I move to him, sitting against the wall in a secondary storage area.
“What the fuck just happened here?” Situations like this happen but are rare in organizations as established and deadly as the Dantes’. No one has tried to fuck with me in Chicago for nearly three years because it never turns out well for them. The Dantes have been around for generations. “Who has the balls to pull this shit?”
“Fuck if I know.”
I pull off my coat and press it to Victorio's wound, stanching the flow of blood. "Keep pressure on it," I order, moving to check the other men. One's dead, the other barely hanging on with a bullet in his chest.
The door bangs open and I swing my Glock toward the sound, finger tense on the trigger. Two more of Alessandro's men rush in, weapons drawn.
"Stand down," one of them calls. "Perimeter's clear. They're gone."
"And so is the shipment," the other adds, gesturing to where the crates of Berettas once sat. "They took everything."
"Fuck!" This is bad. Not just for business, but for me. I can already hear my brother blaming me. “Who knew we’d be here?”
Victorio's face contorts with pain as he tries to stand up. "Don’t know. But this shit's been happening more and more. Last month, it was a shipment coming in from the docks. Before that, protection money from the clubs in Queens."
I help him to his feet, my mind racing. "Since when?"
"Started small. Just little things going missing. But it's escalated since your father passed."
The surviving guard spits blood onto the warehouse floor. "It's those Russian fuckers. The Morozovas. They're testing us, seeing how much they can get away with now that Don Lorenzo is gone."
"Alessandro should've hit back harder by now," I mutter, helping Victorio toward the door. "Shown strength."
"Your brother's been cautious." Victorio winces. "Says we need proof before we start a war."
Outside, sirens wail in the distance. We need to move.
"Get him to Doc Marino," I tell the soldiers, transferring Victorio's weight. "And clean this place before the cops show."
"What about you?" Victorio asks, his voice strained.
I check my weapon, slide it back into my holster. "I'm going to have a chat with my brother."
“It was nice knowing you,” Victorio calls. He’s joking. Mostly.
As I drive back toward the Dante compound, unease settles in my gut. Was this a robbery or something more? A message. And from whom? Would the Morozovas make such bold moves? Why would Alessandro hold back? Why isn’t he demanding information from Pyotr and Katerina, the so-called ambassadors?
It makes no sense. The brother I knew would've retaliated immediately, made an example of anyone who dared touch Dante business. Instead, he's playing defense.
Something's off. The power vacuum left by my father's death is larger than I realized. And I’ve got a feeling that I've walked into a brewing war.
I storm into the estate. Alessandro's office door is closed, but I don't bother knocking.
“The shipment is gone, as are a few of your men,” I announce, slamming the door behind me.
Alessandro doesn't look up from his desk. "I'm aware."
"Victorio took a bullet. One of your men is dead. And you're sitting here like it's a minor inconvenience. Or are you too scared to go after the motherfuckers who are making you look like a pussy?"
That gets his attention. He raises his gaze to mine. "And where exactly were you when this happened? You weren't supposed to be there tonight."
There it is. The accusation. "What are you implying?" I force him to tell me to my face that he thinks I’m fucking with his business.
Alessandro leans back, studying me with calculated coolness. "Isn't it convenient? You return after years, and suddenly, our operations start falling apart. Shipments go missing. Men get killed."
I snort. “Yeah, right. And how did I manage to take shipments and money while I was in Chicago? Don’t you fucking put this on me when it’s been happening long before I showed up.” I shake my head. While I wouldn’t say I was ever close to my brother, we were family. “You really think I’d do this?”
