We walk in strained silence toward the large ship, tipping our heads at one of the men who stands guard at the gangway. Stepping onto the ship, I follow Fiero to the elevator that takes us to the lowest level where the secret stowage area is housed.
When Caleb and I inherited our family business, after our cousin Luca handed it over when we turned twenty-one, the shipping part of the Accardi Company empire was vastly undervalued and underdeveloped. Given what Fiero and Massimo had set in motion, it made sense to use our ships to ferry the narcotics from Colombia to the city. In the almost six years since we’ve been at the helm of the company, I have largely focused my interests on developing the shipping business, moving from commercial freight transporters to luxury cruise liners, legitimizing the business and using it as a front to move huge quantities of drugs on a regular basis. We also ship supplies to dons in other states, and it’s the most lucrative aspect of all our businesses.
It has always run smoothly. Until now.
Fiero punches in the code to the main container area, and I grind my teeth to the molars at the scene awaiting us inside.
“Fuck.” I scrub a hand along my smooth jawline as I inspect the empty cargo holder, the pile of dead bodies, and the river of blood staining the floor. I step to the side to avoid ruining my shoes.
“That’s putting it mildly.” Fiero pounds his fist into the wall.
“Is everything gone?” I ask, lifting my eyes to the wall-mounted cameras.
“They took the lot, and this is going to cause major issues with O’Hara.”
Diarmuid O’Hara is head of the Irish mafia and a man we have worked closely with for years. “It’s O’Hara’s inability to control his operation that’s caused this in the first place.”
“We don’t know that for a fact.” Fiero cleaves a hand through his jet-black hair. For years the dude dyed it white-blond, and he was notorious amongmafiosocircles. The day he became the new Maltese don he went back to his roots.
“We know the Irish are involved even if our spies couldn’t conclusively confirm it.” I shake my head as I walk toward the body spiked to the wall. “How are they one step ahead all the time?” A muscle clenches in my jaw as I inspect the barely recognizable face of the latest informant we had implanted into the rank and file of the Irish a mere five weeks ago.
“It seems obvious now.” Fiero walks to my side, and we both stare at Aldo’s garish remains.
“We have a rat,” I surmise, shoving my hands in the pockets of my black cargo pants.
“And possibly spies,” Fiero adds.
“We need a new plan.” I turn around and head toward the door. There is nothing else to see here.
“I have already called Massimo. He’s convening an emergency session of the board. This can’t wait.”
We step into the hallway, and the air barely seems less suffocating out here. “Someone wants a war.”
Fiero levels me with a lethal look. “If they keep this up, they’ll get it.”
Chapter Two
Joshua
“Can I grab a ride with you?” Fiero asks when we reach the parking lot, swiping wet hair off his brow. The heavens decided to open, battering us with torrential rain and bristling winds on the walk back from the dock. “I don’t fancy taking the chopper in this weather.” Fiero and Massimo both have pilot licenses, and they regularly travel here via helicopter from their homes in Long Island and the city.
“Sure. We can head to the meeting together, but I need a coffee refill first.” I stop at my car to grab the travel mug Sorella gave me.
“Always so organized.” Fiero’s lips tip up as we head inside the vast building.
“Not me this time.” I waggle my brows and grin.
“I thought I might have disturbed something earlier.” Fiero smirks as we step into the elevator, and he presses the button for the third floor.
“Don’t feel bad. I made sure she finished me off before I left.”
Fiero throws back his head and laughs. “Man, I miss being young.”
“Dude, you’re only forty-two. That’s hardly over the hill. And you’re a don. No pussy would ever reject you.” Fiero’s ahandsome man for his age. I often wonder why he never settled down; maybe he has history that means family life no longer holds any appeal, like me.
“I get plenty of pussy if I want it, but that playboy lifestyle gets old after you’ve been doing it so long.” The elevator stops, and the door pings as it glides open. We exit together. “I had a good time in my twenties and thirties, but it’s just not doing it for me any longer.”
“Then get hitched. I’m sure you have no shortage of offers.”
