I grab the keys for another SUV off the wall and open the garage. A cold gust of wind whips through the garage. The heat inside doesn’t offer enough warmth for a bone-chilling winter’s day.
“You guys are assholes,” Monte mutters.
It’s not like we have a choice. There’s never much of a choice when it comes to the don giving orders.
I sit behind the driver’s side and hit the gas, hightailing it out of the garage, and before I can shut the door, Monte is already hitting the button, closing it to keep warm.
Ardian laughs beside me as he pulls the seatbelt across his lap and snaps the buckle into place. I drive through the open gates and out onto the main road.
“Where are we heading?” Ardian asks.
“The docks,” I say. Ardian handles shipments weekly from the docks. He’s familiar with the routine. “Boss mentioned there’s a big mess. Know anything about it?”
“Yeah, our last shipment was late. Don Moretti mentioned that the contents might be spoiled.”
Contents? I exhale a sharp breath.
“What kind of content are we talking about?” I ask. We dabble in guns, weapons, ammunition. Those types of commodities don’t spoil. “Drugs?” I can’t imagine a shipment a few days late went bad.
“You don’t know…” Ardian says, staring at me, his eyes wide. “Shit. I can’t believe you’re just finding out. And from me.” The grin spreads across his face like he wants to hold this new knowledge over my head.
“Spill it, asshole.” I glare at him for a brief second before returning my attention to the road.
“You’ve heard of the black market,” Ardian says.
My stomach tenses. “Yes, is Roberto smuggling humans for organ transplants?” I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s stolen the market share on harvesting organs. He is involved in plenty of shady business ventures.
“Well, yes, but that’s not what this shipment entails.”
“Out with it, Ardian!” I’m tired of his antics. What the hell will we be dealing with when we reach the docks?
“Fine,” he says and slouches in the passenger seat. “Roberto Moretti owns The Cradle.”
The Cradle is the biggest and most prestigious adoption agency in New York City.
“For fuck’s sake.” I slam on my brakes just as the traffic light hits red. I should have blown through the light. My focus is shot to hell. It’s no secret that Roberto is involved in plenty of illegal affairs, but stealing kids is one thing I can’t comprehend.
Sure, I’ve nabbed a child for Roberto Moretti on occasion, but it was because the infant’s father was part of the Moretti family, and the mother ran off and stole the child.
At least that’s the story I was told.
I’m sure it was true, and this is just something else, more sinister.
I shouldn’t care.
I’ve never cared before.
But the thought of cleaning up children’s bodies doesn’t sit well with me.
A man like Roberto Moretti has to be stopped, and I’m just the man for the job.
* * *
I’ll never forget the stench of death. The way the fumes permeate every ounce of skin and clothing.
My shirt and pants will have to be burned.
Not because of the traces of remains and blood that caked to the material, but from the stench.