His uncle approached the hostess counter. “Table for one.”
As Greystone stared down at a man he barely recognized, the past sixteen years flashed by in a second.
The fear, the heartache, the loneliness. Then hope, determination, allegiance, pain, suffering, achievement and success. One success that led to another and another and another. The terrified kid had grown into a fierce fighter filled with loyalty, grit, and the ability to turn the impossible into possible.
On the other hand, sixty-year-old Enzo Santini had gottenfat. His too-small polyester suit did little to hide his paunch. The bags under his shadowed eyes gave away his age, the snarl on his upper lip made it look like he was seconds from baring his teeth, but it was the gold chains draped over his hairy chest that told the true tale.
Enzo Santini was a low-class hoodlum who’d come back to claim something that had never been his in the first place.
“You aren’t welcome here,” Greystone growled.
The old man’s eyes widened. “Who the hell are you to tell me that in my own restaurant?”
Greystone walked around the counter. The closer he got to the old man, the wider his eyes grew.
“Jesus, it’s you,” the man murmured.
“Back from hell, like you,” Greystone replied.
His uncle narrowed his gaze, his nostrils flared, and he cracked his knuckles. This tactic had worked on him as a kid, but now? He wanted to laugh, then lift the son of a bitch by his cheap shirt collar, throw him against the wall, and break every bone in his motherfucking body.
“This is my restaurant, kid, and Idemandto be seated. My regular table is in the private dining room.”
The door opened, a group of six entered, their laughter reminding Greystone that he was at his family’s restaurant. He pasted on a smile as Tara hurried over.
“Welcome to Santini Ristorante,” Greystone said.
As Tara checked in the group, Greystone wrapped a firm hand around his uncle’s arm and escorted him out.
On the sidewalk, Enzo yanked his arm away. “You got some nerve coming back here. One phone call and it’s all over for you. My word against yours.”
This man knew nothing about him. Absolutely nothing. There was no way anyone would believe this convicted felon over him. No fucking way.
“You gotta go,” Greystone said. “And don’t come back.”
“Are you the owner?” Enzo barked.
He wasn’t.
In truth, none of the brothers owned the restaurant. The family owned the building and, according to Teddy, Luciano hired a lawyer to create a shell company that protected the establishment from being owned by one single person. It was owned by the Santini family.
“If you don’t walk, I’ll unleash a lifetime on anger on you,” Greystone growled.
Enzo got in his face, grabbed his shirt collar. “I’m not scared of you, kid, but you should be pissing your pants right about now. I’ve looked into the eyes of the devil and scared the fuck out of him. This ismyrestaurant and I’m gonna take it back.”
Greystone yanked Enzo’s hand off his shirt and twisted it around, forcing his uncle to contort.
“I love pain. It reminds me that I’m still alive, unlike your dad.” Then, Enzo spat on the ground. “That’s what I think of you, you snot-nosed little shit. If you think you can push me around, you have no idea who the fuck you’re dealing with.”
Greystone released him and Enzo spun toward him, hatred spewing from his beady, brown eyes.
“You might have looked into the eyes of the devil, but Iamthe devil, and I will annihilate you,” Greystone growled.
Surprise flashed in his uncle’s eyes before he waddled into the parking lot. Greystone yanked open the restaurant door and strode inside.
As far as he was concerned, Enzo Santini was a dead man. He’d been waiting sixteen long years to exact his revenge, and it couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.
Shaking off the hatred, he glanced around. The restaurant was filled to capacity. He was there to oversee the eatery, all while gearing up for his meeting at the Black Site. He’d been brought back to stop a group of killers because he was the right man for the job. No way would he let BLACK OPS down.