Ben’s brow creases, and I’m guessing he’s wondering why his ex-consigliereand close friend Alesso didn’t call him directly.
“The intel just cropped up,” Massimo says, knowing exactly where Ben’s head is at.
The screen on the wall lights up as Alesso joins our meeting. I fiddle with my tie as I lean back in my chair and wait for things to kick off.
After initial small talk, Massimo gets straight to the heart of the matter. “Share the intel you shared with me earlier with the board, please.”
Alesso nods and clears his throat. “A trusted source within myfamigliacame to me a couple of weeks ago with information he had gleaned from one of thesoldatiwho was friendly with one of the guys loyal to Cruz.”
Everyone shifts uneasily in their chairs, now suspecting where this is going. My gaze instantly whips around to Massimo, and we share a look—one that worries me.
Everyone knew Cruz DiPietro was in bed with the wrong people, and he was heavily involved in a ton of shit that went down recently. We figured there was more to it, but we haven’t been able to link Cruz to anything else. One of the main reasons I was sent to Florida was to discover what he’d been up to, but I have uncovered jack shit, and it’s obvious now that Vitto D’Onofrio wasn’t in on anything.
I wonder if we’re about to find out what else Cruz was up to.
Alesso resumes speaking when he has reclaimed all our attention. He looks completely calm when he says, “Cruz was working with the cartel.”
All the blood drains from my face. “Sinaloa?” I ask though I don’t really need an answer.
Alesso nods.
“In what capacity?” Cristian asks. Cristian is Cruz’s younger brother and the DiPietro don for New York. They weren’t close, and Cristian was sickened by the things his older brother did in the run-up to his death.
Alesso’s gaze flits to mine briefly. “Everyone knows the fentanyl market in Vegas is owned by the cartel. The authorities have been on their back for years, and they almost drove them out of the territory.”
“Pity they didn’t,” Agessi says, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“They caused them enough issues with supply chain and distribution that the cartel had to get creative.”
“That’s what Cruz was really using the airplanes for?” Joshua asks, arching a brow.
A few years before his death, Cruz bought a couple airplanes he said were for personal use, but none of us ever believed that.
“Cruz wasn’t bringing the drugs in from Mexico,” Alesso confirms. “The cartel was bringing them in via a different route. Instead of driving them over the border directly to Vegas, they were driving to a number of small towns in Utah where they have a few warehouses. They were driving the goods to Vegas from there, but Cruz was flying some supplies from Vegas to Miami for distribution in Florida.”
Fucking hell. A muscle pops in my jaw as dread pools in my gut.
“Why get involved in this?” Pagano asks, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
I kick my legs out, crossing and uncrossing my feet at my ankles as I try to figure this out in my head. We knew there was a connection between Vegas and Miami because Cruz was flying there weekly to supposedly party with Vitto. But Cruz working with the cartel puts a completely different spin on it. I sit up straighter, digging my nails into the arms of the chair as my knee bobs up and down.
“What was in it for Cruz?” Caleb props his elbows on the table.
“I’m not sure. He was getting paid handsomely for the air shipments, but we all know Cruz wasn’t doing it for the money,” Alesso says.
“I want to kill that motherfucker all over again.” Caleb cracks his knuckles, his blue eyes darkening. To say the twins hate Cruz is an understatement, but they have good reasons.
“Still causing problems from the grave,” Cristian says, shaking his head.
“Unless there’s anything else, we’ll let you go, Don Salerno,” Massimo says. Alesso nods, his gaze drifting to Ben and Caleb briefly before he ends the video call, and the screen goes black.
Popping the top button of my shirt open, I loosen my tie before it strangles me. I clear my throat, knowing I can’t keep what I know hidden any longer. All of this is obviously connected, and the board needs to know. “I discovered something recently that involves the cartel in Miami, and my guess is it ties back to Cruz.”
All heads swivel in my direction, giving me their full attention.
“Dominic Ferraro has a nasty gambling addiction, and he’s up to his eyeballs in debt to the cartel.”
Massimo scrubs his hands down his face and shakes his head. I know this kind of crap pisses him off. We’re worked so hard to legitimize our operation and to conduct ourselves in a more respectful manner, but there are still too many rotten eggs.
