Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
The meeting point was the same warehouse I had met with Cesare and Leonardo some time ago. I didn’t know what would occur in there. There would be some tension in the air; I was sure of that. However, I would try to maintain my composure. This wasn’t some stupid contest. We weren’t going to see who could take whom. This would lead us nowhere. What we needed was a proper discussion, where we could lay everything on the table and decide how to proceed from here on out.
After the three of us arrived at the warehouse, I left Cesare’s Torino as the rain pelted down around me. I kept my head down and sidestepped a large paddle of water, Leonardo running past me. I eyed him with suspicion, my drenched fingers diving through the gaps of the wire gate in front of me. Pushing it to the side, I waited for him and Cesare to go through before following them in the front yard.
“If we don’t make it out of here alive, just know I’m coming back to haunt both your asses.”
Leonardo’s words interrupted the sound of the hard rain but failed to amuse me and my cousin.
“Relax,” Cesare said as we approached that heavy, steel door. I reached for its latch, but, before I could touch it, the noise of metal surfaces grinding prevented me from doing so. That door was pulled open from the inside, a familiar face standing behind it. Rocco DeLuca.
“An abandoned fucking warehouse?” He scoffed, bringing his gaze to Cesare. “It’s the last place you’d want to meet wise guys in. Your stupidity’s going to get you whacked.”
“Come on!” Leonardo snapped, lunging forward, his arm jerked back. I caught it whooshing past my shoulder, out of the corner of my eye. I thrust my own arm forward, Cesare grabbing him by the waist. Rocco swayed back, my friend’s fist just missing him.
“Hey!” Cesare shouted, rocking him to the side. “We ought to be smart here, and you’re trying to start a fucking fight? Get a goddamn grip!”
“I’d listen to him if I were you.”
A feminine, delicate voice shifted my attention away from Leonardo. Ten yards away, under the strong, fluorescent light, Maggie was standing between a couple of strangers.
“Good evening, boys,” she tipped her head down in a polite manner, shuffling off in our direction. “For all its crudeness, Rocco’s remark about our meeting point is valid. You might want to refrain from meeting mobsters in secluded places such as this.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Cesare said, moving around Rocco.
“Frisk them,” Maggie ordered her man. I raised my arms in the air, my boys doing the same. I eyed her in annoyance, but that was all I could do. There was just no point in complaining—they would have done this anyway.
“They’re clean,” Rocco told her as we drew near her.
“Meet my crew, gentlemen,” she spoke, gesturing back to her men. “Julian Knight and Slater Winslow. Remember when I told you that two of my men were in hospital?”
“Yeah?”
“That was them,” she revealed. “Both of them suffered concussions, and Mr. Knight had four cracked ribs.”
“Why are you telling us all that?” I asked, a touch of discomfort in my tone. “Your boys were the ones who charged in that bar, guns blazing. And correct me if I’m wrong, but we never tried to blow them to pieces.”
“Thank you for reminding me why we’re here, Mr. Borelli,” she said, nodding with gratitude. “Now, I’d like to speak about my crew, but first, I need you all to be honest with me. What is it that you’re trying to achieve really?”
“We want a piece of the pie,” Cesare spoke out, taking a short step forward. “We robbed that armored truck to get the necessary capital to buy some guns.”
“Fucking amateurs,” Slater scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “You think the organization would just step back and let you have the arms trade? Guess again.”
“He’s right,” Rocco confirmed, returning to his goons. “The mob would have you whacked before you could sell a single cartridge.”
“If you really want in, there are only two ways to do it,” Julian interjected, making the appropriate gesture. “One? You join a family. You earn your stripes. Two? You whack the head of a family and take over in their stead. Anything and everything else is just a half-measure—a guaranteed way to get a bullet between your eyes.”
“We knew both,” I said, keeping my voice somewhat down. “We wouldn’t become anybody’s bitch, though. Errand boys don’t make much, and they do all the work. As for killing a mafia boss? We’d have to get pretty close; maybe too close. If we screwed up, we’d have an entire family on our tail.”
“I’m still waiting to hear about you and your crew,” Cesare complained, his gaze drifting from Maggie to Rocco. “These men… What are they? Your bodyguards?”