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“Can’t talk about it now.”
“No, we need to. I’ve just got some disturbing news. We need to head to America.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“The fuck are you saying, Ales?”
“Rocco went there on vacation. Marco, we’ve chased down every fucking lead, and Grazie’s death only leads to one direction. Rocco. Nothing makes sense about how your estate was infiltrated, and he’s the fucker in charge. I just got off the phone with him, and the answers he’s giving don’t add up. I’ve learned that the security system wasn’t hacked like he initially said nor was there a glitch. They were fucking turned off.”
“You sure about that?”
“Tommy says so,” he says of a guy that works for AD Logistics, the family’s transportation company.
That’s all the confirmation that I need. Tommy knows his shit, and he’s never been wrong.
“You and I both know that Rocco’s the only one that can do that,” Alessandro says.
“I’ll carve his fucking heart out of his chest and deliver it to his mother’s doorstep. Then I’m gonna cut his small pecker off and have it delivered to his wife!” I explode.
“Where are you?” Alessandro asks.
“Handling some other business right now.”
“Finish up and get ready. We’re heading out in the morning.”
“No, we’re fucking leaving tonight,” I say before ending the call.
I can’t fucking believe this. There’s no one I can trust now; neither my security man nor my best friend. As much as I don’t want to, I can’t help but eye all the motherfuckers in my camp with suspicion. I trust no one except for my brothers.
I step inside the semi-dark warehouse flanked by Gino and Ermes, pushing thoughts of Rocco to the back of my mind. His betrayal will be dealt with later.
Inside the warehouse, I’m greeted with nods from Paolo and Carmine.
The two men stand on either side of a sloped plank where Luca’s face is covered with a towel. I look to Carmine.
“He’s said nothing yet, boss.”
I haven’t spoken a word, but Luca knows I’m here.
“Marco, please!” he begs.
I rip the towel back from his face and look into the cowardly blue eyes of Luca De Santis. He’s always had smooth, polished good looks compared to my rugged, outdoorsy looks. Luca’s pride and joy were his dark, wavy hair and long, black eyelashes.
Today his hair has been shaved from his head, and his eyelashes clipped off. He looks like a fucking bald eagle.
“Acqua!” I order. Paolo pulls the towel back over the man’s face, and Carmine starts pouring water.
I don’t find satisfaction in the gurgling, choking sounds he makes.
“Fermare!”
They stop, and both men look at me confusedly.
“Luca,” I breathe as I unstrap him from the board.
“Boss,” Carmine says hesitantly, but one glance from me silences him. He knows better than to ever question me.
