lunged at the man. “Not worth it, Rafe.”

He snarled, his body taut, but he stayed in place.

To Boomer, I replied, “è tutto qui quello che sai dire? Patetico.? 1 ”

“Forse,” he replied, “ma almeno non mi nascondo dietro il mio zio.? 2 ”

“Fucking enough!” Wilde dropped both hands on the table and pushed to standing, his gun now on full display. “We’re not the Mafia and we fucking speak English.”

Everyone in the room looked at him.

“Thank the Don for his goddamn generosity,” Wilde said finally, his tone clipped as he dismissed Boomer by waving his gun at the door.

The man bowed out, the door slamming behind him. but his presence lingered.

Wilde let his piece spin on the table. “Fucking Mafia bastards!”

I exhaled slowly, meeting Graff’s gaze. His jaw was set, eyes hard with determination. Rafe placed a hand on my back, a subtle grounding touch that I desperately needed. We were deeper in this than ever, and every step brought us closer to the razor’s edge.

After taking a deep breath, I asked, “When does this little expedition get underway?”

“Two days,” Rafe whispered into my hair.

I hated every bit of what was coming. Sas would likely still be in jail and my other men would be on the road for days. I would be alone, but I needed to find a way to be a part of this. I would keep tabs on all my men, no matter what.

“Ward?” I called out and waited for him to look up. “Got a sec?”

The man glanced back at Wilde, then stood, shutting his laptop. “Sure. Whassup?”

“Walk me upstairs?”

After getting the nod from Wilde, he strolled toward the door, his laptop tucked under one arm. I took a step, and Rafe came up on my heels, Graff too.

“You”—I placed my hand in the center of his chest, then glared across the table at Graff—“and you, stay here.”

Rafe started, “Ade?—”

I put my fingers across his lips. “I’m going to be fine. I wanna chat with the Warden about what happens while you’re on the mission, then I’m going to give my father a piece of my mind.”

“You can do that with us there,” Rafe argued.

“I can, but I can also do it on my own.”

His eyes went wide, and he looked to Graff for help.

“It’s fine. I lived in this hotel for twenty-two years. I’ve seen all the shit my father does, and it’s high-fucking-time I made my position with him crystal clear.”

Rafe’s nostrils flared as he took a couple of long, deep breaths. Finally, he said, “You have your phone?”

“Yeah,” I said, wiggling it in the air.

“Unlock it,” he ordered, and I pressed my finger to the sensor. He snatched it from my hand and started navigating through the settings.

“What are you doing?” I tried to see, but he moved too quickly through the screens.

“Programming your emergency number to come straight to me.”

“What?” I asked. “You can do that?”

“Little trick I learned in the military.” He finished, locked the phone, and handed it back to me. “One tap and I’m fucking there, Adelina. Don’t let it go too far with Mass.”

“I won’t.” I let my fingers linger on his as I took the phone back.

Then, I turned and made for the door. Stopping with my hand on the handle, I looked back at Lanie. “Did you get that other paperwork filed?”

She gave me a single nod.

“Perfect. Thanks.” I left with enough daylight remaining to take care of Papà and go see my husband.

1 ? “Is that the best you’ve got? Pathetic.”

2 ? “Maybe, but at least I don’t hide behind my uncle.”