CHAPTER TWO
Marco
GRAVEL CRUNCHES UNDER the tires, a rhythmic reminder of how far I’ve driven and how isolated I’ve become in the countryside. The safehouse finally comes into view, a dilapidated structure hidden among towering pine trees, its sagging roof and boarded windows a testament to its abandonment. I pull up and kill the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the ringing in my ears.
I step out of the car, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound in the oppressive stillness. My breath clouds in the frigid air, forming little puffs that dissipate quickly. The chill is sharp. I approach the door but hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the handle, a flood of thoughts and doubts swirling in my mind. What am I walking into this time? My father, who is the head of the Mafia, didn’t exactly give me a lot of information. Just small details that Danny, my youngest brother, would be here, and we had to secure the product.
With our line of work, product could mean anything, from guns, to drugs, even people. I scan my surroundings one last time before taking a deep breath, and turn the door handle, and then step into the house.
The door creaks open into a large open space. The partitions that once separated the house stand barren. All the drywall was removed. I’m not sure if it was like this when my father secured the small property on five acres. From my vantage point, I can see Danny sitting at the table in the center of the room, his face illuminated by a flickering bulb hanging overhead. Danny is engrossed in his phone, but he looks up, a smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes danced with mischief just like they always have. We all have our father’s dark black hair, dark brown eyes, and height. We are carbon copies of our father.
"Marco, you look like you’ve seen better days," he says, leaning back in his chair.
I force a smile. "Long night. What’s the deal, Danny? What’s the product?"
He shrugs, his nonchalance irritating me. "I haven’t checked. I’ve been waiting for you, but Dad said it’s in the basement.”
I clench my fists, trying to keep my frustration in check, I thought he would tell me straight away. "What have you been doing?"
Danny chuckles, pocketing his phone. “Chatting with some woman.”
Danny always had a string of women following him around, and he happened to oblige. I, on the other hand, didn’t entertain women; they entertained me, and then when I got what I wanted, I moved on.
No commitments. No strings.
"Let’s check the basement,” I say, ready for this night to be over.
Danny’s smirk widens. “I wonder what’s down there.”
“We'll find out soon,” I say.
As he heads toward the basement door, I follow, my mind racing. "You know, Dad could have given us a little more information before we dive into whatever this is."
He glances back at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Where’s the fun in that, Marco? You always were the cautious one."
I sigh, my patience wearing thin. "Caution keeps us alive, Danny. You, of all people, should know that."
He stops at the top of the basement stairs, turning to face me. "Trust me, this is worth the risk; I’m sure of it."
We descend into the dimly lit basement, the air growing colder with each step. Danny reaches for a switch on the wall, and a series of dim lights flicker on, revealing a maze of crates and boxes.
"What is all this?" I ask, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene.
Danny walks over to one of the crates and pries it open, revealing a stash of weapons. "Our ticket to the big leagues, Marco. This job isn’t just big; it’s massive."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to process everything. "And what exactly is the job?" What would our father want with this amount of weapons? We trade in the black market, but this shipment is large. I pry open a second grate to find more guns, rifles this time—sniper rifles.
"They are hitting back at another gang that’s been trying to take our territory,” Danny answers.
But, that doesn't make sense. Dad isn’t the kind of man to start a war. He plays politics if anyone tries to step into our territory, or he cuts off the head of a snake before it can strike.
“I’m assuming you got a truck out back?” I ask Danny, just wanting to get these guns back to base so I can find out what the fuck our dad is doing.
Danny grins. “The best kind; wait until you see this bad boy.”
We go upstairs and make it into the open room. My ears ring from the sudden noise. Danny collapses, a crimson stain spreading across his chest, his body clattering to the ground and rolling away.
I drop to my knees beside him, my heart pounding. "Danny! Stay with me," I shout, pressing my hands against his wound. The light in his eyes is already growing distant.
Blood seeps through my fingers, warm and sticky, contrasting sharply with the cold floor beneath us. Panic threatens to overtake me, but I force myself to stay focused. I need to get help.
A second bang echoes, and I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. I fall backward, clutching my shoulder, trying to distinguish where the shots are coming from.
As darkness begins to swallow me, I know my only hope is to keep alert. I roll slightly and pull my gun from my waistband. I can’t see anyone, but send shots flying in the direction I think the shooter may be.I let off three and wait to hear if any shots are fired back. None come.
I fumble for my phone, my fingers slick with Danny’s blood. My hands shake as I swipe the screen, trying to make the call. I call Mike, another member of our Mafia, hoping he's nearby and can help.
"Mike, we’ve been hit. Danny’s down. I need you here, now," I bark into the phone, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm. I’m normally calm in these kinds of situations. But, I’ve never had to watch one of my brothers bleed out.
"On my way," Mike replies, his voice tense, a sharp contrast to his usual laid-back tone.
I hang up and turn my attention back to Danny. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes are unfocused. I keep applying pressure to his wound, trying to ignore the growing pool of blood around us. The minutes stretch on interminably, each second feeling like an eternity. I keep my gun steady in my hand, ready to fire.
Finally, the sound of hurried footsteps reaches my ears. I point my gun at the door and lower it when Mike bursts through the door, his recently shaved head catching the light. He's followed closely by our family doctor, Brian, his bag clinking with the tools of his trade. They work quickly, lifting Danny onto a makeshift stretcher. The doctor’s hands move deftly, securing Danny and preparing him for the rush to safety.
"Get him to the hospital. I’ll handle things here," I instruct, my voice firm despite the chaos swirling around me.
Mike nods. “A few more men are on their way. Are you sure you won’t come with us and get that wound looked at?”
“No, just go.”
They rush Danny out, leaving me alone with the guns and a mess to clean up. I stand, but a wave of dizziness nearly takes me to my knees. I keep my gun in my hand and wipe my other blood-soaked hand on my trousers before walking to the window. Lights from cars illuminate the room. I know it’s my men. A sniper wouldn’t make his presence so known. I think the sniper is long gone; he hadn’t returned fire early, and Danny and Mike, with the doctor, had left without any trouble.
The door opensa second time, and Tony and two other recruits enter.
“Be careful; we have a sniper. I think he’s gone, but we need to sweep the area outside.” They don’t question my command but file outside.
A window to my right was open, and we were standing across from it; that’s why no glass shattered; the shooter had a clear path to fire at us. He was very skilled to have made a shot like that through such a small gap.I grab one of the flashlights on the table and head outside in the direction of where I think the shooter was. I keep my gun steady above the flashlight in case I need to fire.
The surrounding area is dense with trees, their branches casting long, menacing shadows.
Tony walks into my line of sight and, without a word, falls into step beside me. Our two beams of light danced along the overgrowth.
"Stay sharp," I whisper.
We comb through the area, our flashlights sweeping through the trees. Each rustle of leaves makes my heart race, the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
"Find anything?" I ask, my voice strained with tension as the other two men join us; they must have circled the property.
They shake their heads, frustration etched on their faces. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished."
Tony curses under his breath, his face a mask of anger. "We need to find them before they come back. This wasn’t random; they knew you’d be here."
I nod, feeling the weight of his words. "We’ll split up and cover more ground. Stay in touch, and be careful."
We spread out, each of us moving through the trees, our senses on high alert. Every snap of a twig, every whisper of wind pushes my nerves further on edge. I can't shake the feeling that we’re being watched.
Minutes pass like hours as we search. I can hear Tony and the other two men’s occasional muttered curses, their frustration mirroring my own. Suddenly, I spot something—a faint trail of blood leading deeper into the woods.
"Over here!" I call out, my heart pounding. Tony rushes to my side, his flashlight converging with mine on the trail.
"This way," I say, leading him forward. The trail winds through the trees, and we follow it with renewed determination.
The blood trail leads us to a small clearing. In the center, there’s a makeshift camp, a few belongings scattered around. It’s clear someone was here recently, but they’re gone now.
"Damn it," Tony mutters, kicking a canteen lying on the ground. "They were here."
I kneel down, examining the items. "They were definitely waiting for us, maybe a few days."
I scan the area. "We need to ring all the local hospitals to see if anyone has been brought in tonight with a gunshot wound."
We return to the safehouse.
My adrenaline is wavering; the pain becomes almost unbearable.
“You boys stay here. Secure the perimeter. I’ll send more men back. I need to get Marco to the doc,” Tony says.
I’m ready to object, but he’s right. I’m in no condition to drive.
“Don’t go into the basement.” I fire the warning over my shoulder. The guns will have to stay here for now. I’ll get someone to move them.
Tony waits for me at the door. But, I’m hesitant to leave. “They are good men, Marco; they will do what you say.” Tony’s words have me leaving with him, because I trust him, and he works with most of these men, training them in.
As I get into Tony’s car, I can’t shake the image of Danny bleeding out. He’s strong; he has to survive.
Tony is already on the phone as he instructs more men to arrive.
My phone buzzes. It’s a message from Mike: "Danny’s at the hospital. He’s in surgery now."
A wave of relief washes over me.
"You think Danny will be alright?" Tony asks, his voice barely above a whisper; he’s like a second dad to us and cares about us like we are his sons.
I nod, trying to reassure him. "Yeah, he’s tough. He’ll pull through."
Silence falls between us, each of us lost in our thoughts. I still can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched, that the attacker is still lurking in the shadows.
I want to ask Tony if he knows what was in the basement or has any idea what my dad is thinking of doing with so many weapons. He’s close to my father, but the words don’t leave my mouth. If he knows, I can't allow him to think that my dad has kept Danny and me in the dark. It will weaken our stance among the men, so I stay quiet and try to control the pain that’s burning my shoulder and racing down my arm.