2. Chapter Two

Anticipation hangs like a heavy fog as I survey the night-draped scene. A dozen of my men are scattered in a tight arc thirty yards from the decrepit warehouse, their faces masked by shadows and the occasional glow of a cigarette tip.

Beside me, Leo Ricci, my righthand man, meticulously checks the magazine of his AR-15. There is a subtle tension in his shoulders, not uncommon in the adrenaline-fueled moments before a dangerous job, but for Leo, it’s a little unusual.

“We move in one,” I murmur, my voice a low rasp, barely audible over the distant hum of Chicago.

The plan is straightforward: ambush Romano’s men inside the warehouse, reclaim the consignment they intercepted and leave no room for mercy.

Leo nods, his eyes meeting mine in a fleeting glance before returning to the cold steel in his hands. “Ready when you are, Nico.”

I continue the countdown in my head, then give the signal to move.

As we approach the warehouse, the quiet, rhythmic clatter of shoes on damp pavement echoes like a dirge, building an ominous suspense. My men, draped in shadows, move with the precision of a well-trained pack. The stolen consignment, a fortune in ammunition, is the lifeblood of the Outfit, and to intercept it is an affront not easily forgotten. And never forgiven.

“Ready for this, Leo?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Leo cuts his gaze sharply to mine, surprise etched on his features. Not only is he my best friend, he’s my best soldier. A job like this is something he does with one hand tied behind his back. I shouldn’t have had to be here today, let alone question his readiness for this. But something about the tension that has been radiating from Leo all week made me decide to come.

He nods, his eyes now reflecting the cold glint of determination I know so well. “Si. Always ready, Nico.”

We move like a unit, silent and quick, but just as we get within ten feet of the wide warehouse door, it swings open to reveal four men, armed and ready to engage.

They’re prepared. Someone tipped off Romano’s men to expect us tonight.

Fuck. There’s a mole among my men.

My men take in this development without batting an eye, weapons already drawn.

“Need something, Don Vitelli?” the man at the front of the quartet plants his feet wide in a defensive posture, finding me unerringly even in the darkness. He’s tall and gangly, but he carries himself with an air of authority. He’s clearly the ringleader of the pack.

A ripple of shock goes through me. Not only were they tipped off about tonight’s operation, they knew I would be among my men, meaning it’s a fresh tip because I made the split second decision to join them less than an hour ago.

And these goons are stupid or careless enough to let me know that they recognize me.

It could mean either of two things. One, I’m not supposed to leave here alive. Or two, they want me to distrust my men enough to put a bullet through each of their skulls for betraying me.

A myriad of calculations zip through my mind, adjusting and readjusting for our current situation.

I keep my voice low and shoulders loose even as adrenaline surges through my veins. “How about this, coglione? Romano’s two other warehouses are rigged to the fucking teeth with explosives. If I’m not out of here in ten minutes, it’d be like the fucking Fourth of July for him.”

They look at each other in surprise, and their leader shuffles slightly, no doubt wondering if it’s worth calling my bluff. I see the wheels turning in his head.

It is believable. There’s no way the Don of the Chicago Outfit would go skulking around with his men just to recover stolen consignment unless he was well insured—with his arch-rebel’s life’s assets no less.

He’s probably thinking he ought to call his boss and check before the entire Romano empire is destroyed.

“Ten minutes, figli di putana,” I snarl. “Or, make it simpler for yourself. Be a good little dog and hand over the stolen goods, and we’ll walk away and let you live.”

Romano’s soldier apparently has more backbone than I initially gave him credit for because he scoffs. “The only thing you’ll only be walking away with is your men’s corpses if you don’t turn your ass around and get the hell out of here, Don Vitelli. Right now.”

I sigh dramatically at the affront as my men shift, already knowing there’s no turning back from this, even if it costs them their lives. My threat may have slowed their momentum, but there’s no stopping this wrecking ball. We’ve walked right into an ambush. And there is no doubt there are more men than these four hidden inside those walls.

As I predicted, dark figures appear in the warehouse windows around us and above us, dotting the darkness like sinister vultures perched in wait. I stop counting at six.

We need a bullet-proof shield right fucking now.

My brother Dante is parked just outside the link fence, and I imagine he’s leaning against the van, smoking a joint and chatting smut to his latest ‘girl’ while waiting for me to return, oblivious to the shit that’s hitting the fan right about now.

Dante doubles as my driver and bodyguard, as well as being the most irritating jackass of a baby brother on the planet. He’s just as skilled as any of these men, but I need him unhurt so he can do what he knows best should the need ever arise: To drive like a demon and shoot at impossible angles while doing it.

Where the fuck are you, Dante?

The little shit had better be bringing that armored van around right fucking now otherwise, we’re all dead men because I’m about to throw the first punch here.

“You don’t know me very well, stronzo,” I say to Romano’s gangly man, shaking my head. “Backing down isn’t really my style. I’ve been told I can be a little stubborn.”

Beside me, Leo chuckles softly and mutters, “That’s like saying a rock is a little hard.”

It’s been a while since I’ve fought with my men, leaving Leo to do most of the strategy training. I sure hope like hell we still operate like a well-oiled machine, and these fuckers can do what Leo, Dante, and I can with a handful of bullets.

The gangly asshole shrugs. “Lo so. Your reputation precedes you, but don’t say I didn’t warn—” He doesn’t finish because a bullet flies out the pistol in my suddenly raised hand and hits him square between the eyes.

Everything stops. I suppose Romano’s rebels were expecting a few more exchanges of threats and insults, followed by a signal from their ring leader before the bullets would finally start flying because there’s a second or two of shock and confusion before they realize I’ve jumped the gun.

My men don’t hesitate. As the gangly man drops, his gun clattering uselessly to the floor, a cacophony of muzzle flashes, echoing cracks, and the pungent scent of gunpowder fills the air.

Amidst the chaos, I hear the screech of brakes before the armored Klassen van flies in front of us, an effective shield between the warehouse, the bullets, and our men. Dante jumps out armed with an M16 rifle and a demented smile. I want to kiss and deck him all at once.

Again, the sudden appearance of a bullet proof wall takes the men by surprise, this time their shock would prove their undoing as my men take advantage of their hesitation and start dropping them like flies.

They fight back, their bullets raining down from the shattering warehouse windows and slamming into the van, but while their shots bounce off, ours hit right on target. In another minute, Romano’s remaining rebels are retreating. Some fools actually turn around and attempt to flee, effectively catching bullets in their backs.

I spot one man to the left aiming at Leo’s head, but as soon as I drop him, I feel a ribbon of fire graze my left shoulder, dangerously close to my brachial plexus.

Fuck!

How did I miss that one by the side of the building?

As soon as the rebel sees that his shot hit me, he scrambles away. There are still a couple of sentries by the windows, but the battle is already over. The fucker knows there’s no way he’s making it out alive; he just wanted to take me out.

“Nico!” Dante shouts. He must have seen me get hit.

I duck, raising my arm, then making a tight fist and flexing my wrist quickly in a bid to check that my left hand still works. Thank fuck!

I swallow back a slew of curses and turn to him. “I’m good,” I yell over the din. “Cover our backs.”

His nod is swift, and for a moment, our eyes lock. There is an intensity, a shared understanding and then we round the van and advance toward the warehouse.

Almost all the sentries are dead now. More of my men come through the warehouse door, heading straight for the stairs across the room that lead up to the second floor.

Leo and I finish off a few more men on the second floor. In a few moments the echoes of gunfire fade and the warehouse stands silent.

Romano’s men lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies bloodied and their weapons discarded, their lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

We return to the main floor and meet my men, still tense and bristling with energy. A grim smile pulls at my lips. They were spectacular tonight, despite it being an unplanned battle.

It’s a fucking shame I’m going to have to put a bullet in someone’s brain. The rat who tipped off Romano.

I catch Dante’s meaningful gaze and I know he’s thinking the same thing. He says nothing, only giving a slight shake of his head before his mouth curves in his signature smirk. He won’t say anything. For all his insolence, Dante knows that questioning me in front of my men is the quickest way to get us both killed.

“Nine up there, Signore. All dead,” Salvatore reports, unfazed by the bleeding wound on the top of his right ear—a bullet likely clipped him. At twenty-four, he’s the youngest of the Vitelli ranks present tonight but also one of the deadliest, a lethal mix of tech wizardry and espionage.

“Grazie, Salvatore,” I nod. Get the doctor to look at that ear tonight; otherwise, you’ll end up with one like a cauliflower,” I warn. He nods and continues the body count as Leo approaches.

“That was some damn fine shooting out there, amico mio,” I tell Leo.

He nods with a tight smile, but his brown eyes hold a shadow, a tension in the air thicker than the fading smoke. “Just doing my job.”

Indeed he has done his job training these men, and he’s done it well.

“Let’s check it and load it up, guys,” Pietro, a stocky, hard-faced Capo, nods to the crates stacked against the far wall of the warehouse, and the rest follow him.

We stand side by side, watching on as Salvatore, Pietro, and the rest of the men carry the crates outside and into the waiting truck.

“How did they know about the ambush?” I ponder aloud, grappling for an explanation that doesn’t paint one of our own men as a traitor. “This was supposed to be a surprise attack.” I flex my left shoulder, feeling the muscle twitch and throb.

A bullet wound wasnt what I was expecting when I decided to join my men tonight, but it sure as hell beats being dead right now.

I wave the truck off, giving the signal to leave with the consignment, and then shove my hands in my pockets. “One of these men leaked our itinerary, Leo. You know I can’t have a mole in my house.”

Leo looks around at our remaining men fanned around a circle around us, still vigilant for any lingering threats. His gaze lands on one man and then the next before coming to meet mine, his eyes unwavering. “I trust every one of them, Nico. The leak didn’t come from any of them.”

I nod, though a cloud of suspicion lingers. “Keep an eye on the perimeter. We’re not out of the woods yet,” I warn in a low voice.

Leo nods and moves away, blending into the shadows outside and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Leo is like me, usually loose-limbed and exuding a confident, almost lazy calm in the heat of action. This nervous energy unsettles me.

Something is wrong with him. I wonder if Maria and the kid are okay.

Two hours later, we’re miles away from Romano’s now-burning warehouse and unwinding at Urban Elixir, one of my bars. Most of the men have been relieved for the night, leaving my top five. My Capos make it a point never to go straight home after a racket.

Leo sits beside me, nursing a whisky. Pietro, Enzo, and Salvatore are arguing over a poker game while my brother sits far away from the others. His tongue is halfway down the throat of the skinny redhead on his lap, his hand between her legs. It’s his way of decompressing, I suppose. Although that seems to be a universal Dante response to a great many situations.

I lean forward and knit my hands together on the window bar table, my eyes on the quiet street before us. “Something on your mind, Leo?” I don’t need to look at him to know he’s as tense as a bowstring. He’s practically vibrating.

“I’m just tired, Nico,” he replies, the words weighted.

“Aren’t we all, amico mio?” I say lightly, but there’s more to it. I can feel it in the knot that has twisted up inside my gut, a little more with every passing moment since we left the warehouse.

Leo throws back the rest of his third whiskey, then slams the tumbler down. “It wasn’t a lie when I told you the leak didn’t come from them,” he cocks his head toward the men on the other side of the room, then shakes his head slowly, chuckling. The sound is dry and humorless.

I sit up straighter as the prickling sensation across the back of my neck becomes a full-on burn. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, reaching for his whiskey glass. When he finds it empty, he sets it back down again and stares at it like it might magically refill itself. I’m about to hand him my own drink, but his following words make me freeze.

“That shipment?” he finally meets my gaze. “It’s on me. I made a deal with Romano. That was how they got their hands on it. It’s not the first time I’ve let them intercept our shipment, either.” And it’s because of me he knew you were coming for it tonight.”

His words land like blows to my chest. Leo isn’t just my righthand man; we’ve been friends since fucking elementary school. And he walked not just me, but my men, hell, my brother, right into a goddamned trap.

Why?

“I see.” Hot, betrayal-fueled rage pounds through my veins, making my fingers curl so hard I can feel the glass in my hand begin to give beneath the pressure before I set it down on the table. I look away from Leo as the implications of his actions settle on me.

“It was meant to be just the firearms, Nico. Romano wanted ammunition, and since he rebelled against the Outfit, he’s been iced out. So we struck a deal to let him have some—Just enough guns to arm his soldiers and protect his family and businesses. But then he started wanting…other things.”

Leo continues as if he were speaking from a rehearsed script. “My plan was to go alone tonight, tell him that I’m done working for him, and probably have him execute me like a dog. You weren’t supposed to be there.”

Leo looks around with half-crazed eyes. “None of these good men were supposed to be there. When you insisted on coming along, I had to warn Romano to give the consignment back in order to avoid a war. I didn’t expect a confrontation.”

I remember Leo walking in while Salvatore briefed me about Romano’s most recent theft. As soon as Leo heard what Salvatore was telling me, he offered—no, insisted, on going to retrieve the shipment alone.

Of course, I’d refused, instructing everyone to go instead, to seize everything in that warehouse and burn it down. A clear message to Romano and other would-be rebels for daring to double-cross me. Then I decided to tag along for the ride for good measure.

Something in my stomach turns, the roiling sensation usurping the rage for just a moment.

Leo has just signed himself a death warrant. Romano will come for Leo, and he’ll be coming for blood.

I can protect Leo. All it would take would be to call a meeting with Romano and his rebellious factions. But that would seem weak. And weakness is suicide, especially in a house that is already caving under the pressure of rebellion.

Not that Romano will get the chance to kill Leo now. With what Leo just said to me, I’m going to need to kill him. Right here, right now, and in front of my most trusted men. Men that love and look up to Leo.

As if this night wasn’t fucked up enough.

I throw back my whisky, relishing the burn and wondering what hell would feel like.

As if he could read my mind, Leo mutters, “I know I’m a dead man, Nico. Im living on borrowed time.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I mutter coldly. “Why did you do it?” Not that it matters. The reason won’t change what will happen in the next few minutes, but it would be good to know.

If my most trusted soldier and friend could do this,I look around the room at some of my most trusted Capo regimes, then I might be well and truly fucked.

“I told you, Nico. I’m tired. This life… it sucks the peace right out of you.”

“Then you take a goddamn vacation,” I snap. “Or you bury yourself in enough pussy that you forget all about your fucking troubles. You don’t—” Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what he should have done. It only matters what he did.

“I wanted something different for Maria, for Victoria. Something you could never give me, Nico.”

“And Romano can?” I scoff.

“He’s got ties to rural Cuba, a small place with Italians protected from extradition laws. The deal was solid: get him a decent stock of ammunition while making it look like De Luca was robbing you.

Orlando De Luca is the highest ranking and most powerful Capo, and one whose daughter I plan to marry in a bid to keep him loyal to the Outfit.

“Fucking hell, Leo!” My fist crashes onto the table. “You agreed to drop a grenade right in the middle of your family for a new life in Baracoa?”

Leo’s eyebrows rise in surprise.

“You think I don’t know about Romano’s little setup there? Come on, Leo,” I shake my head in disappointment. “You could have come to me instead of selling your soul to a man who would fuck you six ways from Sunday, then throw what’s left of you to his dogs. I thought you considered me a friend.”

Leo smiles sadly. “You are, but you are also Don Vitelli. I served your father and now serve you. I might as well have demanded your balls on a plate.”

True. I would have put a bullet in his skull for that kind of stupid request. And if I didn’t, my father would certainly have arranged it. Still, it has to be more honorable than going down as a traitor and a rat.

I sigh, hating the man for putting me in this position “You know I can’t just walk away from this. I can’t forgive this.”

Leo nods. “I know. And I’d rather you do it, though.” He shrugs. “It beats being gunned down by a bunch of strangers.”

I seethe. He doesn’t seem to give a damn how I feel about that burden being placed squarely on my shoulders. “My life is already a fucked up circus without you piling this bullshit—your blood—on me, you selfish son of a bitch.”

“Si, I am. I’ve put twelve of my best years into the Outfit. I’ve bled for your family. I’ve done things that keep me up at night. And even when I sleep… they’re always there, the blood, the screams.”

He reaches for his empty glass again, but he abandons the effort halfway there. “Maybe I knew all along there was no way out. That Romano was a lying snake who just wanted a chance to start another civil war. But it’s never-ending. I just wanted to get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” I scoff. He seems to have forgotten how this world works. “Your particular brand of suicide is fucked up, Leo. You’ve chosen to set fire to your own house while your family is still trapped inside. Once you’re dead, it doesn’t end. Romano will come for Maria and Victoria.”

His dark brown eyes get even wilder, “That’s why I need you, Nico. When I’m gone, they’ll have no one. I need you to keep them safe.”

Fucking incredible. “You should have thought about them before acting like a fool. You betrayed me. What makes you think I’ll lift one goddamned finger for you?”

He shrugs but replies without hesitation, “Don Vitelli won’t. But Nico Vitelli will.

I cock my eyebrow at him but he presses on. “Who you are and what you do, Nico, you’ve always found a way to keep those things separate, to keep that shit from eating away at your soul, you know?”

He’s right about my tendency to compartmentalize shit, but I’m surprised that after twenty-seven years of friendship, Leo still hasn’t figured out that I have no soul. There’s nothing to eat away. I remain silent, only watching him watch me.

Then as if suddenly gripped by a sense of urgency of someone who knows I won’t warn him before I shoot him in the next few minutes, he starts to rattle, “Maria and Victoria are staying at a motel outside the city,” he withdraws a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and slides it across the table. There’s an address, and a series of bank account numbers scrawled on it. “I’ve got some money stashed away—not much, but something. Help my girls disappear.

“You put them in a seedy motel? Are you fucking crazy, Leo?” Nothing Leo is doing lately seems to be making any lick of sense. “You might as well be waving a red flag in front of a bull. You don’t think Romano’s rebels are tailing them as we speak? Being kidnapped right now, especially with what happened tonight?”

He nods sadly, “Which is why they need you right now Nico. I’m—I’m done.”

I recognize the look in his eyes—quiet, resolute understanding and acceptance. I’ve seen that look too many times before pulling the trigger. He truly is done.

I push the paper back to him and sigh, “No need, Maria and Victoria will be fine.”

I signal the leggy blonde-haired waitress for another round of drinks. Five minutes ago, I’d been contemplating letting her suck me off. Now, I just want to get the fuck out of here. But there will be no leaving, not until I’ve done what has to come next.

I’m going to kill my best friend tonight and kill him in cold blood. I have no choice. In this life, there’s no room for betrayal.

The blonde sets the drinks down on the table a moment later, lingering with her fuchsia pink-tipped fingers around my glass and her matching pink lips smiling at me. The color seems too bright and too childish now.

I wave her off and turn my attention back to Leo. “Drink,” I say, picking up my own glass.

“What are we drinking to?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“To hoping you burn in hell for making me do this. For doing this to Maria and Victoria.”

He nods, raises his glass, and drinks every drop. When he sets down the glass, he squares his shoulders, his hands resting lightly on the table. He’s ready. No fight, no making this any more difficult than it needs to be.

I look around the room. It’s just my men, the blonde who has seen way too much, she might as well be a soldier, the redhead currently bouncing on Dante’s cock, and Michele, the bartender. I reach for my gun.

“I’m sorry, Nico. I never meant—”

The sound of glass shattering fills the room.

One window.

One bullet.

And suddenly, one man slumped on the table with a bleeding hole in his head.

Leo.

He’s looking at me, but he can’t see me. He can’t see the splatter of blood on my face. His blood. I’ve killed countless men in my life but never has their blood burned. It feels like acid, but rather than burning through my skin, it’s eating its way into the core of my me, corroding some part of me I hadn’t known existed.

I’m on my feet and out the door in a flash as tires squeal and a black Beamer flies out of the bar’s parking lot.

I squint, catching what I can of the license plate, but there’s no need to wonder who’s responsible for the shot.

Romano came for blood. The man has guts, doing it right in my club while the man was sitting next to me.

But thank fucking Christ that he had.