I was pretty sure the only time you could find any sort of emotion in the man was when you offered him a home-cooked meal.

And I didn’t cook.

“Serano, chatty as ever, I see.”

“Christ, you three are going to be a pain in the ass,” Renzo declared.

“I could do the job alone,” I said.

“You don’t even know what the job is.” He made his way over to the bar, pouring himself a drink like a frustrated father with three disobedient teenagers.

“Okay. What’s the job?” I asked after he had a sip of his whiskey.

“Business has been picking up lately. And while we have the meat shop and the plant store and shit like that, it’s not enough.”

“We need more ways to wash the money.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s easy enough. Open a bar or something.”

To that, Renzo sucked in a deep breath before letting out with a sigh.

“Right now, it’s not that easy.”

“Why?”

“We got a new AUSA out of EDNY. She’s young and hungry to prove herself. Especially after the last one was ousted for taking bribes.”

“And let me guess, she’s got a crush on you,” I said.

“She thinks she’s gonna make a name for herself by taking this family down. So we gotta start keeping a low profile. It’s not the time to open a new legit business. She’d be all over it. Rico is already locking down the meat shop hard. And we barely move anything through the plant store, so we’re not worried about that.”

“But the money still needs to be washed.”

“Yep.”

“So, who are you using?”

There was no shortage of money launderers to turn to if you had a stack of cash you had to legitimize. It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes you had to invest in art, jewelry, gold, or simply stocks. You had to layer that shit so it was impossible for the cops or district attorney’s office to trace it back to its original origins.

“No one that is known for it,” Renzo said. “They got too much heat on them too.”

“Okay. Then who?”

“Soren Vale.”

“Soren Vale?” Bass repeated, tone very ‘who the fuck is that?’

I was always just a bit more blunt.

“Who the fuck is Soren Vale?”

“On paper, he’s considered a ‘nightlife impresario.’”

“Nightlife impresario. Is that a fancy word for a pimp?” I asked, getting a snort out of Bass.

“It’s what the papers call a man who owns a bunch of nightclubs.”

“So, what, you’re gonna funnel the money through one of his clubs?” Bass asked.

“Not exactly. You,” Renzo said, looking at me, “are going to become a silent investor. Though I went ahead and didn’t tell Soren that you aren’t likely to be silent about any goddamn thing.”

“Why me?”