Chapter 1
Matteo
The contact I’m supposed to meet is twenty fucking minutes late, and I’m still standing here like patience is my virtue. It isn’t. My watch ticks away seconds that should be filled with business, not this waiting game at the marina—Rock & Dock to locals.
I adjust my cuffs, the tailored suit suddenly feeling too tight across my shoulders despite the perfect fit. The early May breeze carries the scent of salt and rust off Lake Erie, but beneath it something else lingers. Something is wrong.
Up ahead, I notice Merl shifting his weight to his left foot—our silent code that he’s spotted movement along the eastern perimeter. Beside the warehouse, another of my men remains stone-faced, one hand casually draped near his holster.
My men are good. Careful. Even so, this unease crawls under my skin like an uninvited parasite.
“Matteo.” Merl’s voice in my earpiece. “There are some cars here I don’t recognize.”
I don’t turn to look. Instead, I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the contact. The promise of a lucrative supply route in exchange for a future favor had seemed pretty straightforward.
After all, it’s what I do. Collect and grant favors.
“Could be nothing,” I murmur, though we both know better. In our line of work, nothing can easily get you killed.
I press call. One ring. Two. Three. Then voicemail, a generic automated message that tells me nothing. My thumb stabs the screen, ending the call with more force than necessary.
“We’re done here.” The words taste bitter, like admitting defeat, but instinct screams louder than pride. “Sweep the perimeter, then we leave. Five minutes.”
My men acknowledge with subtle nods, their movements precise as they begin their last check. I walk toward my car, parked twenty yards away, its black surface reflecting the dock lights.
I reach for my car door handle, already contemplating getting one of the women from the Leone Room for the night. A blowjob and a tight, wet cunt will make the night seem better.
A faint hiss cuts through the night. It isn’t wind or water—it’s too focused, too alive. I turn, scanning the darkness between the stacked containers.
That’s when I see it; a circle of flame.
For a second, I can’t look away. The flames move like they’re breathing, the glow painting the air in hellish gold. It’s pretty and fucking hypnotic. The ring flares higher, fed by something unseen, and the hairs on my arms rise.
Another sound reaches my ears, but before I can react, there’s an explosion.
It doesn’t hit as a single force but as a symphony of destruction. First the concussive boom that punches through my chest like a fist, then the searing wave of heat that follows, lifting me off my feet as easily as a child’s doll.
I’m airborne for what feels like eternity, the night sky wheeling above me before concrete rushes up to meet my back.
The impact forces air from my lungs. I try to inhale and taste copper and smoke instead. My ears ring with a high, piercing whine that drowns out everything else. Through it, I hear muffled, distant screaming.
My vision blurs, I turn my head to look for Merl, pain spiderwebbing down my neck, and see what’s left of him. A twisted shape, silhouetted against flame—he’s gone. As if the blast erased him.
Warm blood trickles into my eye. I touch my face; my fingers come away scarlet. Not just skin—my left eye. The pain hasn’t registered yet, but I know, with detached certainty, it’s fucked.
Metal screams as my car—or what’s left of it—collapses in on itself, consumed by hungry flames. Shards of glass glitter like diamonds across the pavement, catching and reflecting the infernal light.
Beautiful in its way. Mesmerizing. The thought drifts through my mind that perhaps I’m in shock.
I try to stand, but my body refuses. I manage to roll onto my side instead, and only then does the pain find me. A tidal wave of agony so intense that my vision whites out.
Every nerve ending howls as if I’ve been flayed alive. My suit is in tatters, the fabric melted into my skin in places. The smell is what gets me; burning hair, burning flesh.
My flesh.
Debris rains down; metal fragments, chunks of concrete, ash. A piece of something—a car part? warehouse?—smolders beside my head.
I need to move. The knowledge pulses with each beat of my heart, which somehow continues its stubborn rhythm despite everything.
