“Sounds like it,” Renzo says. “Considering he claimed to be The Reaper’s messenger. His debt is paid. Only The Reaper would know we killed Biba and left him and his shooter alive.”
“Think he could be The Reaper?” That would be something—the man the Russians were at war with for months hiding in plain sight.
“Not unless the rumors were false about his scars,” Tommy cuts in.
“True,” Renzo responds. “And we’ve heard word about the scars on his neck from multiple sources.”
“Still, how did one of the Russians end up with Reaper?” The revelation floors me. I thought the two groups hated one another.
“I’d like to know how everyone knew our goddamn business—Pasha learning about the meeting and Reaper knowing Pasha knew. We putting up fucking billboards I don’t know about?” Renzo is pissed, and he has every right to be. I expect the Luccianos and Morettis are both going to do some major in-house clean-up.
Out of nowhere, Renzo pulls the car into a parking lot and turns around. I meet Sante’s eyes in the rearview mirror, both of us wondering what’s going on.
“They think they’ve got us on the run, but they can’t know our plans if we move without warning. We’re going to go find that fucking Russian piece of shit and rip his fucking heart out. I’m done playing safe.”
CHAPTER 58
DIANGELO
Present
Tommy,Sante, Renzo, and I meet with three other guys at one of our safe houses. We arm ourselves with enough gear to wage an all-out battle, including communication earpieces. And last, but not least, we all familiarize ourselves with the layout of the taxidermy shop.
It doubles as a pseudo-museum, meaning it’s not just a front desk with a small workshop space in the back. There’s over five thousand square feet to hide. Luckily, we should have the element of surprise.
On the way over, we decide that Renzo and I’ll take two soldiers with us through the front, and Sante and Tommy will take the third man with them through the back. I wait for them to get in place before signaling my team to leave the car. We keep our weapons holstered to draw as little attention as possible, then take out our guns as soon as we slip inside.
The door chimes, announcing our arrival.
“We’re in,” I say softly over the comms device while surveying the entry. Animals and insects of all varieties arefrozen mid-motion, posing for eternity. They’re everywhere. If I had the time to truly take in the spectacle, it would be creepy as fuck.
“We’re in, as well,” Sante’s voice sounds in my earpiece.
My gaze lands on a man across the room, standing as stock-still as the carcasses surrounding us. He’s reed thin with a thick mustache and round magnifiers hinged onto his wire-rimmed glasses. He blinks, then bolts toward the back.
“We’ve got a man on the run, heading your way,” I warn while launching into pursuit. It doesn’t last long. After rounding two corners, I come to a halt. The taxidermist stands with his hands raised in the middle of the space. Our two teams have him surrounded.
“Got him,” Sante says with a note of wicked amusement.
“Please, I no do anything. Have no money,” says the shop owner with a heavy Russian accent.
I charge forward and grab his shirt, hauling him up off his feet. “Where the fuck is Pasha?” I growl the words with unrestrained savagery. He needs to know I’m not fucking around.
“He not here. Please,” he whimpers. The acrid smell of urine hits my nostrils.
Jesus Christ, he pissed himself.
I toss him against a nearby wall, then crouch over him, snarling. “Tell me where the fuck he is, or I will skin you alive and stuff you like one of your creations.”
His entire body is consumed in violent tremors, but he manages to nod his head toward the opposite wall.
I peer back. “Is there something on the other side of that wall?”
He nods.
“Tommy, circle around.”
He takes off, and we all wait for his return, which only takes a few seconds.
