Chapter 2

TWO

Angelo

Uncle Enzo stands in front of the warehouse outside Bastia when I get there, a troubled expression wrinkling his features. Gianni shuffles his feet next to his father, not meeting my eyes.

"Where is he?" I ask.

My uncle juts his chin toward the corrugated iron building. The old meat packing plant is abandoned, but I survey the surroundings, taking everything in with a glance. The men are stationed on the outskirts, watching the road. If anyone approaches, they'll have ample time to eliminate the threat or alert us.

"Signing a deal with Powell was a mistake," my uncle says. "I warned you, Angelo. You're getting too greedy."

His sour expression spoils my appetite, and it's not even lunchtime yet. "You mistake greed for power. The deal was never about money. It's about control."

"We already control the sea routes between France and Africa. Isn't that enough?"

"It's never enough." He of all people should know that. "My father built a kingdom. If he was here today, he would've done exactly what I'm doing. He would've created an empire."

My uncle clamps his lips shut, but the creases on his forehead don't even out. He's always been the cautious one, the handbrake of the family. My father called him careful. I call him a coward.

I don't dislike my uncles, but I don't have any special affection for them either. My feelings toward them are neutral. Of late, I'm finding it harder to respect them. Maybe that's because my father dealt with them. I never had to work with them directly. I merely had to tolerate them. The only reason they're still a part of the business is because we're of the same blood, and I owe them respect as members of our family. I owe it to my father's memory.

Unable to stand another minute of my uncle's whining, I address Gianni. "Where did you spot him?"

Gianni glances at me from behind his long fringe. "He was snooping around the warehouses on the docks, taking pictures with his phone." He turns a phone to me and swipes a finger over the screen, scrolling through a collection of photos of the warehouses from different angles. Some images feature the fence and the gate. Others show the security team patrolling the property. "We caught him in the parking lot behind the boatyard."

I nod at the man who guards the entrance. He pulls back the bolt and opens the door.

"Go on," I tell Gianni.

He gives me a startled look.

Uncle Enzo's nostrils flare with the sigh he blows out, but he commands his son with a resigned tilt of his head, indicating the building.

Gianni climbs over the raised threshold with palpable hesitation. I follow and shut the door. A battery-operated lamp stands in the middle of the floor, throwing a circle of bright white light over the concrete. In the middle of that circle, a naked man dangles upside-down from a ceiling beam. A rope secures his feet to the metal bar, and his hands are tied behind his back. The stink of sweat, urine, and blood hangs thick in the air, pierced with the faint smell of ammonia.

Gianni gags. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and slams it over his mouth and nose.

I go closer and inspect the man. Both his eyes are swollen shut. His cheekbones and lips are split. Bruises mar his face and neck. Blood dried on the lashes crisscrossing his back and torso. Uncle Enzo's men did a number on him.

"Who's there?" he croaks, straining his neck.

I crouch down, putting us at eye level. My voice is soft because I don't need to raise it. I have his full attention. "What's your name?"

"Geoffrey," he says with a hiccup. "I told you everything I know." He starts crying. "Fuck." He sniffles before managing to control himself. "I already told you everything. Just let me go."

"You didn't tell me."

"What the fuck do you want?" he cries out, twisting his body in his bonds.

I grab his hair to still him. "What were you doing on my property?"

He freezes. His fear is so great it oozes from his pores. That's right. Now he knows who he's facing. No further introductions are necessary.

A great deal of slobbering ensues. "I was only following orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Mario Marziale."

My uncle already told me, but I wanted to hear it from this rat, from the informant who was spying on my warehouses. I take a moment to think just because I can. Just because time is on my side but his is running out.

Mario Marziale is a fucking thorn in my side. He's a new player, a man who quickly rose to power with drug money. He's got no business sense and even less mercy. He doesn't abide by the rules of our kind. He probably woke up one morning and decided he wanted to make more money by controlling the seas between Asia and Corsica.

Fucking fool.

Using Geoffrey's hair as leverage, I shake him. "What were his orders?"

"To watch the warehouses," he exclaims. "To note your comings and goings. How many men patrol the grounds. When they change shifts. What kind of weapons."

I put my mouth next to his ear. "Just to watch?"

He jerks his head away from the sound. "Only information."

To find out what he's up against. To sniff out my weaknesses.

He wants to find out what he's up against?

He will. I vow it on my father's grave.

I let Geoffrey go with a shove.

Turning to Gianni, I say, "Finish him."

In the bright light of the lamp, Gianni turns ghastly white. His face freezes in a silent exclamation of shock.

Geoffrey protests with more sobbing, wiggling like a fish on a hook. "No. Wait. You said you'd let me go."

I adjust my gloves. "I never said anything of the kind." Addressing my cousin, I continue. "Get going. I don't have all day."

Gianni looks as if he's going to throw up.

The first man I killed was for Sabella. Well, not literally for her but to get the information I needed to tie her to me. I was twenty at the time. However, I got my hands dirty long before then. My father taught me all the tricks of torture and how to get the toughest of men to talk before I turned fourteen. To date, Gianni has only seen me do the work. It's about time I take care of his initiation.

When Gianni just stands there, irritation slips into my tone. "Don't you have a gun on you?"

He shakes his head.

"Never face an enemy without a fucking gun."

Taking my gun from the back of my waistband, I give it to him. He accepts the weapon with a trembling hand.

"If you want him to die slowly, aim for his stomach," I say. "If you want to make it quick, go for the heart or the brain. Between the eyes is always a solid choice if you don't want to waste time or bullets."

Gianni stares at the Glock. A drop of sweat runs down his temple.

Geoffrey wails.

My tone is dry. "Any time now." I fold my hands in front of me, widen my stance, and wait.

The first time is always the hardest.

Gianni lifts the gun and aims. He shakes so much the barrel is all over the place.

"Steady," I say.

"Fuck." Geoffrey starts to pray and then interrupts himself to beg. "Please."

"I—" Gianni wipes a forearm over his brow. "I can't."

I place a hand on his shoulder. "Easy now. It's just us. Me and you." No one else here to witness his cowardly display. "Aim and pull the trigger. He's a sitting duck. You don't even have to chase after him and hit a bullseye in the run."

Gianni falters. He drops his arm. The gun dangles uselessly at his side.

I sigh and hold out my palm. "Give it here."

"You can't," Geoffrey screams.

Gianni clenches his jaw, raises his arm, and shoots.

Geoffrey howls. Not dead. Gianni hit him in the bicep. Idiot. Before I have time to react, Gianni pulls the trigger again. Geoffrey yells like a pig that's being slaughtered. The bullet tore into his knee.

"For fuck's sake," I mumble. "Just put him out of his misery."

Gianni starts crying.

Wrestling the gun from my cousin's hand, I point the barrel between Geoffrey's eyes. My aim is steady. The shot I fire kills the traitor on impact. His body goes slack. Finally, silence. Except for Gianni's wheezing.

I grip his arm and make him face me. "It's us or them. Always." Tapping the barrel against his forehead, I say, "Remember that. If you let them go, they'll come back to fuck you over. To torture and kill you. Letting enemy soldiers go sends the wrong message. It says we're weak." The memory of dismissing Sabella's bodyguard, Roch, instead of putting him six feet under enters my mind. I should've killed him. For once, my uncle was right. But my mother's death was still too raw. I couldn't dishonor her memory like that.

Gianni shakes off my touch.

"Got that?" I ask.

He wipes his nose with the back of his hand before nodding.

"Clean up your face," I instruct.

He dries his tears on the sleeve of his jacket. When he's presentable, I open the door.

My uncle stands on the other side, nervousness etched on his features.

"Take him for a drink." I tilt my head to Gianni who follows. "He may need a stiff one."

My uncle gives his son a pained look. "Did he…?"

"No." I make my way to the car with long steps. "I did."