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19
Callisto
At the end of the French Quarter, along the Mississippi River, is the port of New Orleans. The port is home to several cruise lines and a twelve-acre concrete terminal, loaded with shipping containers. Colorful steel boxes stacked high and lined up in rows. Trains bring them in. Container ships take them out. This is how we get weapons to our customers. This is where we make our money.
This is where I wait for Sylvester Morano to show up.
Over the past two years, he’s been bringing his own containers in, filling them with stolen cars and broken women. More recently, he’s been stealing our weapons—with Dave’s help—and shipping those, too. That ends tonight.
I’m standing in between two rows of stacked containers, listening to the ship pull in, watching the gantry cranes move into position, waiting to walk out of the shadows.
“Where the fuck is Dave?” It’s Morano’s voice.
Right on time, just like I planned when I sent that text from Dave’s phone.
Men like Morano refuse to be outplayed. I know his type. He needs to believe he’s one step ahead. And then he needs to gloat. Which is why he showed up in person.
“Dave won’t be joining us.” I step out of the darkness. The stockyard lights are dim, thanks to the containers being stacked so high, but there’s no mistaking it’s my voice he hears.
He watches as I walk closer to the end of the row, where he’s waiting to close his last container before they load it onto the ship.
“I brought someone else instead.” I grab Aria’s arm and drag her into the light. Her wrists are bound together with a zip tie and there’s a gag in her mouth. Franco took her, just like I’d asked him to do.
Sylvester’s jaw flexes. Other than that, he shows no reaction to seeing his sister.
“She didn’t even put up a fight.” I squeeze her arm, making her growl against the cloth tied around her mouth. “Let me come all over this pretty little face.” I brush my finger down her cheek, and she flinches.
It’s all for show. I never touched her. Neither did Franco—aside from the kidnapping, obviously. But I need Morano to think I’m as empty as he is when it comes to women, that I don’t give a fuck about Makenna.
“You think because you tied my sister up, had a little fun with her, then show up here to brag about it that I’m going to throw my hands up and walk away?” He throws his head back and laughs. “How fucking weak do you think I am?” He reaches behind his back and pulls out his gun. “I’ll kill her, kill you, take all your shit—” He waves his gun at the stacks of containers around us. “Then fuck your girl and take her, too.”
My vision blurs in a haze of rage. I grind my teeth to keep from ripping his throat out.
He points his gun at me.
I breathe in.
Aria’s shaking. Tears water her eyes, probably because she knows he isn’t bluffing. He’ll kill her like he said he would.
I reach behind and take my gun out, pointing it back at him. One of us—or maybe both of us—is going to die tonight.
He smirks as if he knows it, too.
My eyes narrow. The threat of death doesn’t scare me. It’s the thought of leaving Makenna that terrifies me, motivates me, sends fury coursing through my veins.I can’t leave her.I have to make it out of here. Back to her.
Four of my men emerge from the shadows, all pointing their own guns in Morano’s direction.
He tilts his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck. “You think they’re going to stop me?”
Three of his men walk up behind him. Guns loaded, pointed at my men. We’ve turned the stockyard into a playground of rage and steel and gunpowder.
“They might not stop you,” a voice breaks through the tension. “But I will.”
The air goes stone-still and quiet as we all watch my father walk from behind the containers and stand beside me.
My fist tightens around my gun, ready to fire at the first person who makes a move.What the fuck is he doing here?He told me to handle it. I’m handling it.
His hands are in his pockets. He doesn’t have a gun. No entourage. It’s only him and Franco—and their balls of steel. He trains his gaze on Morano.
