Even as I ride out to deal out nothing but death.Death long coming.
I will make it swift.Take no unnecessary risks.Will not wallow in it and enjoy it like I’ve dreamed about enjoying it for the past decade.I will do it and then it will be done.And then I will come back to her.Just like she said.
I’m keeping Codelli and Rafaelle on my team, but I’ve made some changes to the rest of the teams, on the advice of the president of that other biker club Rogue introduced me to on Friday night—Devil’s Nightmare MC.
I went into that meeting with their president Cross fully ready to send them packing back up north.Forty-eight hours isn’t long enough to decide if you can trust someone, no matter how much I need the extra bodies to make sure I succeeded in overthrowing Moretti.And living long enough to see my child born.
Cross told me that their interest in taking out Hydra was purely business and that it wouldn’t encroach on my businesses here in LA.Devil’s Nightmare MC deal in weapons and Hydra has been muscling in on their gun running operation, so they want them out.Meaning he doesn’t care about anything here in LA, since his business and base is up in North Cali.I could live with those terms.Then he also advised me to mix up my teams, not giving the Russians and the Japanese much free rein on how they go about the Moretti targets on their own.Sound advice.
Both those things made me trust him just a little more, but what finally cinched the deal was learning that his MC wasn’t always just arms dealers.That they were once mercenaries, pure and simple, hired to take out targets, sometimes entire biker clubs and other rival organizations.And that they were the best in the business, known nationwide and beyond for their ruthless efficiency.
I had my Russian hackers confirm all that, but just from looking into Cross’ steady black eyes I didn’t really doubt it.As far as I was able to verify, everything he told me was true.
Two of their top members—a man called Ice and their Sarge Rook—are riding with me today.Blade is too, sitting shotgun in a Range Rover that I bought just for today.It’s probably silly, but I wanted to ride up to kill Dante in his favorite car.
After much grumbling and additional deal making, the Russians, Mexicans, and Japanese also finally agreed to break up their teams.I had to promise them more turf and money before they agreed, another signal that Cross had been spot on in his advice to me.Jesus is also riding with me, and I hope that’s a good sign—it’s always a good thing to have Jesus by your side, right?
Four o’clock is now rolling closer and closer.All my teams are synchronized, we’re all wearing earpieces so we can be in constant contact, and we’ll hit our targets fast and hard at exactly the same time—minimizing the time it will take to wipe out the majority of Moretti’s men.
That way the violence will be localized and widespread and it’ll be over quick.So hopefully the cops won’t have enough time to mobilize and ruin my party.I’ll deal with the fallout later.There won’t be much.Moretti was not popular in LA, I know that much from the time I spent with him, and how readily the Russians, Japanese, and Mexicans came to my side.
I’m in the driving seat, parked in front of Sinners & Girls, one of Dante’s strip clubs—a high-end place at the edge of downtown LA, where all the top dogs from all walks of life and all sides of the law like to come and unwind.The Bratva want the place to themselves once all this is done, and I’ll be sorry to give it up, given that it was Dante’s favorite.But I need the Bratva more.
“He should be here by now,” Igor’s voice comes over the earpiece, his hard Russian accent jarring in the tense silence.“Was it bad intel?Is that why he is not here?”
“The intel was superb,” Caputo’s voice comes on the line, saving me the trouble of answering.“It’s still five minutes to four.”
“And if he’s not here in five minutes, what?We go home?”Igor’s laugh is even more jarring than his accent.
But it’s not him I’m pissed off at.It’s actually the intel which does look like it was bad.
Did we rush this?
Did we not take long enough to make the kind of plans we should’ve made?
I want to ask Caputo all that, but not with the others listening in.
And the minutes keep ticking by.
“Fuck it, we’re going in,” I announce at two minutes to four.
“All right, let’s roll,” Caputo announces.Other teams on other radio channels are checking in too, announcing that they are all in position, ready to strike.
I give them the go ahead, then gun the accelerator.The other cars, filled with men on my side do the same.We approach the strip club from all sides just like we had discussed.
The Russians with me spill out of their black SUV as soon as they reach the back door.The Mexicans do the same right behind them.
Me, I’m going through the front door.Caputo is barking orders through the earpiece, directing it all the best he can.But the Russians are already inside, I can hear them yelling in the back and shooting their guns.In the air I hope, because I also hear a lot of women screaming and I don’t want anyone but Moretti and his men getting hurt.
I come through the front, Blade right at my heels, the two Devil’s Nightmare MC guys behind us.They’re wearing bandanas over their faces, which I suppose is a good move.Though I doubt the law will be very concerned with us shooting this place up.As long as we don’t kill any of the women or the top dogs that enjoy watching them get naked, I suppose.
The shooting and screaming keeps on coming from the back.
The foyer—a tight space just big enough for the hostess’ desk and about three guys to stand abreast is deserted.I part the thick, purple velvet curtain that leads to the strip club proper, entering gun first.
The Russians and the Mexicans reached this main room before us.The women are corralled on the stage that’s shaped like a four-leaf clover, because this place used to belong to the Irish before Moretti ran them out.I tried to get the Irish on board with this war too, but these days they’re too busy killing each other to worry about anything else.
Two disheveled looking businessmen are sitting at a table in the center of the room, as pale as the crisp shirts they’re wearing.They’re surrounded by eight bodies of Moretti’s men, some of which were dragged into this room if the trails of blood leading from the doors to the back are anything to go by.
