Chapter 15 Jasper
FIFTEEN
JASPER
After dropping Carter off at her own apartment, Tyson and I are gearing up for a long night, but unfortunately, this won’t be the last time we have to do this in the near future, as our lives are beginning to change in ways we never thought possible.
The Masseria’s are supposed to be untouchable this side of the Hudson, but with the Ricci’s growing stronger in numbers, and desperate to steal everything my father’s built over the last twenty years, the target on our backs is growing by the day.
Protection is something we don’t take lightly, so we pick through our box of gear, strapping up accordingly by digging out a Kevlar vest, cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a black hoodie – as well as everything I need to move like a ghost in the night, equipped with pistols, knives, and a taser, for good measure.
Tyson’s been silent since we tore ourselves away from Carter, our bubble of bliss popped with the news of work coming up, and Ty hates the bloody side of things as it is.
Even so, he knows the consequences of saying no, and understands that in order to stay alive, we have to squash these threats.
He’s on recon, happily handling all facial recognition, data entry, and manning the bluetooth connections while I’m getting down and dirty on the torture side of the operation.
We make a good team, but more often than not, he has to jump in and get his hands dirty, something I always try to take the brunt of.
He may be bigger than me in every aspect, and have the look of a cold-blooded killer, but he’s exactly the opposite, and I stand as his protector, shielding him from the things he just isn’t as cut out for.
The main difference between us is that I was trained by my father, forced to learn how to kill at a very young age, no matter the cost, and Ty’s father did everything he could to escape from this life, but ultimately, trapped them even further.
“You got this, brother?” I ask, watching as he slowly sets up his tech, an unusual pace for him as he’s always first out the door, ready to get the job over with.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just … different,” he says, and I shake my head, unsure of what he means.
“You’ve lost me,” I counter, shrugging my shoulders and attempting to read through his cold stare.
“We have something to come home to. Someone to stay alive for,” he admits, and I rest my palms on the table, his words ripping through me like a knife twisted in my back.
Carter.
As worried as she was for us, she tried to keep the positivity flowing, but Tyson’s always been more emotional than me, feeling things on a much deeper level.
“Yeah, we do. So let’s focus on the task at hand, and get back to her as quickly as possible, okay?” I pep talk him, a little differently than usual, but it’s still effective as he shakes off the funk, following me out to the car.
We load up and hit the road as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky different shades of pink and yellow while we drive down the Garden State Parkway.
The Ricci’s new alliance operates out of a small neighborhood, mostly locally owned businesses, and we set up shop in an abandoned parking lot, a little ways down the road from their main spot, a stereotypical Italian restaurant.
I swear, some of these smaller families are only in this to role play the Sopranos, but alas, I can’t blame them for wanting to get a little dirty, to try to play with the big boys who live on the main spectrum.
“Alright, I’m going to rattle some cages. Cover me?” I warn Tyson, and he only nods, placing a Bluetooth piece in his ear, handing me one, too.
“Be safe,” he says, testing the connection, and it’s perfectly set, him being my eyes as I move through the shadows.
Quickly locating the back of the restaurant, I make my way inside, looking for a dishwasher and a chef, both of them easily spotted as they work at separate stations.
In this open space, I can’t take one without the other, so instantly I have to make waves, something I was hoping to avoid.
“Hands up, both of you,” I say, my voice hushed as I hold the gun on them, my eyes switching between them to see which will be stupid enough to attempt a weapon pull.
Slowly, the chef reaches for his waistband, and we have a winner. I drop my head, pretending to be disappointed as I fire a round straight into his knee, his body dropping as I race over to stifle his screams.
“You. Get over here and keep him quiet.” I wave my gun equipped with a silencer attachment at the other kid, whose face has gone ghostly white in the face of adversity, it likely being his first time in the presence of a real threat.
Thankfully, he’s too afraid of me to disobey, and he clamps his palm over the mouth of the bleeding idiot, and we both lift him off the ground, carrying him outside of the restaurant.
“Run the software,” I say into my ear piece, photos of both men sent to Tyson’s phone as I patiently await to find out everything we can about them before I end their pathetic lives.
Tyson relays the information, and I get started, easily finding leverage to hold over their heads.
“Did your little pals tell you who you were fucking with?” I start, knowing I need to get to the point, but don’t have much time before someone realizes that they’re missing.
“I’m just muscle man, I don’t know a damn thing,” the chef says, wincing in pain as his leg continues to bleed onto the concrete.
“What’s the next target?” I ask, pressing the barrel of my gun into his kneecap, and he starts singing like a damn canary.
“Emory,” he chokes out, his face pale from the blood loss.
“Emory, what? The town, the college, you’re going to have to be more specific,” I urge, knowing that the fight is heading straight for our doorstep.
“I … I don’t … that’s all I know,” he rushes to explain, tripping over his words out of fear, something I decipher as genuine.
Satisfied, I decide to make it quick, shooting one bullet into the center of his forehead, not even bothering to question him further.
“Please. I don’t know anything either,” the other kid annoyingly begs, and I decide to have a little fun, yanking him up by his shirt.
“You’re going to help me, and if you think of something useful to say, I might let you live,” I warn, and he nods furiously, eager to please even though there’s no chance he makes it through the next hour.
“Start from the beginning, and lift his body,” I command, and wouldn’t you know, he actually has insightful information to share.
“The Ricci’s hired us to kill your men and infiltrate the ports.
Other than that, I don’t know anything about Emory, your college, or what Mr. Ricci is planning next,” he confesses, and just after we prop the dead body up alongside their dumpster, I aim my weapon at his head, dropping him right next to his friend.
“Catch all of that, Ty?” I ask into my earpiece, and he confirms, allowing me to clean up the shell casings and get the hell out of here.
It’s only our first stop in what will likely be a long, bloody night, but I remind myself that I was quite literally born to do this, and there’s nobody better for the job.
Now that we have intel that Emory is the next target, my sole purpose is to protect Tyson and Carter, meaning she’ll temporarily be moving into the frat house, whether that be willingly, or kicking and screaming.
It’s non-negotiable, though, because we have the means and the weapons to protect her.
These two kids seemed like easy hires off the street, but Ricci is calculated, and if he’s been digging into us, there’s a chance he knows about our girl, a lucky break for someone searching for weaknesses.
Not to be underestimated, or outdone, Antonio Ricci only recently gained power after his very loud battle with the Corazza family, a war that ended with him ordering the execution of his own son.
For what hasn’t quite leaked into the rumor mill, but a man like that can never be counted on to behave rationally, something the Masseria’s know all too well, considering that we’re the one he set his sights on.
I’d lay down my life to protect Ty, and now that declaration includes Carter, too, and I’ll be damned if I fail the only mission that’s important enough to die over.