“How much longer?” I ask moodily.
“We’re a couple blocks out. According to the radio channel we hacked from Nero’s men, they were closing in on them.”
“Nevaeh, her mother, and Ignazio.”
“Her father, C,” Matteo says. “He’s with them. He must’ve found some escape from Nero.”
The muscles in my clenched fist strain even tighter. I’m sitting in the front seat of the car like I’m about to smash the glass window with my bare hands.
“But Nero’s guys showed up. They’ve found Ignazio.”
“And the others? Nevaeh?”
“Not sure.”
“I don’t give a damn about recovering Ignazio. He could be fed to a pack of wild dogs for all I fucking care.”
“Don’t you see, C? If we find where Nero’s taking Ignazio, we could find where they’ll bring Nevaeh,” Matteo explains. “If they haven’t caught her already.”
Untold levels of stress spike inside me at the thought Nevaeh has been captured by Nero. For as strong and talented as she is, my ballerina will always be precious and delicate in my eyes. She’s not meant to be captured by the enemy and used as a bargaining chip.
Nero’s infamous for the torture he inflicts on his war prisoners. Traitors that stab him in the back. Fallen mafia bosses and criminal lords that he dominates. All categories of people Nero is known for torturing until they beg for death.
In a few blocks, we arrive to the warehouse where Matteo and my men have learned Nero’s crew is operating out of. We make sure we’re strapped with plenty of guns and ammo before we step out of our vehicle and approach.
We’re still operating on a reconnaissance level. But should shit pop off, we’re ready for that too.
Coming up the side of the deserted warehouse, we pass several boarded windows. The wooden boards vary in how they’re nailed on. A few of the windows are completely covered up. Others have the boards at different angles, creating crevices. We find a window with the latter and peer through the opening to spy inside.
The board still obstructs much of what we can see.
My view mostly consists of the ceiling of one of the rooms. If I strain my eyeball to peer lower, I can catch vague sightings of people moving in the background. Nero’s men as they gather to strategize.
It doesn’t feel like enough. It’s useless if we can’t see anything.
But then comes the slithery voice that unmistakably belongs to Ignazio, and suddenly sound is all we need.
“You can’t be serious,” he sputters out. “You can’t really blame me for what’s happening? How was I supposed to know they disobeyed Nero? I saw a tearful mother searching for her daughter and—ARGH!”
He’s interrupted by a hard smack to the face. The sharp sound reverberates through the air.
“Didn’t we already tell you to shut up?” snarls one of Nero’s guys. “Keep talking and we’ll knock a tooth out.”
“Bu-bu-but,” Ignazio stutters. “Wh-what if I can… if I tell you wh-where they are?”
“Keep writing checks your mouth can’t cash. Nero’s been waiting for a chance to get rid of you.”
“I can! I can tell you. I sw-swear on my… my life.”
His blubbering, his begging disturbs me at my core.
I could be in the most agonizing pain of my life, on the brink of death, with my worst enemy holding the antidote to my illness, and still I wouldn’t beg. I wouldn’t cower to other men like a fucking pussy.
I’d take death and welcome it like a confidant.
The disgust I have for rats like Ignazio knows no bounds. Not only is he sobbing weakly and getting bitch-slapped, he’s offering to turn on the others. He’ll give Nero’s crew information on Nevaeh’s family in exchange for his own well-being.
The fucking coward.
