We have watched people walk in and out all day, doing a headcount, taking photos, looking for familiar faces, watching to see if Federico comes out so we can follow him, but he hasn’t shown. Not once. That doesn’t bode well with me. The feeling that they are all waiting inside for us to show up slivers through my mind, but Carter and I are not cowards. So with our guns prepped and our team positioned, we walk swiftly across the road to face this fucker head on.

As we walk through the door, the business is quiet, as I expected. There are a few patrons around the bar, many of our boys, and there are a few dancers on the stage. I don’t miss the ladies' eyes as they roam over Carter and I as we walk past them and go straight to the bar to take a look around the room.

I lean against the bar for less than five seconds before her voice hits my ears, and I snarl.

“Dante!” Angelina screams at me, obviously trying to get everyone's attention. To say that she is walking a very fine line with me at the moment is an understatement.

“Not now, Angelina,” I grit out to her, as I ignore her look of disgust.

“You’re a fucking asshole. I want to see Leo!” she yells again, and I look at her with murderous eyes, only to see her disheveled and wobbling on her feet. Her eyes are barely open, her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in days, and the outfit she is wearing barely covers anything.

“I said, not now, Angelina!” I growl at her, and she grabs onto the bar next to me to steady herself. I see Carter out the corner of my eyes, lifting his chin at the security man who promptly walks over.

“Come on, Angie. Let’s get you back out to the dressing rooms and get you a drink,” he murmurs to her before gripping her elbow and marching her swaying body to the back door to the private office spaces.

I grab the glass of whiskey that Carter ordered us and down it all, washing the anger away, not quite believing that she thinks she is in any state to look after an 8-year-old boy. I don’t even know where she is living at the moment, no doubt couch surfing. I don’t like the idea of the mother of my child not having a home, but after trying to set her up in an apartment, I realized that she was selling all the furnishings for money to shoot up her arms and constantly trashing the place until it was unlivable. No, Leo most certainly cannot go anywhere near his mother.

“I think we need to just wait and watch. They will come,” Carter says, as he leans against the bar and orders us another drink.