Tesoro: Mayhem Makers

Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

DANTE

Beads of sweat rolled down the back of my neck as I stared out the window at the passing city. I half listened to Frankie as he spoke about a winter storm headed straight for Dallas. My attention was stolen by the woman back at the hotel. It’d been three years since I’d seen her, held her, loved her into oblivion. It wasn’t possible, I told her that, and reminded myself of the harsh truth.

Glancing down at my clenched fist, the letters I’d had tattooed there so many years ago, a permanent reminder of what I’d lost. Bellamia was my world from the moment she looked at me with those green eyes of hers. I worked hard to prove myself, not only to her, but to her father. I’d sworn to protect her the day he placed her hand in mine. We had the kind of love those romance novels of hers described, anything she asked of me, I did without question. Our life together was perfect, until it wasn’t.

“If we wrap this shit up quick, we can get the fuck out of here before the storm hits.”

“Is everything ready?” Adjusting in my seat, using the moment to pull me out of the dark hole I swirled around most of the time. One twist away from tossing it all.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that question, Dante.” Frankie didn’t bother to lift his attention from his phone. He was as seasoned as they come, one step ahead of everything and everyone.

Angelo snickered, but remained silent as the SUV pulled into the deserted parking lot.

Stepping from the vehicle, the bitter wind slaps me in the face, forcing me to shove my hands into the pockets of my coat as we make our way into the warehouse. Falling in step behind Angelo, I look up at the gray and angry sky, silently agreeing with Frankie we needed to wrap this shit up and get the fuck out of here.

“They’re two minutes out,” Frankie moves around me, offering his phone to Angelo. How he is tracking them I will never know, or question for that matter.

“Is Victor ready?” Angelo slides into one of the chairs at the poor excuse of a table in the center of the room. Taking the role of leader like a duck to water.

“Waiting on your signal.” Frankie moves to the corner of the table, taking his place as street boss.

Dropping my body onto the closest chair, I use the remaining time to get my head in the game. Any dealings with the Cartel is asking for trouble, reprimanding them, is asking for death.

“They’re here.” The announcement leaves Frankie's lips with the same energy as if he were talking about a food delivery instead of the seriousness of the moment. My gaze snaps to the front of the warehouse as the door opens and a handful of men enter.

I can almost hear Angelo’s teeth grinding as we watch Chuy and his men sway into the room as if they own it. Poor bastards are too cocky to know when they have been outsmarted. Neither Angelo or myself bother to stand as they approach, respect isn’t something any of them will receive today.

“What the fuck, Cavaletti, didn’t daddy teach you respect?”

“I wouldn’t speak of respect if I were you, cabro?n.” The verbal slap rolls off Angelo’s tongue coated with venom. He raises his left hand, motioning toward Frankie who nods before pressing the screen of this phone.

“My father taught me many things, including how to deal with thieves.”

Angelo wasn’t referring to our biological father, while he did teach us how to work hard, it was the man who stepped in after his death who taught us so much more.

“Thieves? Is that what this is about? Someone ruff you up and take your lunch money?”

Chuy’s smile drops as Victor and two of our men step from the shadows. His eyes grow wide, and then immediately narrow as Victor shoves a bloodied Manny to the floor.

“I told them not to kill him,” Angelo chuckles. “Out of respect.” He adds in a flat tone, skyrocketing the tension in the room.

“The stunt you and your little bitch here pulled is going to cost you.”

Chuy stands silent, no doubt weighing his options. Given the Cartel’s and by extension his reputation for being ruthless, I’m betting he thinks the odds are in his favor.

“How much?” His answer is clipped, and I instantly know my assumption about him is right.

“Thirty percent.”

“Thirty?” Chuy echoes in astonishment. “You crushed his fucking nose.”

I watch as Angelo leans forward, twisting the ring on his middle finger. He was still getting used to having the thing, and I wondered if he was channeling the man who wore it before.

“Pull this shit again and I’ll crush the rest of him.”

Angelo’s voice is laced with seriousness. His words contain no warning, but a guarantee if Chuy does what I think he plans to, things will become deadly. My brother knows how to speak in a way the cartel will understand. Even someone as stupid as Chuy.

“I’ll expect what he stole plus the thirty percent within twenty-four hours.”

Chuy remains silent as he motions for one of the men behind him to collect Manny. As I watch the entourage exit the door, my gut tells me this is far from over as the entire interaction had been too simple.

“Come on, fuckers. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Angelo adjusts his jacket as he stands to his full height. Mimicking his actions, I move to retrieve my cell when the door flies open and the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings out.

“Motherfucker!” Angelo screams a second before I watch him drop to the floor. My muscles flinch as I dive to the ground on top of him, a burning sensation filling my shoulder as the sound of gunshots continue.

“Don’t you die on me too, brother.” I shout in his ear as I reach for the gun at the small of my back.