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Ignoring Marco, I say, “All right.” I stand, straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
The others rise to join me, each man grappling with his own demons as they prepare for the conversations ahead.
As we file out of the room, I can’t help but glance at an older photograph in the corner—the faces of my wife and children smiling back at me.
***
The barn looms in the distance, a large building in the middle of the forest. I tighten my grip on the armrest as we approach.
The last time I was here, the echoes of gunfire still reverberate in my mind. It’s a place marred by decisions that can’t be undone. I killed Guido. The crack of the gun split the air as my bullet found its mark. He was as good as dead already, but it was my hand that snuffed the life out of him.
We stop at the barn’s entrance, the air thick with the heavy weight of memories weighing me down. Its weathered walls hold many secrets. The crunch of gravel beneath my shoes echoes in the stillness as I climb out of the car.
The door creaks open, and I’m the first to step inside. Dim light casts long shadows across the familiar, worn-out floor covered in plastic. It makes cleanup a hell of a lot easier as no blood will soak into the wood or the ground beneath us. This place has witnessed the darker side of the Savage Angels. I glance at the spot where Guido fell and feel nothing for him.
The memories intensify as I make my way farther into the barn. This was where I confronted Johnnie, the rage that boiled within me as I protected what was mine. The air in here feels charged with each step as I journey through the choices I made on that fateful night. The ghosts of those moments linger in the air, and I can almost hear the echoes of gunfire. Taking a deep breath, I clear my head and let those memories fade.
“Sal, you okay?” asks Lorenzo.
“Yeah, remembering long-dead ghosts.”
He nods. “The plastic on the floor is a bit disturbing.”
“It’s for easy clean up.”
Lorenzo’s lips turn down as he stares at the floor. “Makes me uneasy.”
Laughing, I slap him on the shoulder. “Don’t get shot, and you’ll be fine.” Walking farther in, a large round table with chairs positioned around it is at the back. “Come, it’s time to talk and lay our cards on the table.”
Dirt sits at the table, his casual demeanor belies the gravity of our situation. As I approach, he greets me with a nonchalant chin lift, a silent invitation to join him. “Hey, Sal, take a seat. How’s the wife and kids?”
“Good.”
Dirt smiles. “Crazy times, hey?”
“I wish things were different.”
He frowns. “With your family?”
“No. With the Abruzzis. My wife and children are the reason I do what I do to give them the best life. But now? Now, war is coming, and I’m putting them at risk.”
Dirt shifts in his seat. “You could walk away.”
Surprised he would even suggest such a thing, I shake my head. “No, I can’t. Once you’re in, you’re in. I’m too young to retire, and the family would never allow me to do that. I could no more walk away from this than you could with your MC.”
Dirt’s eyes widen and, for a moment, he freezes, then nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”
His response catches me off guard. Someone entrenched in the lifestyle of a motorcycle club, holding a position of power as the sergeant at arms seems an unlikely candidate for such contemplation.
“Do you ever think about leaving?” I ask as I’m now curious about the man behind the cut, wondering if his loyalty to the club ever waivers.
Dirt opens his mouth to speak, but Dane enters the room, clapping his hands loudly.
“Almost everyone is here. If you haven’t already, introduce yourselves. There’s not a person in this room I don’t trust.” Dane’s gaze sweeps over my men. “Even the newcomers.”
“Who are we waiting on?” Stefano asks.
“Bear, Rebel, and Keg. They shouldn’t be too far away.”
