“Fucking hell,” Matteo curses, dragging a hand through his hair and glaring at the ceiling like it holds the answers. “È tutto un vicolo cieco, Capo(It’s all a dead end, Boss),” he groans, shoving the papers aside.
His frustration is understandable. We’ve been at this for hours. Benny’s still rotting in that chair, and we still don’t have any useful information. That bothers me. But a completely different matter bothers me even more. I’m turning on my own words about distancing myself fromher.
As if sensing my mood, Matteo leans forward cautiously, staring at me instead of the reports on the table. I smell the question even before he asks. “The bodies,” he asks tentatively, “how long are you planning on letting them hang,Capo?”
As long as it takes. I wouldn’t mind if their flesh dried and peeled from their bones right there, as a cautionary tale, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of that answer.
His mouth parts like he’s about to press further. He’s about to ask the question he knows better than to ask. Why am I going crazy over someone who’s simply a means to an end?
I hold up a hand, silencing him. “Piss me off…”and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.I don’t need to finish the threat. He’s a loyal man—helped me take over from my uncle and has been by my side ever since, but that isn’t enough reason for him to cross the line.
He bows, lifting his hands slightly in surrender. “Mi scuso, Capo(I’m sorry, Boss).” It stays silent for what seems like an eternity before he speaks again, jerking his chin toward the hall, “It’s just…all my years with you, I’ve never seen you this…”
The words hang in the air. I understand exactly what he means. I’ve never been this affected…this disoriented over a woman or anything for that matter. I’m not a man who acts on emotions. I’m not supposed to care enough to unalive three of my own men.
Matteo’s phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. He goes pale almost instantly, and when his eyes meet mine, I already know it’s bad.
“Capo, it’s the Naples shipment. Our men are under attack.”
For a moment, I don’t move. We flushed out the mole so how is this possible? How the fuck did they know where to hit? But there’s no time to think about that now.
“Gear up.”
***
The dock is a fucking maze. Containers are stacked on top of each other in rows, leaving narrow alleys that twist into shadows. Gunshots bounce off the steel, and heavy curses in Italian echo through the alley. A floodlight by the water rotates lazily, spilling light one second, and dragging us into darkness the next. It makes it harder to track the bastards hiding in there.
“Split up,” I tell Matteo. “Take six. Capture one alive if you can.”
He nods once and peels off with his men. I move the opposite direction with four at my back. I see some of my men lying lifeless on the ground, and it fuels my rage. We creep down a narrow row, following the sound of the gunfire. A muzzle flash flares from ahead, too fast. The round smashes into one of my men’s chests, dropping him to the ground instantly.
“Down!” I bark. We dive behind a stack of pallets as more bullets are being fired. I press my cheeks to the cold ground, roll sideways, and pop two shots toward the source. A loud scream cuts the air.
One down. Many more to go.
“Cover me,” my voice comes out as a snarl. My men fire over the pallets, forcing the bastards back. That’s our chance. Adrenaline floods my veins. I need one alive. I need to know who’s behind the attacks.
“Avanti(Forward)!” We move down the maze, turning a corner. The floodlight sweeps again, exposing us for a split second. A round whizzes past my ear, close enough to sting. My man to the right takes a hit on his knee. He drops to the ground, but keeps firing. I break cover, firing hard, forcing the attackers to scatter.
Two take a hit to their heads, one tries to climb a container, attempting to get to the high ground. Idiot move. I target his leg and he drops like a sack of meat. The rest flee like roaches.
The wounded bastard fumbles for his gun, raising it with shaky hands. A shot lands on his arm, and he screams out in pain. I stalk forward, pressing my boot to his chest. His eyes go wide with fear as I aim my Glock between them. “Who sent you?”
He smiles. My gut tightens. I’ve seen that look before.
He bites down hard, and a muffled crunch fills the air. His throat spasms violently as the cyanide floods his system. Foam spills from his lips as his body jerks uncontrollably, nails gouging lines in the concrete.
“Figlio di puttana(Son of a bitch)!” I grab his jaw, forcing it open, but it’s too late. He goes limp, dead in seconds, with that same mocking smile on his face.
Turning back, I fist my gun and move through the alleys until I see Matteo again.
“Ho provato a interrogarne uno, si è ucciso(Tried to interrogate one, he killed himself),” he says. “Some escaped, the others are dead. Battle’s over.”
Fuck!
I slam my fist against a cargo container in fury. Another fucking dead end.
***
