Chapter 2
Gio looks at me sternly, showing he’s ready, as we listen closely for any sounds on the dock. Aside from the apparent scurrying of distant rats, birds sleeping the night away, and traffic, nothing sounds out of the ordinary.
That’s the problem.
According to our intel and inside man, at least ten men from the Rossi crew should be here. It should be lively enough to see people moving around or hear conversations. Ten men should be willing to die for a war they’ll never know the root of. Yet it looks deserted.
Dead even.
Not even a board is creaking on the worn wooden pier nearby.
Though it has been well over twenty years since I was first introduced to Lorenzo Rossi, it’s different from what I remember. It’s possibly because I’m here at night, and the limited lights cause more shadows to creep everywhere. There’s no music echoing throughout the area, and the two guards at the front that we expected to be there are nowhere to be seen.
It’s suspicious and could be a trap. It's not like it’d be the first one we’ve walked into.
I look at Gio again, and my thoughts mirror his.
Either this is a plot to use against us, or they’ve already moved out.
Without speaking, I nod towards the side entrance that we were told would be unlocked, ensuring that I don’t make any fast movements or bring attention to ourselves. The one thing we don’t want is to create a scene if we don’t have to.
Our orders are clear.
Get in, get the information, and get out. We were alerted that rounds had been completed, and the proof we needed was there. So, while we’re trying not to cause casualties, should the opportunity present itself to kill their men, we won’t hesitate.
Leaving them a message.
Crossing The Families and Council won’t be tolerated. Though I could give a fucking shit about The Council. In my opinion, they’re a bunch of old fucks that sit around with their metaphorical dicks in their hands and thumbs up their asses. Using their inane positions of authority against us.
Lined up along the wall, I reach out and grab the knob, slowly opening it. A loud creak from the door screeches, echoing louder in the quiet space than I expected. I stop, holding my breath, waiting to hear something– Anything.
It’s so quiet inside that I know if someone is here, they undoubtedly heard the rickety door, but the absence of shuffling alarms me more. Hair stands on the back of my neck at the lack of response. My breathing damn near halts as I anticipate my next move in my head quickly.
Why isn’t anyone here?
I’m aware this location isn’t Rossi’s largest warehouse, but it’s one of the first that his family owned, so he’s proud to have it still. Even if he only had a skeleton crew, he wouldn’t leave this place deserted.
Apprehensive, I pull the door open more at the risk of being ambushed. Peeking in the warehouse, I'm immediately greeted with a ripe coppery smell that tinges on the air, permeating it with the sense of death I’m all too familiar with.
Fresh blood.
And a lot of it.
I look over my shoulder at my men before I stand up straight and walk into the warehouse. They enter behind me. Not even ten feet within the building, we stop. Next to me, Gio’s hazel brown eyes take in the scene, astounded, then meet mine briefly.
“Cazzo.”
He mutters under his breath, releasing a whistle. “Who do you think did all this, huh?”
The question is barely audible. His accent is heavy when he’s nervous, and I can see that he doesn’t like the looks of this either.
While we were supposed to send a message, this is a massacre and not our style. One that my uncle, Don Domenico, isn’t going to like. He’ll undoubtedly have to accept that this was done before we got here, but he won’t be happy that we’re no closer to getting what he wants.
Or what I want.
Revenge.
The other men join us in the warehouse. I watch as they react the same way that Gio did. Startled by the scene we had nothing to do with. Not that my men are bloodthirsty, but they know the costs that come with being a part of this family, and they’re fully aware of what they have to do.
They’re not savages, but they’re not saints by any means.
Acknowledging that there isn’t much of a point to staying here, I stick to our original plan. I call out orders to my men, reminding them what to do. We scout the warehouse. All we need is proof that Rossi has been stealing unnoticeable amounts of shipments from the other families and pocketing the amounts that should be distributed as equal shares.
We’re tired of civil disputes that are pushed aside and pointless wars. We want annihilation. But while the other families aren’t aware, we will have to clear any retribution with The Council before moving forward. They are a council that was appointed over thirty years ago. One person is unanimously chosen from each gang to represent them, their terms and conditions, and to speak on that family’s behalf.
A council that is allied on the idea of peace.
Lately, none of them have been worth a fuck. They’re too old to care for change or what’s going on between us.
They don’t get involved in minor disputes, lives that are lost, or loves that are taken. They don’t even get involved in domestic matters anymore. They make a command and expect it to be followed within twenty-four hours or action is allowed. If that command is followed, no retaliation can be taken that incites full-out bloodshed.
But this massacre…. This is different. This is far more personal than anything I’ve witnessed.
As I walk through the warehouse, slowly taking in the scene, I see the bodies that are strewn all over the place. The dense, coppery smell polluting the air only makes this worse than we imagined. Bullet holes seem to riddle every crate, table, window, and surface, but from looking at the men, they have stab wounds. Some have more than others, telling me that this was an up-close attack.
It makes me wonder how people with guns weren’t able to take down assailants with knives and what disadvantage Rossi’s men were at.
“Dio mio.”
I look around, trying to grasp what could have happened here. I don’t see signs of anybody else. From a surface look at things here, the vast amount of blood covers what could be underneath all of this to show who is responsible.
That’s not my concern.
I stop. Looking down, the body of our informant on the ground is even less of a shock. I stare down at Benny, shaking my head. I should feel bad that the poor asshole met his maker this way when he was trying to turn his life around finally, but I don’t. In this line of work, we all have a timer on us. It’s a high possibility that I would have killed him myself after this.
Sure, he had given us the in that we wanted, but a rat can’t be trusted.
Gio steps up next to me. He sucks his teeth, looking down at Benny before he bends down to his haunches. He uses the nozzle of his gun to inch Benny’s head in the opposite direction, then releases it for his head to turn back. “Someone worked him over real good. See the stab wounds? They’re clean. Maybe ten of them, all to his chest, neck, and face. A lot of force.”
I nod. Gio would know. He’s a knife and sword enthusiast. “Can you tell what knife?” I ask.
Below me, he shrugs. “No, I don't know.”
He stands to his full height. “But they made a point.”
Not like I give a shit.
I continue around Benny. While we’ve been scouting the warehouse, the other men have been taking pictures as evidence. If we produce proof to The Council, this war will involve more than just us. Every family will have to look inside their own house and find out who is receiving a cut to look away, but Rossi will be finished.
That's not how I would prefer to end them, but it’s still as effective.
Some of the men have joined us as we survey our surroundings. Just as I thought, they didn’t find anything, and while we didn’t lose anyone, this was a waste of time. We’re all antsy and on edge.
Something about this scene feels unnatural, and we can sense it. We can all vividly see the raw rage in this attack, the unhinged reckoning. It’s an unearthed, brutal rage that makes one's blood curdle. A rage that is unmatched in so many senses that it’s frightening to witness the aftermath of it.
There were ten men here tonight, including Benny, and all ten of them have been slaughtered without any hesitation or care. It’s as if whoever did this only saw them as an obstacle but still made sure to leave an impression on whoever discovered them.
We were somehow just the unlucky fucks that got that opportunity.
Our footsteps reverberate throughout the space hesitantly, taking in what we can. Some of my men still take pictures. I’m sure to show it to their friends or even my other men once we leave.
It reminds me that I will have to have their devices scrubbed immediately. Even though the devices that they were given are set up to be scrubbed automatically, anything shared will be deleted. I can’t help the anxious energy that vibrates through me.
Nobody knows anything about this.
Nobody needs to know anything about this.
A picture of these men is proof, and this type of proof isn’t the type that we want.
Rounding a corner of the deadly, silent warehouse, we all stop at the sight that we come across. Most of my men stare in nervous awe, unable to pull their eyes away, while others look down, muttering prayers in Italian. They’re all in shock.
It amazes me that after all this time, seeing and doing what we do, they still have time to believe in God– that they believe in a higher good. I stopped years ago when I realized that if I were a child of God, he wouldn’t have put me in my family. Once I accepted that, things had come together for me without any problems.
I’d rather find solace in being a child of the devil than striving to be in someone’s good graces. It helps me sleep better at night.
I step closer at the same time as Gio, both of us curious to see who the victim is. Tied down across the glass top table on his stomach, a pole shoved up his ass, Luca Rossi’s wide open eyes stare at us all in vacant horror. There’s no mistaking that he suffered. Aside from the obvious, his face seems to mirror what must have been his last moments.
Terror.
My men’s faces show their surprised disgust. Some of them look away, unable to take in this sight, and others can’t pull their eyes away. I block out their muttering, instructing those who feel sick to go outside. Only a few of them take that offer, but the rest remain.
Dread fills me. Realization makes me mentally stutter on the fact that this isn’t anything that I expected to find tonight. What bothers me the most is that these men haven’t been dead that long.
We could have walked into this catastrophe.
I step closer to Luca to get a better view. The deep breath I take in is more than I mean to give the deceased man. From his back, you can see the razor cuts that line his body, then are cauterized with what looks like a blow torch, though I don’t see any sign of one here.
In an ironic twist of karma, it looks like information was trying to be extracted, and I wonder what they wanted or if they got it.
Rossi has more enemies than I realized.
The glass table that Luca lays over is the one thing that stands out the most. It’s out of place. Not that I doubt that there was a table in the warehouse, but it’s in the middle of the walkway for a reason. Assuming that this was done for a reason, I bend down, my eyes taking in what I see.
Fuck.
I hate being right.
What seems like thousands more cuts plague his body and are cauterized on his front. My eyes move up to the jagged slit in his throat that’s more of a whackjob. The skin that now bears similarities to thawed chicken skin appears to have been separated from the muscles in his neck. A gaping, open wound presses against the glass, causing the filleted skin pieces to spread out and reveal tendons and nerves that I never wanted to see up close. While my brain falters on the brutality of this act, I take notes for future reference, only stopping when my eyes fall on something odd. The burnt smear where his penis should be is all but obvious, and I stare at where the missing appendage normally is supposed to be. Inwardly, I cringe at the image it leaves, but show no emotion when I stand up straight.
This is personal. Scarily so.
I admire the work that was done. It’s like poetic justice was brought down on Luca. Any man who rapes, tortures, kidnaps, and traffics people shouldn’t meet a better fate.
“His cock?” Gio asks.
We both look at each other, knowing without having to look. Luca’s cheeks are stuffed as if a scream got caught in there…. But we know what did.
“I’d like to meet the man who did this.”
A response would be worthless. I would love to have the man who did this on my team. Any enemy of Rossi is a friend of mine.
I turn around, preparing to leave. A hint of something that smells like a light vanilla wafts into my nose, but I ignore it, succumbing to the fact that I don’t have to do anything tonight and none of my men are lost. “Andiamo."