Arranged

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

A lejandro

There was no such thing as being too careful. Certainly not in the underworld in which I lived.

Danger, violence, and unpredictability prevailed, something I’d learned the hard way only a couple of years before. I had the scars from thinking I could trust someone I’d thought was vetted and had considered loyal.

Loyalty had proven hard to come by, men selling their souls and even their firstborn child if it meant becoming wealthy or moving to a higher plane of power.

The brutal education had provided me with keen observation skills and a will to live.

Even if that meant killing someone I cared about.

“Christ, buddy. Don’t look like you just lost your best friend. This is routine shit.” Dion Marcini was a man I considered a mentor of sorts. He’d taught me a thing or two about handling enemies, proving that even those with charisma coming from their ass could be considered savages.

“Something bothers me about tonight,” I told him in return. There was no reason I remained on edge. Don Santorelli’s Underboss knew what the fuck he was talking about, becoming the right-hand man of New York’s most powerful mafia family. While he always acted casual about business transactions, he had his eye on the ball at all times. I’d seen him turn into a carnivore with a venomous strike on more than one occasion.

“And what’s that? The payout?”

On the dark and stormy night, I’d gone with him to handle collections. While still considered lucrative, rousting small companies for money in exchange for protection was a dying industry.

Even Don Santorelli, a man in his middle sixties, had succumbed to easier, wiser methods of handling business. That included utilizing the internet, online banking, secure emails, and keeping hackers on staff. Hell, the man had even resorted to having me establish Facebook and Instagram pages, determined to highlight his charitable contributions and acts.

I’d been shocked the other morning when he’d grilled me on the use of TikTok. I hadn’t found the heart to tell him the platform might not be around that much longer. I applauded his attempt at acting normal in a world of violence.

“It’s too quiet. This is a wine distribution center. They have twenty-four-hour shifts. Didn’t you notice how few employees are in the warehouse?”

We were headed to the main office where the manager Randall Essex resided, the aging man never once giving us any trouble. The guy was putting three kids through college. He needed his job.

Dion stopped only feet from the closed office door, taking a few seconds to scan the perimeter of the oversized space. With a nod and nothing else, he motioned for another Capo to come closer.

Gio approached, but was far too nonchalant about his duties for my liking. Given the relatively calm waters as of late, every soldier had become lazy in their duties. That was my opinion and one I wouldn’t share with my best friend. Dion certainly didn’t like being challenged.

“What’s up, boss?” Gio asked.

Both Dion and I caught sight of two obviously very nervous workers keeping their distance while constantly darting their eyes in our direction.

I immediately reached for my weapon, my gut telling me this was a setup.

“Check the perimeter. Keep all eyes out for any trouble,” Dion told him.

While we didn’t have a full force with us because that usually wasn’t necessary, the men who kept us protected were skilled marksmen. But if this was an ambush, award-winning skills meant shit.

Gio didn’t need to be told twice what to do, moving quickly toward the door we’d come in from.

“Relax. We’ll be in and out in ten minutes. As long as the fucker has the money ready.” Dion seemed relaxed, but I sensed he was paying close attention to our surroundings.

I still had my hand on the handle of my Beretta when we reached the office door. He threw out his arm, giving me a nod that translated into buttoning my jacket.

While I did as requested, he was well aware my reflexes were better than most. He walked inside and Randall immediately stood. He was sweating more than usual, immediately wiping his palms on his trousers.

It was often the little things that brought attention to an unusual occurrence. Maybe that was why my hackles continued to be raised.

“Randall. Just a routine stop. We weren’t trying to interrupt your business,” Dion said to him as he sauntered closer to the nervous man’s desk.

I glanced around the room, attempting to gather if there was anything out of the ordinary beside the man’s nervousness.

“It’s okay,” Randall managed.

“Short staffed tonight,” Dion continued.

“Yeah, Molly had her baby and I have a couple out sick. Plus, there’s some big fire going on down Burke Street.”

There was nothing particularly wrong about Randall’s statement, with a single exception,

If Molly had birthed her child, there was no chance for the kid’s survival at only four months.

With Dion laughing, acting as if the man’s statement was normal, he didn’t have a chance to see my expression shift from emotionless to offering a warning.

Gunfire broke out seconds later, loud voices coming from the main room.

Randall dropped as if on cue, the scum hiding under his desk. I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet into the asshole’s brain myself.

But there was no time.

Both Dion and I raced to the office door, my friend and Underboss giving me a nod. With a hard kick of my boot, the door went flying off its cheap hinges.

Another wave of gunfire erupted, this time the aim directed toward the open doorway. We’d worked together so many times that there was no need for directions. As soon as the last of the bullets was shot into the office, we both moved into the middle of the doorway, shooting indiscriminately.

Bodies went down, grunts and moans heard just before the dead men slumped to the cold concrete.

We didn’t stop there, both of us shifting from side to side as we were faced with enemy soldiers popping up from every direction.

When a son of a bitch got too close to Dion, I was the one to put a bullet in the asshole’s head. Dion grinned as he threw a look over his shoulder. Later, he’d tell me that he owed me one.

Hell, the man owed me more than ten, but I wasn’t counting.

We had each other’s backs. In the cruel, calculating world of the Italian Mafioso, it was the one thing I could count on.

Five minutes later, quiet fell onto the warehouse. Other than a couple of cries from the remaining employees who’d taken refuge underneath tables and pieces of equipment.

Gio rushed into the room, sweat beading across his forehead.

“Who the fuck did this?” Dion demanded.

“The fucking Lupini boys.”

Lupini. The name wasn’t a surprise, although the peace shared between the two powerful mafia families had been ongoing for years. But when power, influence, and money were involved, treaties born of evil and bloodshed were only as good as the next dead body dropped on your doorstep.

“Well, fuck,” Dion snarled, immediately heading toward the office. I followed behind him, reaching the chickenshit Randall before he did.

As soon as I jerked the traitorous asshole to his feet, he pissed in his pants. Good. He should be terrified of what we would do to him.

“Who the hell did this?” I growled.

He acted as if he had no clue, his face turning red.

I slammed his back against the wall with enough force to jar the fillings in his teeth.

Randall moaned, already starting to whimper like a kid. Goddamn, there was nothing worse.

“Stop fucking blubbering and talk,” Dion directed.

I was required to give Randall a savage punch in his gut for him to start talking. “I suggest you follow orders if you want to see those three bright kids of yours again.”

“Oh, please. Please don’t hurt them.”

While the three kids were college age, I had no intention of killing children. Not my thing and fortunately an act considered distasteful by the Santorelli syndicate.

“Talk,” I barked at him, issuing a deep growl.

“Okay. He did. He forced me to. I’m sorry. I had no choice. I just made a call you were here. Nothing more.”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Drago. Drago Nozella.” Randall proceeded to sob.

I eased him down, allowing the broken man to cower against the wall while I turned my attention toward Dion. “Drago is a real pig.”

Dion laughed. We’d had a couple of squabbles with Nozella since he was Don Lupini’s Underboss, but nothing more than kids acting like bullies in a schoolyard. Still, the man was dangerous and more than a bit insane.

“Interesting. I guess Don Santorelli will soon learn the truce might be over.”

“Yeah, it might be.” I took a deep breath and held it. In a world of monsters, it was only a matter of time before the beasts came out to play in the darkness.

The time was now.

And I was looking forward to it.