8. Ezra

Chapter eight

Ezra

I watch as the workers offload the dozen trucks lined up. Tractors pick up the offloaded crates and line them against a wall where the products will be sorted and repackaged in different boxes, then reloaded in black vans ready for their trip to Canada.

I'm in my warehouse— an old, abandoned building situated on the quiet industrial street of Bushwick. Occasional flickers of light shine briefly against the bags of cocaine to my left. Tall shelves filled with different bags of drugs progress at every few inches of the space.

Where the shelves are insufficient, the items are placed on floor shelves or tables. The ones on my left are on a shiny silver table, the usual spot for smaller orders, while the ones to my right are stacked with brown cell tape on the floor shelves, their height spanning to almost touch the roof.

Before me, the lines of crates, boxes, and more bags of all kinds of illicit drugs litter every inch of the space. Behind me, between the peeling gray walls streaked with strums of white, there’s a corridor that leads to a small office for me. But today, I choose to be out here… in the center of my success.

Elio and I arrived in Brooklyn in the early hours of this morning, and my men were already on the ground, right on schedule. A deal was going down tonight and I needed to personally oversee this operation, especially with a mole still on the loose in the cartel. Though I tightened the flow of information, the Canadians count on me to deliver, so it has to be business as usual… no interference.

I cross one leg before the other, leaning forward in my seat as I stare at the small photo in my hand. Brown eyes and brown hair, the man I recruited last year stares back at me. Tomasso Gonzalez looks unsuspicious with a wide, boyish grin and a moderate build that holds an AK-47 before his frame. Of course, it isn’t far-fetched that he’s the mole.

After Elio had confirmed to me three days ago that we had eyes on the mole, I’d been planning. Initially, I’d planned on using a schemed mission as bait. Since we discovered he’d been making calls to unknown numbers, we figured it'd be best to bait him with information— give just him the details of the mission— if it’s compromised, then he’s indeed the mole.

But this mission is too important to be used. My fingers involuntarily tighten until I make a hole in the photograph, right through his head just where I’ll kill him once the time is right.

Apprehending him now will not give us all the information we need. It’s better to let him believe he has outsmarted me and eventually lead us to the source of our problems. The real mastermind behind this.

It doesn’t take a genius to know there is a higher person using my men against me. And the minute I unmask their identity, I swear to God, I’ll kill every fucking one of them.

Anger fills me, but I don’t let it settle as I focus my attention on the contents of my steel desk. Several tightly wrapped bags of heroin are before me, the white powder peeking through the transparent nylon. Bluish scales complete the view with a foldable lamp standing tall in the center of the bags. I raise my head to sniff the drugs from the bags before finding my lighter.

Pulling the cigarette between my lips, I set the tip on fire and take a quick drag, then I bring my eyes to the man in front of me.

“Everything on schedule?” I ask the foreman.

He wipes the sweat off his brow. “Yes, Boss. The vans will be ready soon.”

With a nod, I check the Richard Mille watch strapped on my left wrist. We seem to be beating time. Good. “Ensure the drivers have the route right. No stops. No distractions. I do not want any surprises.”

“Understood.”

He gives a curt nod, but before he turns, I ask again. “You said the new shipment came in clean,” I demanded, puffing on my cigar without glancing at him.

“Sí, Boss. Straight from Colombia. No tampering.”

My eyes skim the parcels on the table. It does look clean, but I’ll be damned if I am not ready for surprises.

I reach for the drawer and pull out a sleek metal case. Setting the cigar down on an ashtray, I flip the latches of the box open with a flick of my wrist. Inside is a small kit? scales, vials, and a razor blade.

Taking the razor, I slice through the top of one bag. The material splits cleanly and reveals fine white powder beneath. I pinch a small amount of the product and feel the texture, then taste my finger.

My head tilts to the side. Seems legit enough.

“It is pure.” I glance at the man in charge, who looks relieved. Then, I glance around the space, clapping my palms to hurry them up. “Hurry the fuck up!”

The men instantly double up while the foreman moves to reseal the bag on the table.

Macho and muscular as they are, I know they don't have the guts to openly challenge me. This brings my thoughts back to Raven… as if I have ever stopped thinking about the events of that night.

Her bravery both amuses me and catches me off guard. She got to me the best way she knew, and I applaud her for that. As much as I despise her shenanigans, I’m still a man with desires and a penchant for beautiful, naked women.

Raven knew exactly what she was doing to me when she stripped off that towel without a second thought. Fuck! That body . My mouth still waters at the imagery. Something in me stirs that goes just beyond my dick and, as odd as it may seem, I decide to keep her around for longer.

Noticing Elio walking towards me, I push Raven to the back of my mind. “ Qualcuno è qui per vederti (Someone is here to see you),” he says. “ è importante (It’s important).”

That’s odd. I am not expecting any visitors, and definitely not at a place like this. “ Chi (Who)?”

“Agent Miller.”

The drug enforcement agent. He rarely shows up here. I briefly wonder why.

“ Dov'è lui (Where is he)?”

Elio jerks his head toward the back. “ Là (Over there). Sta aspettando (He’s waiting).”

I make my way through the corridors to the office. My men are almost done moving the repackaged heroin to the delivery vans, and satisfaction washes over me. Evening is fast approaching and I feel some type of anticipation that our operation will be taking off soon.

Like everywhere else, the office is dark, laced with the stench of activities going on outside. I pass the bodyguards at the entrance and see Agent Miller on the chair opposite the desk. He’s in his usual white shirt, black pants, and a black baseball cap.

When I reach him, he’s looking down at the floor, his fingers tapping his crossed arm.

“Miller,” I acknowledge, nodding when I take my seat. He lifts his head and acknowledges my presence with a bow.

“We’ve got a problem.” He cuts straight to the point. He doesn’t need to say it twice, bad news is written all over his pale face.

I only hope what he wants to say is not as unsettling as he looks.

Without glancing away from him, I say, “Leave.” I wave at the men at the door. They nod sharply with a curt bow before leaving. Elio remains, of course.

“Go on, then,” I urge the agent when we are alone.

He rubs his hands against each other tightly, his facial expression morphing into concern.

“There is a new task force in the Drug Enforcement Agency. Their mission is to take down the cartels…”

His words hang in the air as I study him. Miller is a trusted agent and has been with me for half the time I became the don. Not once has he failed…or stalled in his job, and I wonder what’s different now.

I scoff and interject, “Why are you telling me this?”

He should know better than to bring problems to me. It’s what I pay him for.

He shakes his head and rises to his feet, adjusting the waistband of his pants. “You don’t understand,” he starts. “The head of the task force… he is untouchable.”

“Nobody is untouchable.”

Tilting my head at him, I shoot him a questioning stare. I already have a sense of where this is heading, and the urge to take a drag overwhelms me. Still, I keep my face neutral.

Miller’s discomfort at the situation is apparent from the way his one hand lifts his cap and the other wipes perspiration that has gathered on his forehead. “This one is clean. He can’t be bought, bribed, or blackmailed.” His voice rises a notch. “He’s got nothing to hide. They will be on you like a hawk the moment you make a move.”

On me? This is one of the few cases where I have someone in the force on me.

“Does this mean you’re unfit for your job?” I grit my teeth at him.

He grips the edge of the desk before flattening his palm against his dark hair. He’s distressed… very. I’ve never seen him like this.

“The task head is the assistant director in charge. That title means a senior executive position within the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he sighs, holding my gaze. “The FBI is involved now. It's not that easy.”

My attention peaks at this. Of course, it’s a fucking joint operation between the FBI and Drug Enforcement Agency. I open the drawer in the side of the desk and bring out a lighter and cigarette.

I watch Miller scrunch his nose slightly when I light it and take a drag. Only one thing bothers me with this information. Is this related to Russo? Or is it a mere coincidence? I highly doubt that.

“So what do you suggest?” I tighten my fingers on the cigarette.

“That you stop all operations for now.”

As fast as he says the words, I rise to my feet and slam my fist on the desk. Miller winces, and from my peripheral vision, I see Elio’s posture stiffen.

“Impossible.” I hold his gaze, clenching my teeth.

“I- I know this is hard for you but you can’t undertake any mission now. The task head is on the lookout. He has men at every border, and it’s going to be the new normal from now on. It’s too risky for you… for your men.”

My breathing becomes hard as I turn my head skywards before turning my back to him. “Fuck!”

I can’t be stopped. I shouldn’t be… not now that I have an important deal with the Canadians.

“Boss,” Elio calls, and I turn. “I think we have to listen to him. We have to cancel the deal tonight.”

Elio’s words don't make it any easier. My breathing comes out in short pants as I glance from Elio to Miller. Elio’s expression gives nothing but a hard resolve, while Miller’s expression is a mix of concern and fear.

Running a hand through my hair, I let myself breathe until the rhythm of my chest feels stable.

Apart from the sound of men working and vans roaring to life, there’s nothing but silence in this room. Never have I had to stop an operation because of the force… and I swear this will be the last time.

I raise my eyes to Elio before breaking the silence.

“Stop the vans.”