Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Which means clearing out the warehouse and finding space for everything, hiring muscle to keep it all under guard, and setting up a secure travel itinerary.
I’m out late every night and up early every morning, and it feels like my wife is nothing more than a sleeping body in bed. We barely run into each other, and when we do, it’s like we’re speaking different languages. I want to ask her about the office and I want to see her new desk, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to go up there. The walls feel tight, and I’m already running on edge as it is. I don’t want to risk having an attack right in front of her. I suspect she already thinks I’m a psychopath, which is bad enough.
“Everything’s good on our end, bro,” Carlo Rossi says on the day of the shipment. “Trucks left Philly about a half hour ago. They should get to you in like twelve or thirteen hours. Go get something to eat, maybe sleep or whatever, it’ll show up in the morning.”
“I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep until the merchandise is where it needs to be.”
“You really think this Santoro guy is that crafty, bro? Our truckers are top-notch guys. It’ll be fine.”
I smile bitterly to myself as I pace across the empty warehouse. My footsteps echo up into the metal rafters while my soldiers watch on. Tensions are very high.
I like Carlo Rossi. There’s no bullshit to that man, and even though he comes across like he’s all frivolous jokes and empty smiles, the man has a good head on his shoulders. But he doesn’t know Uncle Luciano.
“I’m trusting you,” I tell him, because there’s one enormous flaw in this entire situation.
The drivers aren’t my people.
“Bro, relax. We got this.”
I hang up and bark orders at my soldiers. There isn’t much for anyone to do since everything’s been prepped well ahead of time, but I need an excuse to blow off this nervous energy. Bruno eventually pulls me aside and tells me to calm the fuck down because I’m driving everyone crazy, and I tell him to go fuck himself, and he ends up dragging me outside to smoke a few anxious cigarettes. I don’t even enjoy them, but it’s better than feeling like I’m trapped in a cage again.
Hours pass. Simon shows up with dinner for the men on duty and forces me to take a nap in the back office. I sit on the couch, my sleeves rolled up and my top buttons undone, and stare at the wall. There’s no way in hell I’m going to fall asleep, not until we have all the guns where they need to be.
“You could try closing your fucking eyes, you crazy person,” Simon says when he comes in later that night. He pours us drinks and sits next to me on the couch. “Father’s confident in the plan, you know. He thinks you did a good, thorough job setting this up.”
I grunt at him and throw back the whiskey. It’s good stuff, but too bad I can barely taste anything right now. “Uncle Luciano’s fucking clever. Dad should know that.”
“Stop calling him uncle,” Simon says quietly. It’s an old argument, and I don’t take the bait. “Santoro’s smart, but he’s not invincible. I know you feel like he is, but you were just a kid and it was a long time ago, and—”
I stand before he can keep talking. “It’s not about that.”
“Isn’t it? Davide, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you’re still hurting. It’s been twenty fucking years and you haven’t gotten over what happened, and nobody blames you one bit for that.”
I take deep breaths. The walls feel tight and I flex my burned hand. I can feel the flames licking my skin again. I can smell my own flesh burning like an overcooked hamburger, the ugly singed-hair reek of a human body getting cooked.
“Uncle Luciano isn’t going to stop until we’re dead.” I hold up my burned hand, fingers flexing. “I’m the only one that understands.”
“Davide—”
I grunt at him and walk to the door. They all think I’m some precious little child trapped in the most horrifying, traumatic event of my life, but they’re wrong. They don’t see Santoro the way I do. I’m the only one that got a glimpse of what he really is. I saw the unfeeling and uncaring black depths of his soul, and that glimpse was more horrifying than anything else, worse than the cage and worse than the fire. Santoro wants only one thing, and that’s to destroy anyone that rivals his claim to power, which means he will never stop until everyone I care about is dead.
I’ve been telling them for years. I’ve been begging them to do something. Santoro’s been quietly gaining strength, and Father did nothing. Nobody understood that Santoro would be our rival until it was much too late. Father thought they’d crushed him, but Santoro will never stop so long as he’s alive.