Billy limped out of the Bonanno estate, already on the phone with the getaway crew. Minutes later he was in the car, Malibu disappearing in the rearview.
In the back seat he dialed Frank.
"Mr. Castro, the job went sideways tonight!"
"Sideways? How the fuck does a job on the Bonanno estate go sideways? They only had a handful of low-rent guards, right?"
Antonio had already fed Frank the full layout. Billy had double-checked it himself out of habit.
Most of the intel was solid. The part that wasn't… that's where everything went to hell.
Billy gave Frank the whole play-by-play. The line stayed dead silent for a long beat.
"Sounds like Sofia Bonanno hired herself some real professionals."
Billy frowned.
"Professionals? What do you mean, Mr. Castro?"
"Don't worry about it. Get that leg looked at, lay low at the house for a few days. I'll call when I need you."
"Got it, Mr. Castro."
Frank hung up and lost his shit. Swept everything off the desk in one rage-fueled swing — glass shattering everywhere.
The old man was a master at clearing desks.
The sound woke Ava. She came padding in wearing that sheer white negligee, saw Frank panting in the chair.
"Mr. Castro, what happened?"
Frank glared at her, chest heaving.
"Who the fuck told you to come in here? Get out!"
Ava flinched, looking hurt, and backed out of the study.
The second she was out of sight, the hurt vanished. Her face went cold and dark.
She thought for a second, slipped back to her bedroom, typed a quick text, hit send, then deleted the whole thread.
In the study Frank clutched his chest. At his age the parts were worn out — big emotions hit the body hard.
Once he caught his breath he grabbed the phone again.
"Yeah, it's Frank."
"Frank? Hope you're calling with good news."
"Fuck! Antonio, my crew got wiped at the Bonanno estate. Only one guy made it out!"
"What? So Francis Ricci and Alberto Bruno are dead?"
"Six guards and Alberto are dead. Everyone else walked."
Antonio's voice shot up.
"What the fuck, Frank? You swore your guys were pros! How the hell did it go this bad?"
Frank's temper flared right back.
"Fuck you! I should be asking you! Why the hell were there real professionals waiting at the Bonanno estate? I lost fifteen men!"
The guys Frank sent on a hit like this were his most trusted veterans. Losing fifteen of them was a body blow to any crew.
American mobs ran lean — nothing like the old Hong Kong triads who loved showing off with a thousand guys on the street. Even the powerful Bonannos only had five or six hundred made men, maybe a thousand including associates. That was plenty to control their turf in LA. A lot of made guys never got promoted and just went legit.
The Castro crew was even smaller. Frank's business was way dirtier than the Bonannos', so yeah — he was pissed.
Antonio knew Frank was on a hair trigger, so he backed off.
"So where's Francis Ricci now?"
"Don't know. Probably in LAPD custody."
"Fuck! He cannot stay alive. He knows too much!"
That's why Frank had changed the plan to bring Francis in alive — but it had obviously gone to hell.
Mentioning LAPD gave Frank a new idea, but he kept it to himself.
"Antonio, you're paying for my losses."
"Losses? You joking? I didn't make you lose fifteen men!"
"But your bad intel sure as hell helped!"
Antonio took a deep breath.
"Fine. I'll cover your losses — but only if you take care of Francis Ricci first."
"Hold on."
Frank hung up and dialed another number.
"Got time for a movie?"
"I only watch war flicks."
"Colin, is Francis Ricci at LAPD?"
"Mr. Castro, you looking for him too? The feds snatched him."
Colin sounded respectful as hell.
"Snatched? How?"
Colin gave him the quick rundown of the early-morning chaos. Frank put it together fast.
"Somebody tipped the FBI about Francis."
"Inside man?"
"Yeah. But I don't know whose."
The Bonanno estate had been pure chaos — Bonannos, Castros, LAPD. Any of them could've had an FBI plant.
It wasn't weird. FBI and CIA loved embedding people in other agencies to get first crack at the glory.
Frank hung up and sat thinking.
Damage was done. Now he had to minimize it.
He called Antonio back.
"Antonio, good news and bad news. Which first?"
Antonio sounded tired of Frank's games.
"Bad."
"Bad news is Francis isn't with LAPD. He's with the FBI."
"What? How? You said LAPD got there first!"
"Yeah, but the feds swooped in and stole him."
Antonio felt the room spin.
"Good news?"
"Even if he's with the FBI, I can still get to him."
Antonio's voice brightened.
"You serious?"
"But it's gonna cost extra, Antonio."
---
Lawson walked down the FBI hallway, openly curious.
The Bureau — the organization you saw in every movie and video game — was hard not to stare at.
It wasn't official hours yet. Only a skeleton crew of night owls and overtime warriors were around, most looking like they'd been dragged backward through a hedge. A few had full raccoon eyes.
Lawson figured the FBI wasn't all that special after all.
Then two familiar faces came around the corner.
Neal suddenly stepped in their path.
"Hey, Arthur. Still pulling all-nighters on that case?"
Sean had been grinding all night with nothing to show for it. He was in a foul mood and shot Neal a glare.
"What do you want?"
Neal grinned like the cat that ate the canary and nodded at Francis Ricci in cuffs.
"Some guys bust their asses chasing leads and still can't find the suspect. Other guys? The suspect just walks right in the door."
Sean followed Neal's look and saw Francis. His face changed.
"How the hell did you get him?"
"I don't know why he decided to drop into my lap. Looks like I win this round, Arthur!"
Neal laughed and kept walking. Sean could only watch him go.
Jane Banner suddenly noticed someone in the group looked familiar.
"Fuck! How does this kid keep getting so lucky? First he shuts down Saul Goodman, now he bags Francis Ricci!"
Sean punched the wall. Getting rubbed in the face by your rival sucked, but there was nothing he could do.
"Looks like the Little Martin case is wrapping up too. Jane, let's go. Jane?"
(Jane Banner)
He turned and saw Jane staring after Neal's group, completely zoned out.
"Jane, what are you looking at?"
"Huh? Nothing. I just saw someone who looked really familiar. Like I've seen him before."
"Who?"
"That young Asian guy in Neal's group."
"That Asian guy?"
Sean frowned. He'd been so focused on Neal and Francis he hadn't noticed anyone else.
Jane described him quick.
"Young, really good-looking, wearing a suit, about six-three."
Those details clicked something in Sean's head.
"Fuck… I think I know how Neal suddenly got so lucky!"
Sean stared down the hallway where Neal had disappeared, a theory already forming.
Jane looked at him curiously.
"Boss, what do you know?"
"Can't confirm yet. Need to dig."
Sean turned back to her.
"Go home and get some rest for now. We'll look into this later."
The Little Martin case was dead in the water — Francis was Neal's now.
The Pacific Standard case had two suspects, but Phil and Dennis weren't giving up much.
Sean had decided to find out exactly where Neal's sudden golden intel was coming from.
---
Lawson and the two Bonanno guards were each put in separate interview rooms. Francis got processed, then shipped straight to the hospital for a check-up.
Black Sonny had worked him over pretty good earlier. The rough first aid wasn't enough, and Neal didn't want him dying on federal property.
Lawson and the guards got to enjoy FBI coffee.
The Bureau had deep pockets — the coffee was actually decent, fresh-ground beans, not the usual instant sludge.
The two Bonanno guards weren't in the mood to appreciate it.
"Lawson, how's it taste?"
"Pretty good. Better than I expected."
Lawson had figured FBI coffee for suspects would be garbage.
Neal looked at Lawson, smile slowly fading.
"Lawson, I still remember the first time I met you. You were just some illegal immigrant who could barely speak English. I'm the one who got you that green card!"
Neal was clearly still pissed about Lawson holding back Francis's location. He was digging up old favors.
"Neal, you don't need to bring that up. I don't owe you. Every piece of intel I gave you I risked my life for. One green card and you think I'm supposed to die for you? My life's worth more than that."
Neal was shut down hard. He wanted to say an illegal's life wasn't worth much, but the second those words left his mouth Lawson would flip.
He already knew Lawson was the real deal. He'd recruited plenty of illegals and street rats as informants, but none of them had delivered the volume Lawson had in just a few months.
FBI agents had different styles. Sean Arthur was old-school — show up after the crime, work the scene, solve it the hard way.
Neal played it smarter — cast a wide net, buy intel from the fringes, get ahead of the game.
You couldn't say which was better, but right now Neal was winning.
"I think we should build better trust between us. If you'd given me the location earlier tonight, it wouldn't have been so close."
Neal was still trying the guilt-trip PUA move, hoping to make Lawson feel bad.
Too bad Lawson wasn't stupid. Anyone stupid got eaten alive by America long ago.
Forrest Gump types only existed in movies.
"You're right, Neal! So how about this — you get my FBI file squared away fast. Once I know I'm solid, I'll be way more cooperative. Sound good?"
You try to PUA me, I'll draw you the biggest cake in the world. Everybody wins.
Neal was speechless. His whole guilt trip was meant to dodge the badge promise. Lawson was locking onto it like a pit bull.
"The badge issue—"
Before Neal could finish, someone knocked on the interview room door.
"Who is it?"
A white-haired older man walked in. Ordinary face, but the presence was anything but. Clearly somebody important.
You could tell from the way Neal's whole posture changed.
"Deputy Director, sir — what brings you down here?"
Neal stood up fast, voice respectful.
The old man glanced at Lawson but didn't linger. His focus was on Neal.
"I heard you bagged Francis Ricci?"
"How did you hear that, sir?"
Neal was surprised. He'd only had Francis for a couple hours. The Deputy Director was already here?
"Little Martin's murder is a city-wide priority. I overheard some talk about it and figured I'd come see for myself."
---