10. Ezra

Chapter ten

Ezra

I’m poring over the stocks, counting the guns the stockkeeper had stolen, when Elio bursts into my office, an excited grin on his face. “He’s on the move.”

Finally, some good news after a frustrating day. I jump to my feet, exhilaration coursing through my bones. “Finally.”

With Elio taking the lead, we make our way to my study. He takes a spot at the window by the bookshelf. My feet twitch with excitement as they take steady steps to join my second in command.

“Why are we here?” I ask, as Elio hands me a pair of binoculars.

“I have had him tailed for days. This is where he comes to make his calls,” Elio clarifies.

Looking out the expansive glass, I take in the large expanse of land inside the compound. The long stretches of mowed greenery remind me of when I was a boy–the evenings I helped my mother pick out wilted flowers from flower beds, the afternoons Mother watched me play in the tranquil pond, glimmering in the distance.

The memory washes over me like melted honey, but the sensation does not last long.

“There,” Elio nods to a figure creeping into the garden.

Right on cue, I raise the binoculars to my eyes.

“ Quel bastardo (That bastard),” my teeth grind.

The garden? it is the only spot without cameras. Clever. But not clever enough. This is my mansion; nothing goes on here without word getting back to me.

Just like the fool caught stealing from me this morning, this bastard is either full of bravado or just plain stupid. His slicked-back black hair glistens with a hint of grease. His scruffy, unshaven face, and sunken eyes dart from side to side like a paranoid rat, scanning his surroundings to ensure he is alone.

“I had just made the announcement of the merchandise ready for delivery, tonight,” Elio adds. This is the final bait? the wiggly worm on the fishing hook.

“Got you, Tomasso.” I zoom the binoculars.

Tomasso thinks he’s slick, but I’ve seen this routine a hundred times. It is only a matter of time before he screws up. Tonight will be his mistake.

A finger taps my sides, and I lower the binoculars to see Elio handing me a radio. “I wiretapped the garden so we can hear him,” he explains when I shoot him a quizzical stare.

I give him a nod of approval.

Good job, Elio. Always one step ahead.

Time to finish this. I take a deep breath.

We stand by the window for a few more minutes, observing the suspect as he suspiciously brings a phone to his ear.

“Signal the men to standby.” I clench my jaw, satisfaction rising in my chest. “They should be discreet about it, too. We don’t want to scare the rat just yet.”

Elio nods and conveys my orders to his radio. “All men get in position.”

I should have noticed the rat sooner, it would have been too easy. He joined the cartel barely six months ago but won’t keep his head down. Tomasso was always too eager, always quick to jump on duties that kept him closer to me, and from what I hear, he asked so many questions above his pay grade.

Had he joined the family solely for this purpose? Or was he corrupted somewhere along the line?

I’d initially attributed his actions to him wanting to fit in, wanting to please me, wanting to climb up the ranks. I hate to admit I was wrong.

The scratching sound of the radio snaps me out of my thoughts, and I bring the binoculars back to my eyes.

Tomasso is on the phone. His voice is low, but he’s so close to the wiretap that it’s easy to make out what he says.

“We just heard from the right hand. It is tonight...” He falters, digging his four fingers between his armpit while his thumb rests on his chest. From the way his thumb rapidly beats against his chest, I can tell he’s nervous.

A man on the other line says something we don’t catch.

“The boss is jumpy. Extra measures are being taken…” His voice wavers, reducing drastically, but we still pick up his words. “What if it is a trap? You know Marino would not hesitate to eliminate me if he finds out.” His fingers are now between his teeth. He seems to be biting into his nails.

My lips lift at his fear. The fact that he knows and still goes ahead to screw me over. Bad boy.

“The plan is foolproof. You can’t get cold feet now.” The man on the other end speaks in a harsh tone, voice raised and more urgent.

His head turns from side to side, his eyes scanning the surroundings wearily like he thinks he's being watched. “I know the plan. I just don’t think…” he trails, the fear thicker in his voice.

“It is not your job to think. It is your job to do as I say,” the man screams over the phone. “The location! Now!”

“Grab him,” I order Elio. I have all the proof I need? Tomasso is the mole.

Elio nods once and relays the command. “Grab him.”

Through the binoculars, I see eight of my men. They’re lying on the floor, elbows against the floor in a crawling position as they hide behind the flowers. At the order, two of them stand. Their position is behind him so Tomasso is unaware of the danger lurking. He tells the man on the phone the bait location we slipped out.

The two men swiftly jump out of the flowers. One of them lunges a kick to the back of his knees, and he falls to the ground.

“Don’t move.” The other one aims a gun at his head. The rat looks stunned and the phone slips from his grip onto the floor beside him.

“What…What is going on?” Tomasso stutters and tries to stand, but the remaining six guards rise, and he slowly backs into his initial position. My men have him circled. There is nowhere to run.

We have him. The Cheshire smile breaks through my face.

Not wasting another minute, I make my way out of the study, down the stairs, and out to the garden. A mix of anger and excitement engulfs me.

It was satisfactory to see Tomasso’s eyes widen in panic. If only he knew the plans I have in store for him.

“Boss…” he swallows when he sees me, clasping shaky palms and tucking them between his thighs like a coward. “I…I…” he lowers his head in shame.

Stopping right in front of him, I shove my hand in my pocket while Elio retrieves the phone from the ground. He would go through it for any substantial info.

“Tomasso, is it?” I tilt my head to the side, taking slow steps towards him. The bastard is quiet. It makes me angrier.

With a nod, I motion to one of the men. He approaches Tomasso and drives a fist to the betrayer’s face. Tomasso lets out a scream like a pussy, blood oozing from his busted lips.

Taking out my hands, I fold them over my chest and put a foot forward. “I ask, you answer. That’s the way it works. Now, try again.”

“Sì, Boss (Yes). Sono Tomasso (I am Tomasso),” Tomasso responds. His voice is surprisingly smooth compared to his body vibrating in fear. He doesn't bother to wipe his busted lips.

I smile at him. “Do you know how much trouble you are in?”

He doesn't let me continue. “Boss…” he mumbles, a few drops of blood spilling from his lips onto the ground as he does so. “This is a mistake.”

A strained chuckle escapes my lips. “Well, we are about to find out.”

I bring my fists to my sides, closing the small distance between us. Before I grab his neck, Elio interrupts.

“Boss?” He moves towards me, stretching the phone as if in disbelief. “It’s clean…the phone.”

Tomasso’s head shoots up, his face relaxing a tad bit. He seems to have his game up to easily wiggle out in case he gets caught.

Not taking my eyes off Tomasso, I tell Elio, “Give him the phone.”

Elio does not question me, even though my request puzzles him? and Tomasso. He does as I say.

“Call them. Set up a meeting.” I take a few steps back, digging my hands into my pocket with gritted teeth. I want to know who he is working for, the coward who is out to destroy my empire.

Sweat breaks out on the rat’s forehead. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Elio hide a smirk.

“No…I can’t. They’ll kill me.” He strains, palms clasped together in a pleading motion before him.

The act irritates me. “And I will dismember you limb by limb!” I deadpan. His fucking audacity to think this is a negotiation.

At my threat, I catch the fight leaving his body. He’s done, and he knows it.

I say nothing but hold his stare with my hard, livid one.

Elio shoves the phone back into Tomasso’s hand. “Call them,” he growls.

Tomasso hesitates, his eyes darting between us. Then his eyes flick down to his waist just as he drops the phone. In a quick, desperate move, he pulls a small blade from his pocket.

“Tomasso!” Elio lunges, but it’s too late.

The knife plunges deep into Tomasso’s neck, a strangled gasp escaping him as blood pours out, soaking his shirt. He collapses, clutching his stomach.

Fuck!

“Shit!” Elio curses, dropping to his knees, then hurriedly pressing his hands to the wound. “We need to get him inside!”

His going this far as to not reveal who he works for tells me all I need to know. Without wasting time, I bark orders. “Get him to the stitch room. And bring Raven. Now!”

They move fast, hauling Tomasso’s almost limp body inside and up the stairs. I follow closely behind, my frustration rising with each step I take. It’s like just when I'm at the edge of a breakthrough, something fucking happens, but there’s no time to brood on that now.

My in-house doctor is always just a phone call away. But this time, it’s different. The situation is critical, and I know it will take my cartel's doctor some time to arrive. We don’t have the luxury of waiting. I can see the blood pooling beneath him, dark and thick, every heartbeat echoing in my ears as I glance down at Tomasso.

Raven is our only shot. I hate relying on her, but she’s our best bet with a needle now. She’s the only one at this moment who can save this bastard long enough to get the answers we need.

By the time I reach the stitch room, I see that the guards have already brought her in. Raven is there, pulling her hair back into a bun with shaky hands. She looks too jittery.

Her lips quaver as she scans him. Tomasso is sprawled out on the operating table, eyes half closed and epileptic movements coursing through his body. He’s losing too much blood, and he doesn’t look like he’ll last long.

“No.” I make my way through the steely shelves on either side of the walls. When I reach her, I make sure my voice is calm. The last thing I want is to add to her fears.

“I need you to focus, Raven.”

The sound of her hard breathing fills the room before she places the back of her palm over her mouth. Fuck. Her hands are still trembling.

“I—I’m trying,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. Her eyes flick to Tomasso’s pale face. “I’m just a resident. What if I mess up?”

From experience, every operation is fifty-fifty. But I can’t afford this loss… not when we’re this close.

“You won’t.” My voice leaves no room for doubt. “You’ve done this before, I’m sure.”

She breathes again and brings her hand away from her mouth, her eyes wide and uncertain. “Yes, next to a supervising surgeon to make sure I don’t mess up; plus, there’s not enough tools.”

“Not enough tools?” I meet her stare with a deep frown.

“I need surgical gloves. I don't even know if this place is clean enough to perform any procedure. He stands a risk of infection and.. and…”

I drown out her words. For goodness sake, that is the least of our problems right now. But I don’t want to lash out at her. It will only do more harm.

“Just do what you must. You are more than capable, Miss Nightshade.”

I’m not sure if it is the pep talk or the name, but the fire in her eyes ignites, and she grabs a bottle of vodka from the sink to wash her hands. Then she quickly walks back to the operating table. She leans over Tomasso, her brows kneading together while examining the cut. “Clear the room. We need to stop the bleeding.”

Her voice shakes as she presses down on the wound, her hands already covered in his blood. It’s pouring from his neck faster than either of us expected.

I waste no time nodding at the guards, and they get the signal. They exit the room except one that I mutter a ‘stay’ to.

“Hand me a cloth,” she says without glancing away from Tomasso. I quickly walk to the shelf on the right and bring a piece of white cloth from the neatly stacked pieces. The fabric isn't too thin or thick, but it’ll do.

She hurriedly grabs it from my hand and replaces it with her hand, pressing against the bleeding. A split second later, she turns to me. “More cloths. We have to elevate his head.”

Again, I oblige, bringing the whole stack for her. With her one hand against the cut, she shrugs some fabric off and puts the remaining stack below his neck. His head rises, and I feel like giving the fucker a blow.

“Water,” she orders again.

There’s a transparent keg at a corner of the room filled with treated water. I don't need to signal to the guard before he acts quickly. He walks swiftly to the keg, grabs a bowl from the shelf, and fetches the water from the bowl before handing it to Raven.

Raven wastes no time in drenching a piece of cloth with the water and swiping it against the area. With every swipe, the blood becomes less until the wound looks less gruesome, but blood continues to trickle a path down his neck. “Keep pressure here,” she motions at the guard, who again quickly moves closer and presses the cloth against his neck. I take a step back and clench my teeth, my breathing coming out in strained pants.

He has to survive.

Only the sound of her footsteps fills the room as she sways her luscious hips to the shelf on the other end and grabs a tray. She arraigns the tools she needs and returns back to the operating table. She singles out the needle, thread, and needle holder, pouring vodka on them before positioning them on the cut.

I see her release a breath as she tries to steady her hand. I’m tempted to tell her she's got this, but I don’t want to disrupt her flow.

She heaves. “I want you to stay with me, okay?” she whispers to a half-dead Tomasso before inserting the needle and passing the thread through the loop. As she repeats the motion, I watch her, and slowly, the tension in my bones eases.

Watching her work feels good… oddly. With her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands work swiftly but with controlled precision, and it seems to take me to another realm. Somehow here… in these circumstances, she looks even more beautiful. Her back is hunched in a way that accentuates her ass through her mid-length nightgown.

I instantly recall the events of yesterday, and a small smirk slips onto my lips. When I saw her in that night dress…fuck. The way it clung to her curves. How her nipples stood against the silk fabric, begging for my attention. The way her breathing shallowed.

But the feelings didn’t last long because of her damn attitude, of course.

Feelings. My smirk melts into a frown when I recall her wrists. They'd seemed swollen. Despite the fact that she called for trouble, I couldn't help but be angry at the sight. It took great restraint not to find the guard and smash his head against the wall. But that'd portray me as weak because, in the end, she did try to escape.

A dry laugh almost leaves my lips at the thought. Weak… I'm not weak. I'm anything but that. I've killed hundreds… taken the lives of many. Still, I got angry when I saw her hurt.

Fuck. Perhaps that’s why I transferred aggression to the stockkeeper. I may have given him a less painful death.

Her eyes flick up to mine, interrupting my thoughts. I'm grateful for the interruption because what the fuck was I thinking about in a moment like this?

She looks down at her patient and snips the thread with a razor. Then she holds my gaze, lips parting as she takes a deep breath. From the dull look in her eyes, I can tell what she'll say next, and she doesn't disappoint.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

No, she didn’t. It’s Tomasso’s fault she’s in this mess. The bastard must live to tell me who he’s working for.

“Will he live?” I eye Tomasso. He doesn't look any different from how he did before. In fact, he looks worse.

His skin looks almost gray, and his breathing is shallow. Fuck. I can’t lose him—not with everything he knows.

Raven doesn’t answer right away. She won’t look at me, and when she finally does, there’s something I don’t expect— tears. Her eyes are glassy, full of unshed emotion.

That hits me like a punch to the gut. She looks like she’s barely holding herself together, and I can’t wrap my head around it.

I glance back at Tomasso. His lips are pale, and his body is stiffer than a log of wood. He’s a corpse, his face pale as death itself. Raven wipes her hands with a cloth, moving slowly like she’s too exhausted to function. She doesn’t even meet my eyes.

“I couldn’t save him,” she says, her voice breaking as she brings a hand to wipe tears off her cheeks. “I tried, but… I’m sorry, Ezra. I failed.”

Her eyes are swollen, laced with sadness, and I feel sorry for her. I'm tempted to console her, but I restrain myself. Not now, not when our plan has just been reduced to only hopes of Tomasso’s people taking the bait.