17. Chapter Seventeen

Me and my guys pay a local to drop us a half mile from the warehouse—as close as any outside is allowed to go. We'll walk the rest of the way. Coming to the warehouse isn't as bad as going to the fields in Columbia. At least we have vehicles and trails here. In Columbia, it's just brush, woods, nature. It's a pain in the ass, and after the last time I went there, I told Elio it would never happen again.

This is my least favorite part of the job, which is why I'm so antsy to get back home. I tell myself it has nothing to do with Jordan, and everything to do with the discomfort of being out here. Despite her next-level brattiness and need to annoy me, I can't get her out of my head. And it isn't only the need to tame her. It's more than that. More than her beauty and what she can give me. It's because she's fighting. The fight she has is something I can appreciate. It tells me our children will be strong-willed. They'll be fighters too. And they'll have to be in this world.

The biggest problem will be getting Jordan to play the part of happy wife and allowing me to put my child in her. The sudden need to do so is interesting, even to myself. I've gone all these years without a care of not having a wife or a child, even though my father made sure my brothers and I knew how important it was. Still, I had no interest. There was no point to add more stress to my life, and my brothers agree. At least, I can only assume they have, since they too remain single and childless. Something about Jordan Delise, though. She's changed my view on everything, and for no reason I can explain.

"You punishing us?" Antonio asks after we've been walking for a few minutes.

"If I have to suffer, so do you," I respond.

Antonio and Rocco are my two most loyal men. The two who are by my side for everything. The three of us work well together, but most importantly, we trust one another. There is no doubt in my mind that if it came down to it, these men would lay their lives on the line for me. Which is why they're here.

I don't have friends. But I suppose I could consider them the closest thing to one. I know things about their lives, their families, or lack thereof, I suppose. Neither of them are married. It comes with the job. Caring about people makes you worry. It gives you too much to focus on, meaning you're careless. Distracted. No one in this world needs that shit. Except suddenly, I feel like I do.

"Thanks, boss," Antonio says with a chuckle.

He talks a lot. Sometimes too much. The guy always speaks his mind, but he does it respectfully. Rocco is the opposite. The strong and silent type. He's the deadliest guy who works for me. Ex-military will do that to you. These guys and I have been working together for close to twenty years, and I see nothing about that changing anytime soon.

"So, what are we looking for here?" Antonio asks.

"Need to talk to Thiago. Shit's going missing."

"And we think Thiago is good for it?"

"Needs to be dealt with either way."

We exit the overgrown trail through the woods and out to the small clearing where the warehouse is. On the outside, it looks beaten down, on the verge of falling apart, but that isn't the case.

There's a guard on the outside, one I don't recognize but who clearly recognizes me. His eyes widen, and he nods his head in my direction, gripping his AK a little tighter. I don't bother acknowledging him and walk inside. The warehouse is packed full of people cleaning product and doing their jobs. Good thing. I hate walking in and seeing people slacking off. The three of us head up the metal grate stairs to the office and open the door.

"Boss," Thiago says, jerking upright in his chair. The grin that was just on his face is gone, and he drops his phone to the desk with a loud slap. He glances around nervously. "I didn't know you were coming by. I'd have—"

"Cleaned the place up?" It's a stupid joke, considering it's a fucking warehouse in the middle of a bunch of fields. How much cleaning can be done?

He gets to his feet, his eyes too shifty for my comfort. "What, uh—what can I help you with?"

Thiago has been working with my father for distribution for about ten years, meaning he's now working for me and my brothers. Father always said it's the ten-year mark that screws people. It's when they get ballsy. They get comfortable and feel entitled. Thinking they've been around for too long and deserve more. So they steal. Skimming off the top. Shit goes missing, and they're smart enough to point us in another direction. Too bad for them, too many have tried it. Meaning, we know the game.

"Just a routine check," I say. "Heard there was some product missing. Needed to see if I can help."

I take a seat in the chair across from his desk. Antonio and Rocco stand behind me. Neither of them says a word.

Thiago's wide eyes tell me all I need to know. He's guilty. He sits back down at the desk, busying himself with shuffling papers around. It's obvious he's trying to make himself look busy. The least he could do is keep it together. If you're man enough to steal from your boss, be man enough to own it.

"You think anyone's good for it?" I ask, keeping my tone calm and even. I don't know if he knows I'm on to him, but I'd prefer it if he didn't. It's more fun this way.

"When going through the paperwork, it seems the product went missing over the third shift, but on different nights. There were four different people working those shifts. None I think, are more responsible than the other."

"And you alerted us right away." It's a statement, though I know it to be bullshit.

"Yes, of course."

I nod, holding his gaze. The man is a pussy. Holds not a single ounce of confidence, which is pitiful. How the hell did he make it to manage this place?

I smile at him. "Well, I'm here to handle it."

I get to my feet, and turn to face Antonio and Rocco. I give them nothing more than a raised brow, and they know what to do.

They move on Thiago at the same time. Both stalking toward him like lions.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he shouts, backing against the wall.

I reach into the back of my pants for my gun.

"Taking care of the problem, Thiago." I cock the gun and aim it between his eyes. "Is there anything you want to tell me before I do that?"

"It w-wasn't me, I swear! I just-just did what I was t-told."

Antonio and Rocco are on either side of him, ready to pounce if needed. They're like guard dogs, but bigger, scarier, and deadlier.

"Told by who?"

"Juan! He told me to let you know stuff was m-missing, and I did."

"So Juan took the product?"

Juan is the one under him. Less than a manager, more than a worker.

He nods violently.

"And you thought it was a good idea to cover for him—why?"

His eyes widen further. He splutters, and it takes way too damn long for words to come out, and I don't have the time to wait, so I pull the trigger. The bullet goes through his left eye, brain matter and blood splattering the wall behind him. Always so fucking messy.

The guys drag his body into the corner, where they drop it. He slumps over, blood pouring from the wound and making more of a mess.

"Get Juan," I tell them, and take a seat behind the desk. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, but I'm so used to it that it no longer bothers me. I remember the first time I saw so much blood I could smell it. Practically tasted it too, the scent was so strong. I was only thirteen. My father took me on my first run to one of the clubs. The manager had been stealing and harassing the women. My father didn't hesitate in shooting him. Twice. First in the dick to prove a point, then right between the eyes. My father was always an excellent shot. Elio took after him in that regard. I'm not bad, but always a little off.

While Antonio and Rocco gather up Juan, I make a phone call.

"Miss me so soon?" Rafael answers.

"You wish. How's my future wife?"

He chuckles. "Fine, I guess. Haven't heard a peep."

"Be sure to check on her," I say.

"Check on her? Or check on her?" I hear the humor in his voice.

"You know exactly what I mean, and doing the other will result in your demise."

He laughs deeper. "Got it. I'll keep an eye on your girl, Vincenzo. Don't worry."

"An eye, Raf. Not a hand or even a finger." I end the call and place my phone on the table.

Juan is brought to me about twenty minutes later, sweaty and with a swollen eye. His skin is covered in dirt and his arm may be dislocated.

I raise a brow as the guys bring him in. "Someone told him we were coming," Antonio says with a shrug. "He ran."

Great.

"Guess we'll have to clean house." Had I known this is what I'd be doing, I would have told Elio to go fuck himself and meant it. Rocco lets out a huff that sounds almost like a laugh. The man is sadistic. Cleaning house is his favorite. "Keep him in here for now," I say to Antonio. "Rocco, go lock up the place and prepare to put on a show."

He smirks as he leaves the room.

"What are you going to do? You can't kill us all. Who will run the place? You'll—"

"Shut him up!" I bark.

Antonio punches him square in the nose so hard the guy passes out and drops to the floor.

When Rocco returns, he tells me everything is all set, so I head out of the room. Antonio picks up Juan, tosses him over his giant shoulder, and we head downstairs for the grand finale.

"Everyone, listen up!" I shout, getting everyone's attention by not only shouting but waving my gun around. At any given time, we have about thirty people at this specific warehouse. It's our main one, but we keep the staff light, rotating often in 12-hour shifts. The more people we have here at once, the harder it is to manage them. "Emergency meeting. Reunión urgente!"

Everyone stops what they're doing and gathers around, most looking annoyed that their work is being interrupted. A few look scared, others look confused. It's possible some of these people are innocent, but that's not my concern. My concern is making sure my product is taken care of and sold, not stolen. I'm in the business of making money, not compassion. If they valued their lives, they'd find a better job.

Antonio wakes Juan up with a few slaps to his face, then drags him over to me. I pull the pocket knife from my pocket and I tuck the gun into my waistband.

"This man is a thief," I say. "Comprende? Un ladron." A few nod while others look even more scared. "We don't take well to thieves, you know this. We must take care of it." I move behind Juan, grab a fistful of his dark oily hair, pull his head back, and slice his throat. The hot liquid gushes from his neck, down my hand and his chest. He gurgles and circles his throat with his hands, as if it'll help. It won't. The fear on the people's eyes is instant, but none of them run. They know what will happen if they run.

"Handle the rest of them," I say to Rocco as I grab a rag from one of the nearby tables and wipe my blade and hand.

"Piacere mio," Rocco grunts as he pulls the semi-automatic from around his chest, and sprays the crowd of people with bullets that shake their bodies until they resemble uncooked ground beef.

"Leave them!" I shout as I move up the stairs. "The new ones can clean them up. Maybe it'll instill a little fear. Let them know we don't take it easy on thieves."