I walk across the parking lot to the building. Matteo and Lucia’s cars are parked near the loading dock. The old warehouse looks as tired as I feel. The dark brick is blackened from years of soot and weather. Rust runs down the old fire escapes and the place looks worn and forgotten.
Exactly what I want.
No one would ever suspect all the illegal operations we have going on inside.
I walk up the steps to the concrete platform and press the code next to the solid iron door. A buzzer sounds and the door opens.
The large open space of the warehouse meets my gaze as I take in the high-pitched ceiling supported by exposed steel trusses. The walls are an off-white with concrete columns coated in light gray.
Each area is sectioned off and filled with large boxes and storage containers. Lighting and sound equipment are stored in labeled cases. Trussing, rigging hardware, and road cases are stacked along the walls. Bar supplies take up a corner with unopened liquor bottles, kegs, extra glassware, and bar tools kept on pallets. There are extra ice machines, CO2 tanks, refrigeration units, and tap parts.
Stackable chairs, bar stools, cocktail tables, VIP lounge seating, rope stanchions, and portable dance floor panels have been wrapped up carefully and placed against the wall. Backdrops, signage, themed props, mirrors, and wall panels join them. Cleaning chemicals, mop buckets, trash liners, paper goods, and restroom supplies line some of the shelves, while paint, tools, spare fixtures, and replacement bulbs line the others.
The bright LED industrial lights that run down the middle of the ceiling have been dimmed, casting the far corners into darkshadows. In the center are Matteo, Lucia, and Enzo surrounded by crates. They are working on the shipment that was delivered the day after I got shot.
A few of the boxes have been opened and I see it’s the order of the LED high-top cocktail tables for the outside patio. The slender round tables have been turned upside down and Matteo and Enzo are unscrewing the bottom.
At the sound of my footsteps, they look up. A confused expression crosses their faces.
“What are you doing here, Cugina?” Matteo looks down at the screwdriver in his hands. “I thought you were out with your investigator bae.”
“What’s going on with Madeline Toma? Did she do it?” Lucia takes a sip of her coffee.
“H-how did you know…” I don’t finish that sentence. Of course they are keeping tabs on me just like I do with them.
“Got it,” Matteo wedges his fingers under the plastic and then lifts up, taking the back piece off. Enzo reaches inside and pulls out a rectangular-shaped brick wrapped in thick plastic. A logo has been stamped on the front.
He hands it to Lucia who places it on the scale that sits on top of another crate. She makes a note then puts it into a burlap sack.
“The shipment is in good condition?” I look around at the large doors and utility access points at the far end of the warehouse.
“Yes, we got about twenty-five bricks weighing sixty-five pounds. Gino will be here in an hour to pick them up and distribute them to the west side.” Lucia makes another note in the ledger.
“Where is the other one?” I ask.
“What?” Matteo looks at me as he takes off another back piece on the table.
“The delivery that came the night of my party. Did you open it?”
“Nah, we had the guys put it against that wall over there.” Matteo nods to dual 96 x 30 wood shipping crates in the far corner. “We figured we would wait for you to come and open it. We did an overall inspection scan and there are no bombs or hazardous materials inside.”
“I’ll go take a look.” I glance at my phone. No text from Dominic. He has no reason to text me right now, but it still would be nice.
“I’ll come with you.” Lucia places down her cup and follows me. “After all, you still owe me all the details about the gala. Enzo owes me some good money.”
“I can’t believe you’re making bets about my sex life,” I snap.
“You did the same thing with everyone when I was dating Giosuè. It doesn’t feel so good when the shoe is on the other foot now, does it?”
I glare at her. “The party was fine. Apparently his new client is trying to find out if his wife is cheating on him with Valerio Neri.”
“Ugh, I hate that guy. I would love nothing more than to ice him but then we’d start a real war,” Lucia groans. “Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah, much to my dismay. He made a lot of cryptic references about chess and dead butterflies.”
“Really?”
“Then he somehow foreshadowed my untimely demise.” I stand in front of the two crates and fold my arms.
