Then I thought about Goldie for a while, remembered the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her lips, the melody of her moans and sighs of pleasure and things were better again.
Moretti’s mansion is a dark, gothic monstrosity that would look more fitting on some giant estate on Long Island than in the Hollywood hills.It’s a Victorian-style mansion complete with turrets and a facade so overgrown with vines you can’t see its color.I’m sure it’s all rotted underneath, just like the owner himself.The brick wall around it is black and rotten in places and the gate in it is new—metal, black and bullet-proof, by the looks of things.
We had tried to storm this house back in the first war and failed.Badly.While I lived here, I weakened the brick wall in several places to make access—or escape—easier and I don’t think Moretti ever discovered those holes.But it will be hard storming this house anyway.And I think that in the end we will have to.Because Moretti’s a coward.He will hide in there and not come out if things start going badly for him.Which is probably why it’s best we strike fast and hard, giving him no time to hole up in here.
“Is that a machine gun?”Caputo asks, squinting through his binoculars which he has trained on one of the windows of the foremost turret of the house.“Looks a lot like what the Germans used during D-day.”
I pick up my own binoculars—state of the art things that I’m sure are army-issued.They let me see clearly even in this complete darkness.I’d given Caputo free rein with a large chunk of my money to procure weapons and such for us, and so far it seems he’s not wasting it.
Sure enough, that’s a machine gun on a tripod in one of the open windows of the turrets.But I already knew it would be there.Even though we can’t see them, machine guns just like that one are in all the other turrets too.And several of the upstairs rooms.
“Good luck to us breaching this house,” Caputo says wryly.“Hope it doesn’t come to it.”
“Moretti is a coward,” I say, deciding now’s as good a time as any to have this conversation.“So we might have to go in there to get him.”
I’ll need to let all the men know we might have to storm this mansion sooner rather than later.Because just like a lot of my family members died trying to do exactly that—my brother included—so might a few of them.
“I’ll try to figure out how to attack him that doesn’t involve breaching this house with all of them in there,” I add.
Caputo looks at me sharply, but then nods.“Yes, we should find a way to avoid that.”
“But like I said, he’s a coward,” I say, deciding I might as well drive the point home.“In the last war, we tried to get in there at the end.And failed.Lost a lot of men.Including my brother Ricardo.It might’ve been the mistake that lost us the war in the end.So yeah, I’ll do what I can to avoid it.”
Caputo just looks at me for a few moments, then nods and brings the binoculars back to his face.“I’m sorry about your brother.I lost brothers too.But don’t worry, we’ll get this scaredy fucker.”
From his lips straight into God’s ears.
But I don’t say it, I just stare at the house, trying not to remember what it was like living inside it.I had a tiny bedroom in the basement.Wasn’t even a bedroom, just an old coal room that smelled so badly of rot and damp that the stench attached itself to my nostrils and I could smell it all the time.For seven long years.I can still kind of smell it now.But even remembering that is easier than remembering seeing my brother get shot and then waiting and hoping he’d live.He didn’t.
“Ah, I think they’re on the move,” Caputo says.And sure enough, a few moments later, the sound of car engines breaks the nighttime calmness.
We’ve been observing the house from a small hill across the street from it, partially hidden behind a thorny bush.They don’t seem to see us now either, as three cars ride through the gate and down the street below the hill we’re on.Three black Range Rovers with tinted windows, impossible to tell in which of them Moretti is riding.He liked to switch it up.I used to ride in those Range Rovers all the time—clunky things, can’t get any real speed out of them.
I start the engine of the Lambo once they’re far enough down the road.“Might as well follow, see where he’s going this late at night.”
“And that well protected,” Caputo says and puts the binoculars into the glove compartment.
It turns out to be a short ride.Moretti’s destination is a Gentleman’s Club in the style of those old English places.It’s housed in a non-descript building at the edge of downtown LA and if it weren’t for the valet and the butler in white gloves at the door, you wouldn’t look at it twice.
“The Club,” Caputo says, reading the name carved in wood over the main door.“You know this place?”
I’ve parked across the street, watching Moretti and two guys I’ve never seen entering the club.The bodyguards stay in the Range Rovers.
I nod.“Yeah, my family were all members.And Dante used to bring me here and make me stand at his side while he drank too much whiskey and smoked too many cigars.”
I still remember the pitying looks I’d get from the other members whenever that happened.And I feel the same kind of pity from Caputo now.
“Moretti has a thing for the British Aristocracy.I swear he damn near pisses himself with excitement whenever he sees or hears something about the Royal Family.That’s what the Range Rovers and this place are all about,” I say and turn the car around.“Wanna go in, see who he’s talking to?”
It’s not really a question, and I’m already rolling the car into the valet parking line before Caputo says anything.
“You think it’s a good idea for just the two of us to confront him?”he asks.
“Come on, the two of us can take him and his thugs,” I say and get out of the car, tossing the keys to the valet.
Caputo still looks skeptical as he joins me on the sidewalk.
“I want him to know I’m always near.Make him nervous,” I say.“Truth is, I’m looking for an excuse to have a go at him.I should’ve done it at that restaurant.”
