Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
When the performance is over, I rewind the footage to the beginning. I don’t go all the way to the beginning, where I can see her backside in its full glory. I know I’ll get carried away again. Maybe when all this stuff with the Gallos is over, I’ll ask her on a date.
Even then, what if I fuck it up and ruin this for Sofia?
Hell, my head’s going around and around in circles.
I’m about halfway through my fourth listen when a text appears from Enzo. You awake, sir?
Since all my men are technically employees of DeLuca Investments, they should call me sir over the phone in any digital communication instead of Don. That way, if the cops ever scoop us up, they won’t fix on that word. Then again, if the cops grab us, it might be too late anyway.
Yes, I reply.
A moment later, my cell phone rings.
“Sir,” The Whisper says.
“Enzo,” I reply. “What’s going on?”
“Vito and I have been doing some digging. It looks like it is Orlando, after all. A couple of junkies gave us a description which led to a dashcam. We’ve got footage that clearly shows it’s him. Vito is in the ’burbs since we’ve got word he has a grow house out there.”
“Good,” I say, nodding. “The sooner we can end this mess, the better.”
“Amen to that,” Enzo replies, “but there’s something else. Junkie mentioned Orlando started offering ‘special treats.’” Enzo’s voice drips in disgust. “That’s how he phrased it. Do you need me to say it?”
“Are we talking trafficking?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we talking kids?”
He swallows audibly. “Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ. What did the junkie say, exactly? No, wait. Meet me at the Rossa.”
“You got it.”
I hang up, climbing out of bed and rolling my shoulders, feeling so damn ready for a fight. All this tension in me has got to go somewhere.
Enzo and Vito are waiting for me in the office. Vito smokes a cigarette. The big man looks shell-shocked as he slowly blows out smoke. Even Enzo’s usual sly, knowing grin is absent. The wiry man stares at me with hollow eyes.
“What’s going on?” I growl, closing the door behind me.
“You show him, big man,” Enzo says.
Vito stubs out his cigarette and reaches into his pocket, offering me a few pieces of paper. I take them and look down. Darkness grips me. This is part of the life. The nastiness. The evil shit. The Family relies on me to be strong, but as I stare, I almost want to quit being the Don.
The image shows the inside of a metal container with three kids tied up like animals.
“This is Orlando’s doing?” I grunt.
“Without a doubt,” Enzo replies, nodding.
“Where are the kids now?”
“With our police connections,” Enzo tells me, “but who knows how many more there are? It looks like …”
“Go on,” I snap when Enzo trails off. “We can’t hide from the facts. We can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”
“We did the right thing getting rid of the Gallos,” he says.
“But?” I snap since there is clearly one.
“It looks like Orlando was purposefully waiting outside the city. He knew we were going to hit his cousins hard. He knew it’d leave a power vacuum.”
“He was waiting to take over, to bring more TNT and this shit?”
“Looks like it,” Enzo says.
“Let me see this motherfucker,” I snarl.
Vito hands me another piece of paper. There are two images on it. One shows a grainy silhouette. I can spot a glint of silver in his mouth and a sleek Mafiosi-style suit. The other image is a mugshot of the same man, his eyes looking psychopath-blank.
“He’s got to go,” I grunt.
“Agreed,” Vito growls.
“Any luck in the ’burbs?” I ask.
“He wasn’t where the junkie said he would be,” Vito replies.
“Shock,” Enzo says sarcastically with a heavy sigh.
“How did you find these kids?”
“A contact at the dock. He noticed two of his colleagues meeting with the Gallos.”
“Bring those colleagues to me. Now.”
Vito gives Enzo a look. “Told you.” He walks toward the door.
I raise my eyebrow at Enzo when Vito leaves the room. “He said he knew you’d want to see them.”
“You didn’t think I would?” I ask.
“They’re just working men who were too scared to say no.”
He sounds like my brother, dammit. “Where does the responsibility start then, Enzo?” I growl. “These men knew there were kids in those containers. They knew what they were doing.”
“Gallo had men watching their kids,” Enzo counters.
“So I’ll ask you again … Who the fuck takes responsibility?”
Before he can reply, Vito kicks the door open, dragging two men behind him. One is pushing sixty, with pronounced gray hairs sticking out of his nose. The other is almost entirely red-faced, eyes glassy with terror as Vito drags them over to the table and shoves them into chairs.
I rest my fists on the table, leaning over the men. “Explain.”