Chapter 18
Castor
I’m in the basement of one of my gold shops, staring at the severed head in the freezer. His mouth is still wide open and filled with solidified gold. The business side of me wants to carve out the block and repurpose it. But the cynic in me wants to deliver him as is, so Yuri knows my signature.
I slam the door shut and pace in the closed-off room. Bringing Gia in was a huge mistake. I tend to do that sometimes, even with my crew – thinking they have the same desire for revenge that I do. The fuck was I thinking? Pride blinds me when my blood’s boiling. Now I ruined an amazing thing for nothing.
No… it’s not nothing.
How could I really be with a woman if she doesn’t know what I am? Had I not shown Gia, she would fall into the category of surface-level. And she’s far too good for that. But she can’t handle the business. It’s obvious. She literally shunned her brother for the same type of shit.
Me and Marco aren’t so different after all, I guess.
Now how the hell am I going to make it up to her? I spooked her good. Definitely got carried away.
I kick a bucket hard into the wall and curse to myself. It’s been a few days since the incident. Catching up with all of my crew gave them relief I hadn’t flown off the handles.
Yet while they calm, my anxiety rises.
The clock’s ticking.
Every day this Russian is missing, is another Yuri has no answer. I have to make my move soon if I’m going to fill the don’s needs.
More importantly, I have to win Gia back. Two goals. Two priorities.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
There’s angry slamming on the door upstairs, then the ‘pmf!’ of a body rolling down the steps. My delivery is here.
“He’s all there,” a deep voice I don’t recognize growls before slamming the top door shut.
Was that… Leandro the Hook? I wonder to myself, staring up at the closed door. Did they actually find a damn ghost to do the job?
Looking down to the hefty black garbage bag at my feet, I wave the possibility away and get to work dragging it inside. I rip it open to the clean-shaven face of Salty Dominick from Martino’s old crew. Don Shadow kept his word. Now it’s up to me to close.
That’s my specialty.
I’m going to need my whole crew to make this one work, but I’ll do it. I’ll get it done without a hitch. Doubling our income will put us literally on top of the Valentino family, right beside Don Stallion himself. That’s where I need to be. I vowed it since the day I saved Marco from the Colombians. I told him as much as I told myself – this gangster’s life isn’t worth it unless we sit on the throne.
While Marco was all ‘hell yes’ then, I’m not sure if he even remembers the moment now. It’s like I lost him on the way up a mountain. He fell and cracked his head… became some special type of rabid territorial animal.
After an hour, I head upstairs to call Ace and Ratchet to come to the Jackson Heights location so we can discuss logistics as I work. They show up with big smiles on their faces, which in turn yanks me out of my mood a bit.
“We’re really doing this, huh, Bull?” Ratchet rubs his hands together.
“Damn right,” I growl, wiping the sweat from my temples as we all head down the stairs. Neither of them know my full plan, but they’ll get the gist as I dictate. “Listen up. Yuri is going to be antagonistic in our meeting. It might even turn ugly. So all the pieces have to be in place night of. Got it?”
“Oh, we’re going to be pulling out silver teeth again?” Ratchet smiles. “Sign me up.”
“You know, you’re a sick fuck.” Ace flicks him. “My eyes light up with slot machines and card games. You? We have to pull a corpse’s pants down to get his juices flowing.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Ratchet pushes him, and we all laugh.
“You guys get what I asked for?” I ask while prepping Salty’s body to be chopped up.
“Yeah. Took a few days, but we got it.” Ace pulls out his phone and opens a folder full of images. “These are the guys gatekeeping imports at JFK, Manhattan ports, and trucks. They’re loyal only to him. But that only goes so far if they ain’t breathing.”
“You have their names? Names are most important.” I don’t like how quiet they are. “Yo!” I tap the cleaver I’m holding against the metal table in front of me.
“Nicknames, street names, yeah. But getting their Russian born ones? They’re like ghosts, Bull,” Ratchet says.
“That’ll have to do,” I say.
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s all for negotiation. Crippling Patrovski is a last resort. It does us no good with his connections dead, but it ruins him completely. He has much more to lose than we do here. So, pray that my tactics work. ’Cause if they do, we’ll all be swimming in gold.”
Ace and Ratchet grin at one another.
“Get Hairtrigger and Soap down here,” I demand.
There are two reasons I’m asking for Marco in particular. One? Because no one is better at setting up a kill. Two? I need him busy.
We clean the body of Salty Dom while waiting for our two hitmen to arrive. And when I say clean, I mean dismember and get ready for the big show.
Eventually Marco’s angry footsteps come bowling down the stairs. I keep my back to him, knowing he’s been on edge about me for a good while now. Time to let him in, this way he doesn’t question what’s really been going on.
“Yo, Cast. The fuck?” He walks up to the head staring at us on the table. “Is that?”
I take off my gloves, turn around, and pat him once on the shoulder. “You’re going to have my back in this one, brother. You’re going to do what you do best, or I’m going to wind up with a bullet right between my eyes.” I press my finger into my forehead.
“I was wondering what the fuck was going on with you. All of you.” He points his finger around the room, but he’s smiling. That’s good. “You fuckers were planning something big, huh? We leveling the Russian?”
“Better,” I say. “We’re going to own him.”