“I don’t think this rackhouse holds enough liquor for that, Mancini,” I deadpan. I’ve gone out drinking with this fucker before, and I’ve honestly never seen anyone who can hold his liquor like he can. I observe the two men he’s brought with him—I don’t recognise either of them. “Who are your friends?” Alex grins. “They’re not my friends. They’re my wife’s cousins. I wanted to shoot them. Lily wouldn’t let me. But, now that I think about it, there’s nothing stopping you.” I’ve heard of Alex’s in-laws. He married a cousin of the Valentinos. One of the five families from New York.
