Clear my head, get some perspective.
Enzo isn't going anywhere.
And neither am I.
"Pick me up in twenty," I say.
"That's my boy!"
As I pocket my phone, I’m glad that not everything from my old life has been lost.
Although as much as I like Vic, I’d rather have Katerina and Enzo.
Victorio cranks the music as we tear through the darkness heading to Brooklyn. I can’t deny a sense of exhilaration. For the last few days, I’ve been navigating an uncertain world. But this is work I know. I need to feel competent, confident, in charge, and this run with Vic will give me that.
"Still drive like shit, I see," I say, gripping the handle above the door as he takes a corner too fast.
"Still complain like an old woman, I see." He flashes that same crooked grin I've known since we were teenagers stealing cigarettes and causing trouble.
We pull up to the warehouse on first avenue, the building silhouetted against the water of the New York Harbor. Two of Alessandro's men nod at us as we approach, their eyes lingering on me. I’m not sure if they're wary or curious.
"I don’t know if they trust me," I mutter.
Victorio shrugs. "They’ll get over it."
Inside, the shipment waits, five wooden crates of custom Berettas, each one hand-finished with mother-of-pearl grips. Beautiful pieces. Deadly art.
"Just like riding a bike, eh?" Victorio tosses me a crowbar, and I catch it one-handed.
The familiar routine soothes something in me. Checking the merchandise, confirming the serial numbers, preparing the paperwork that makes illegal guns look like industrial equipment. It feels good working again, away from the suffocating tension of the Dante mansion.
“So, I see Katerina is giving you the cold shoulder?—"
The first bullet shatters the overhead light.
"Down!" I shout, diving behind a crate as gunfire erupts from multiple directions.
Glass explodes above us, metal pings against concrete. One of Alessandro's men drops with a gurgled cry, blood spreading across his chest.
I draw my Glock on instinct. This isn’t my first rodeo, or in this case, shootout.
Three shooters, maybe four. Coming from the east entrance.
"Cover me!" I bark at Victorio, who's already returning fire.
I roll to another position, get off two clean shots. A scream tells me I've hit someone. My blood sings with the rush of combat. This I understand. This makes sense.
A shadow moves to my right. I pivot, fire twice. The figure drops.
"Who the fuck are these guys?" Victorio shouts over the chaos.
I advance through the warehouse, moving from cover to cover, leaving the crates as I hunt down these fuckers. Another shooter appears in my sightline. I don't hesitate. The bullet catches him in the throat. His gun clatters to the ground as he falls.
As suddenly as it began, the gunfire stops.
"Vic?" I call out, scanning for more threats.
"Still breathing," he answers, voice tight with pain. "Took one in the arm, though. Fuck, that hurts."
