46. Stephano

46

STEPHANO

Il Consiglio has ruled Boston for over forty years. Don Scalera shook up the old Mafia order with merciless force, paving the way for his new regime. Then he made sure his wife gave him an army of sons—even if it killed her—to take over his reign. To say we know every back alley and dark corner in this city is an understatement. Il Consiglio owns them.

As we track the van towards the harbor, I can already see where it's unwittingly heading: our discarded warehouses, barely adjacent to a wharf. Five hundred yards, and a shit ton of razor wire and cement blocks separate this strip from Boston's commercial harbor. We stopped using this space years ago. Who knows who gave Franco Fiore access to our turf, but he's walked right into a trap. Franco might not have bought into my idea of hiring our men as mercenaries, but someone tipped him off that this is a good place to burn a body.

Carla's body, baby and all. Gigi is safe until the point where Franco doesn't need her anymore. And then, there's the other woman. The stranger who has been dragged into this mess.

Fuck.

We have several vehicles on the road tracking the van, but wary that our prey might realize he's being followed, we're doing this like a lion hunt. One vehicle backs off and takes a turn as another one slips in to keep eyes on our target and fool the driver. They aren't all blacked-out new SUVs either. We have the odd battered rattle box or two to keep up pretenses. The driver hasn't picked up that he's being followed yet, as there's no panicked speeding and turning. He just drives like a fucking crazy Italian who's suddenly experiencing wide American roads for the first time.

The streets become more deserted as we head into the industrial zone, and our process becomes even more fine-tuned. We know the lay of the land. This road splits, and both are dead ends. Idiots. Two of our men on a motorbike speed past the van to park off and keep us posted where it chooses to pull in. When the van goes right, we go left and wait.

Benedict and Dominic are on their way, and we need them. Don Scalera was a sharpshooter of note, and those two inherited his skill.

A pin drops on my phone, and I show it to Matteo and Luca where they're sitting in the back.

"Well, fuck," Matteo says. "We'll get Benny and Nicky to take him out from the windows, or through a hole in the roof."

The row of warehouses will make it possible to walk along the roof right up to the one Franco chooses, without him being aware we're there. There are two access points on either side of the row, something he wouldn't have checked out.

"Too fucking easy," I grunt. I'm like a great white shark that has smelled blood. I'm pumped to end Franco, and I will.

"Fine, but we take out his men first," Luca says.

"Obviously. Gigi and Carla are in there."

"Let's hope he doesn't barrel them up to die," Matteo mutters.

I shoot him a glance. "Really? What the fuck, dude?"

"One of the Don's party tricks." He shrugs. "Personally don't care for it."

I shudder. Matteo has been places us younger lot haven't. Not that we didn't get our fair share, but still.

Benedict starts a video call, and we strategize our next move as the second confirmation comes in from one of the motorcyclists: Franco pulled into the second last warehouse. Through a small hole in the wall, the motorcyclist saw three women with two other men who are carrying automatic rifles and handguns.

I glance at my brothers. "Seem like a thin spread for such a momentous moment?"

"Arrogant fucker. You're on, boys. Go clean up what you can," Matteo says to Dominic and Benedict.

"Yes, boss," Benedict teases with a smirk. This is new for all of us. In the past, Matteo was the first-in-command henchman, but now, he's the Don. Not that we care to call him that, and he doesn't seem to give a fuck.

"Leave Franco for me," I say. "We're right behind you. We'll be blocking the street, so don't waste time."

"Got it, Steph," Dominic says. "Don't get your balls all knotted up."

Fuck . "Remember my wife is in there."

"As if you'd let us forget that."

Benedict kills the call, and a heavy beat of silence fills the car.

I'm trembling. My fingers are shaking so much, I have to put the phone down.

Luca reaches for my shoulder and squeezes it. "Save it. Bottle it up. You're going to need it."

It's as if my twin already senses what I need. I stretch my fingers and fist them, taking deep, slow breaths. Somehow, every trajectory in life has led me to this point.

I'm primed to perfection.