An Hour Earlier—The Docks
The Lombardi loyalist turned informant lies at my feet. He looks peaceful in death. His eyes are closed, his wrinkles smoothed.
His neck, on the other hand, is a tapestry of blood and slashes.
I try to rein in the sense of satisfaction I feel at snuffing out this rat as I twist the new information around and around in my head. Rokiades has valuable cargo, he told us between screams and slices. He claimed he didn’t know what that cargo was, and after a while, I actually believed him.
To thank him for telling us the truth, I’d ended his miserable life.
This shit, Lombardi and Rokiades teaming up to challenge me… it’s not over yet. But soon—very soon—it will be.
I turn to Phoenix at my side. “You wanna do the honors?”
Phoenix nods somberly. Then he places his foot on the side of the informant’s body and kicks hard. The corpse flails around and catapults into the water beneath the dock we’re standing on.
“The authorities will find his body at some point,” Phoenix points out.
“One more dead Italian won’t bother the police at all,” I promise him. “Especially not a shit-for-brains loser like that motherfucker. Besides, I pay them enough to look the other way.”
“Fair enough. But now we’ve got to get our hands on this valuable cargo he told us about. Wish he’d told us what it was…”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. “We know it’s valuable. And we know it’s critical to the Greek-Italian alliance. We also have a location. That’s all we really need to know.”
“We’re heading there now?” Phoenix asks eagerly.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’ve called in two more teams just in case this thing gets out of hand.”
“Will two teams be enough?”
“An excessive show of force is unnecessary. It implies that we have something to be scared of. We don’t. Twenty years in this city and I have yet to meet another man who frightens me.”
Rhys walks up to Phoenix and me, consulting his phone for a moment. “Speaking of the location, boss, I’ve got an ID on the place.”
“And?”
“It’s a nightclub in town.”
“A nightclub, eh? Who owns it?”
“Yannis Rokiades,” Rhys replies.
“I fucking knew it,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “This is good, though. We can nip this thing in the bud. Let’s go.”
* * *
“Let’s move in. Phoenix, you’re with me.”
We’re gathering in the alley down the street from Rokiades’s nightclub. Silencer screwed on and gun tucked in my pants, I’m ready to go. O’Sullivan men swarm around me, with more on standby if necessary.
I’m thinking of Phoenix’s mother when I order him to stay with me during the raid. Esme would fucking slaughter me if he got seriously hurt. He gives me a grimace, but doesn’t question my command.
We sneak around to the back of the club, while a few of my guys approach the front, posing as unassuming patrons.
There’s a lone bouncer manning the back entrance. The guy’s massive—at least a head taller than I am and three times as wide.
He turns to Phoenix and me suspiciously as we approach. “There’s no entry from here,” he says harshly, eyeing us both with keen dislike. “Keep it moving.”
I notice he’s got a pager hanging off his left hip. One wrong move, and he’ll be able to notify the entire club of our presence.