Page 55 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

Those bastards.

“Alert the men,” I say, heading for the garage. Francesco grabs his walkie-talkie immediately.

“All members of the special unit assemble at the garage now.”

My men are divided into different units so that every duty we have to carry out is going on simultaneously. We may not be in the majority, but I know it’s better to have structure than a massive, chaotic mob.

“Where’s their base?” I growl. I’m finding the Marinis today, and God help me when I do, I’d relish tearing their heads from their shoulders. My pulse quickens with excitement at the thought of blood spurting endlessly from the men who threatened Elena’s life.

“Capo, they’re currently holed up at the warehouse on Seventeenth Avenue. They have a drug packaging routine, and the Don, Gabriel Marini, goes there to supervise himself at noon every day.”

“What time is it now?”

I click the unlock button to my BMW and get into the driver’s seat.

“It’s a few minutes to 1 p.m., Capo.”

“Perfect timing.”

“And Francesco. Let Silvio go.”

He’s a dead man anyway. He basically helped ruin the Rossis. Enzo will decide whether he lives or dies.

***

There are six of us as opposed to the eighteen of them, but we have an advantage: they don't know we're coming.

Moving stealthily, I signal my men toward the entrances. One of them rams his shoulder into the door; the impact alerts the men in the warehouse, but it’s too late for them. Francesco and I aim, dropping five of them on the spot. The rest scatter around, diving behind the wooden crates.

Where’s the fun if they're all going to scurry away like rats fleeing a burning ship?

I holster my gun and slide under one of the tables where one of the cowards dove, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. His eyes flare in terror when they meet my grinning face. My fist collides with his jaw so hard that blood spatters and teeth clatter across the floor.

He grunts, going on all fours to get as far away from me as possible. I grab his leg, dragging him back toward me and ramming my fist into his face again.

Something cracks, the sound sending a thrill of excitement through my stomach as blood pours from his mouth and nose. He reaches for my eyes; anger flares in my chest. I smash his skull into the concrete until it splits open, then slide out from beneath the table, locking onto my next prey.

My men have slaughtered most of the foot soldiers packing the drugs; now I just have to get a hold of Gabriel Marini.

Someone aims at me from the gallery, but I swiftly drag the man in my hold in front of me, using him as a human shield. Francesco sprays the man in the gallery with bullets, sending him crashing over the railing.

I toss the dead man aside and kick down Gabriel’s office door with my boots.

Bullets spray at us from every angle as the door comes down. Francesco steps in front of me, knocking out one of the guards with the butt of his gun and using his dead weight to absorb the incoming rounds while I shoot down as many men as possible.

From the corner of my eye, I see Gabriel slipping away through a back door with two men protecting him.

Running back into the warehouse, I hurry after him through one of the side doors, blocking his path.

“Who the hell are you?” he spits at me. The man is small but well-built, with a protruding stomach. His graying hair is slicked back on top of his head.

“Who I am doesn’t matter.” I cock my gun and aim at the knees of one of the men flanking him while one of my men keeps his gun trained on the other guard.

“What do you want? Money!?”

“Money?” A brash laugh rumbles from my throat. “I’m here for your soul.”

He snatches a gun from the holster on his waist, but I’m faster. I aim at his hand, lodging a bullet directly through his wrist, shattering the bone and painting his brown suit red. He yowls in pain, falling to his knees.