Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
My men will move him to a safe location in Queens. It’s a narrow brick building with heavy locks, cameras, and men posted at every entrance. Secure enough for one night, or it should be.
Rafe leaves to help with the move. He texts me an hour later to confirm Marco is at the safe house with the head of my security, Sal. Apparently, he’s making it difficult for my men.
“He refuses to stay inside,” Sal tells me over the phone. “Says he isn’t a prisoner.”
“He isn’t a prisoner,” I remind him. “But if he doesn’t trust us, he might end up dead.”
“I told him that.”
“And how did he respond?”
“He told me to go to hell.”
Tomasso, sitting across from me, laughs under his breath.
I glare at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry. “I’m starting to see where Sofia gets it.”
I ignore him and focus on Sal. “Keep him inside.”
“We’re trying.”
“Try harder.”
“If Calderone doesn’t bite on the fake route, he might go for the real one,” Tomasso says darkly. “There are so many variables to consider.”
“He doesn’t have the real one,” I remind him.
“That’s what we’re testing, isn’t it?” he asks.
At seven-thirty, the false route goes live. At seven forty-eight, we have confirmation that Calderone’s men are moving.
Rafe calls from the road, his voice sharp but controlled.
“Two SUVs took the warehouse route.”
“Which version?”
“Security dispatch.”
“Take them,” I say.
“We’re moving now.”
The next few minutes pass through the phone in fragments. Tires against wet pavement. Rafe barking orders. A crash of metal. One gunshot, then another. Tomasso goes still across from me, all his earlier irritation gone. Eventually, Rafe comes back on the line.
“We’ve got them.”
“How many?”
“Four. Two breathing.”
“Names?”
“Working on it.”
“Good.”
My other phone rings. Only a handful of people have that number. Rafe. Chiara. Bradley. The men stationed at the real location.
I answer before the first ring finishes. “What?”
Static crackles for half a second.
Then Sal’s voice comes through. “Boss.”
Every muscle in my body tightens. “What happened?”
Tomasso’s eyes snap to mine.
“Marco stepped outside,” Sal says, his voice rough. “He said he needed air. We had eyes on him. I swear to God we had eyes on him.”
“Where is he?”
Silence.
My grip tightens on the phone. “Sal.”
“They came from the alley. Two vans. Maybe three. They hit fast.”
The world narrows until there is nothing but his voice and the wet street outside the windows.
“How many down?”
“Joey and Vince. I’m hit, but I’m standing.”
“And Marco?”
“They took him.”
The room seems to get smaller around me. We failed. Someone leaked the real location. Which means my mole is in my most inner circle. I feel sick.
Tomasso is staring at me now, face pale in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say.
I text Bradley to meet me downstairs in two minutes. Tomasso reaches for his phone.
“Don’t,” I tell him.
He freezes. “I was calling Rafe.”
“I’ll call Rafe.”
His jaw tightens, but he lowers the phone.
I call Rafe as I walk to the elevator.
“They took Marco,” I say the second he answers.
“How?”
“Someone had the real location.”
“Fuck.”
“Get there.”
“I’m already moving.”
I hang up and look at Tomasso.
He looks back at me. “I didn’t know the real location.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You’re thinking it. It’s why you’ve been babysitting me all night.”
“I’m thinking about a lot of things.”
“Dominic.”
“Not now.”
He leans back, jaw clenched, and says nothing else.
Smart.
Sofia calls twice on the way there.
I don’t answer.
I can’t tell her this over the phone. I can’t listen to her voice break when there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I can’t do any of it right, so I do the only thing I can.
I let it ring, knowing it will cost me later.
When we reach the safe house, the street is already full of my men. Bradley stops hard at the curb, and I’m out before the car fully settles.
Blood runs dark on the pavement near the side entrance, smeared toward the alley. Joey is covered with a tarp. Vince is a few yards away, one arm still visible beneath another sheet. Sal is sitting against the wall with blood soaking the sleeve of his jacket, trying to wave off a man wrapping his arm.
“Where was Marco?” I ask.
Sal points with his good hand. “There.”
A half-crushed cigarette lies on the pavement. Rafe arrives seconds later. He takes in the scene fast, then comes to stand beside me.
“They had the real location,” I say. “Who had it?”
“It was a very short list.” He sighs, giving me a dark look.
Tomasso pulls up behind us and gets out of the car. Rafe glances at him, just briefly, but it’s enough for me to see the suspicion there. Tomasso sees it too. His face hardens.
Before I can say anything, my phone rings again. It’s Sofia. I stare at her name on the screen, debating if I want to have this conversation. I can’t keep anything else from her, though. It’s now or never.