She was dry-eyed when I walked out the door, which is more than I can say for myself. I was definitely wiping my eyes as I headed out to the SUV. There might’ve even been a few sniffles. It’s the first night we’re spending apart since all of this started.
It’s not just about missing out on sex. It’s the idea of not holding her while we sleep. It’s the idea of not being the lastperson she sees at night, then the first person in the morning. Same for me. I don’t mind being around my family, and I’ll always enjoy their company more than most people’s. But I’d much rather be under the covers with the most beautiful woman in the world. There’s no one more attractive to me than Liesel.
I wish I could make this magically disappear or finish it with just a snap. That way I’m not leaving her to worry about my safety, and I’m not worried about how she’s handling all of this. Instead, I’m slipping out of the driver’s seat of one of our SUVs.
I, along with my brother, cousin, andTíoEnrique, are dressed in our black tactical gear. We have our bulletproof vests on with our Kevlar helmets and NVGs. It’s like when we staged the raid that freed Gunter. I have a rifle slung across my chest and a pistol strapped to each thigh. I have knives in each front pocket, and one tucked in my right boot.
The two dozen men with us all have earpieces in, set to a frequency we can all hear. If my family and I need to talk privately, we’ll switch toMacaguánon our own frequency. We’re totally fine with the language’s endangered status since less than five hundred people speak it. It’s like Welsh and Navajo during World War Two. No one’s cracked its meaning, so it keeps my family and me safe.
“Paco, take your men to the far side. Cut the alarm cables and fencing. Get it open wide enough to let the bulldozers through. Javier, take your guys to the left. We need the girders and lumber loaded on that semi.Tío, you and your men come with me to get the cranes and smaller equipment. Pablo, you good with the devices?”
“Yeah,primo.”
My cousin’s a trained chemist and biologist. Short of a PhD, there are few people better trained in chemistry than my Harvard, MIT, and Cambridge-educated cousin. He could devise chemical, biological, and probably nuclear devices if we neededthem. I wouldn’t put it past his knowledge or skills. Tonight, we just need his explosive ordinances. He’s no pyro, but he likes to make things go boom.
Even thoughTíoEnrique is thejefe de jefes—the most powerful Latin American alive—he follows my orders on this mission. I’ll always defer to his advice, but he lets me lead this mission because it’s about avenging Liesel. When my brothers, cousins, and I first started going on missions, we all feared not protecting him well enough. We’d lay down our lives for one another without a thought, but we believedTíoEnrique had to come before anyone else. He disabused us of that idea quickly.
On nights like tonight, he’s a regulartoro—bull—like the other men. I’m the brigadier since I’m heading this brigade. There are various other titles I could have, but that’s what we use during missions of this size and scale. During our smaller mission to rescue Gunter, the men called mecapitán. There are more men tonight, and they know I’m overseeing all that happens here, as well as, what’s going down in Ireland. It’s not a promotion but a recognition of this operation’s magnitude.
Ourhalcones—falcons—have been in the area since this morning. They’re our eyes and ears, surveilling this construction site for any bratva members. Foursicarios—hitmen—enforcers—what I often am—already took out the bratva guards just before we arrived. It’s why no alarms are going off. Oursombrillas—umbrellas—or protection squad—not to be confused with hallucinogenic mushrooms—are staggered around the perimeter to make sure no one interrupts us. Ourbalcaceros—gunrunners—make the best drivers, so they’re behind the wheels of our semi and tractor trailer.
“On my mark.”
My fingers countdown from three before I point toward our target. We break off into our assigned groups and get to work. We’ve trained for jobs like this for years. Our men move withnear synchronicity that comes from having things drilled into us.TíoEnrique is a hard task master no one wants to disappoint.
We’ve pulled off heists like this before, so no one doubts their role. We complete each task in near silence, only speaking to give commands as the heavy machinery’s loaded onto the tractor trailer. Hand and arm signals suffice to get the lumber and beams onto the truck.
“Directo al puerto.” Straight to the port.
We need to get to the Port of New York before the Kutsenkos and their Andreyev cousins intercept us. We have the container ship ready since we own it. Everyone who isn’t riding in the semi or trailer piles into the SUVs. They’re customized vehicles that have reinforced undercarriages to protect us from IEDs—improvised explosive devices. They’re bulletproof from top to bottom and all the way around. The tires could be practically shredded, and they’ll still roll.
Much like the irony that almost all of us went to high school together, the Four Families get our vehicles customized at the same shop. If the two neighborhoods are syndicate Switzerland for where we live, then the guy who owns the shop is our retail syndicate Switzerland. We’re on our best behavior if we unfortunately run into rivals there. None of us want to lose our relationship with our car guy. He’s that good.
The only way to tell our vehicles apart are by the hubcaps. He customizes those too. We need to differentiate them since there are times when more than one family is bolting from a situation that escalates too much. We aren’t going to memorize license plates that rarely get used twice, so we need something easy to identify to ensure we get in the right town car, limo, or SUV.
From where we are on Long Island to Port of New York, in theory, should be about a fifteen-minute drive. Despite it being the middle of the night, there are still road closures from daytime construction. It takes us half an hour. I take the time tocall Joaquin. I have it on speaker, so Pablo, Javier, andTíocan hear too. It’s a rare occasion forTíoand Pablo to ride together much like a king and crown prince usually wouldn’t.
“¿Cómo te fue?” How’d it go?
“Perfectamente.” Perfectly.
“¡Por el amor de Dios! ¿Estás borracho?” For fuck’s sake! Are you drunk?
“No peor que Alejandro.” No worse than Alejandro.
I hear my cousin in the background. “Cállate. Estoy intentando dormir.” Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.
Trust the two of them to snag a barrel or three of the whiskey. They’ll claim it’s a finder’s fee or their price for an early morning’s hard work. They’re safe, and they’re done. That’s what matters to me. I can tell they’re on the plane as we continue in Spanish.
“Did you have any problems?”TíoEnrique isn’t amused.
“No,Tío. They definitely weren’t expecting us. It’s their fault it was so easy. The factory guards were barely rent-a-cops. Completely unprepared for the dozen of us who swarmed the place. They were so unprepared we didn’t off them. Bound and gagged them until we were done. Dumped them naked a block from the warehouse and factory since it’s still burning. We were in and out in half an hour.”
The plan was for them to break into the distillery and attached warehouse. They were to break open all the casks and let the whiskey spill everywhere. It’s good shit and high proof—like a hundred-forty, so very flammable. A smooth burn going down your throat, and a roaring fire when a match is lit next to it.
“Sleep it off,sobrinos.”
“Sí, Tío.”
