Chapter 14 Cortez
Chapter fourteen
Cortez
“No signs of a concussion. Do you have a headache or nausea, Boss?”
Dr. Taylor peers down at me through thick-framed glasses.
“I’m fine.”
“Good,” he gestures to my eyes. Releasing an angry breath, I open my eyes and wince slightly from the small light he shines inside it.
“Pupil response is good, too,” he says.
I’m damn near slapping the light out of his hand before he switches it off and places it on the table.
I watch him take a couple of steps back, packing his equipment into a big black bag.
“Like I said before, you need to rest. I recommend at least forty-eight hours.” He zips his bag, tapping it lightly, then turns to face me. “You have no major injury, but there’s a mild contusion.”
“Alej will see you out,” I deadpan.
He breathes, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Head injuries are dangerous even for men like you, Mr. Donatelli. Take care.”
With that, he walks out, Alej accompanying him. When the door clicks shut, I shoot up from my chair, my fist itching to slam against something.
Those sly bastards. They prepared for any interception and strapped an explosive onto Shawn’s body. My head aches as I recall the look on his face. He had seemed…brainwashed.
He had seemed so happy to die...like he was fighting for a good cause. Whatever that was!
Thankfully, I wasn’t really hurt when the explosive went off. I managed to run to a safe distance just in the nick of time, but the force of the explosion threw me against a huge rock, and I blacked out.
Alej had brought my unconscious body back to the mansion and immediately called the doctor. The doctor came the same night and treated me. This recent visit was for a follow-up or whatever it’s called.
The door clicks open and Alej enters. “He asked me to make sure you rest, Capo.”
Apart from the bandage wrapped around the left part of my head, their constant reminders about rest are irking. I’m not some child who cowers under the guise of rest, especially not when there’s trouble.
“The sniper,” I say, ignoring his previous statement. His gaze sharpens. “You said he didn’t have any ID on him?”
“He didn’t. He didn’t say anything before I shot him in the face, either.”
My fingers flex.
“And by the time they’re done with you, all that glory that you wear like a crown will be erased,” I mutter under my breath.
Erased. They’re trying to take me down. That much is obvious. But who? Who would dare want to lay a finger on my crown?
My jaw clenches.
Our profits keep plummeting. We’ve had to stop production in two factories. Stocks in the warehouse aren’t moving, and we’re losing customers, suppliers, and alliances.
Fuck! I kick the leg of the table as my blood boils. Alejandro tenses out of the corner of my eyes before moving forward to drop an iPad on the desk. I sneak a look at the charts—charts overcrowded by red.
Alej inhales heavily, dragging his thumbs across different spots of the screen.
“I called the Florence and Mexico factories. Sales were tanking, our products—opioids, cocaine, meth—none of it was moving. Wastage was killing us. We temporarily shut down both lines this morning.”
My bones become heavy, soaked in my anger, but I don’t turn to him. He continues.
“According to Lieutenant Luciano, our head of sales for Florence and Mexico, three other major suppliers pulled out. They said it was folly to do business with us when there was a much cheaper alternative of the same excellent quality.”
“I’ve still been looking into the brand name, trying to cross-reference it with anything tangible or at least match it with a known individual. But it’s not attached to anything or anyone. These people are experts at keeping themselves ghosts, Capo.”
“They’re still using children?” I ask, still facing the windows.
“Sì, Capo.” He pauses for a while before he continues. “I’ve been trying to narrow down their shenanigans to a mafia that would likely adopt the same techniques. But I’ve got nothing.”
I nod, finally turning to him. We’re the biggest mafia in New York.
It’d be suicide for anyone to come out and openly declare war on us.
So they’ll keep hiding in the shadows, using whatever sneaky techniques they can until their plan is fulfilled and the time comes for them to step out of the shadows.
“What names are we looking at?” I sit on my chair stiffly. He understands.
“The Russians.” He starts carrying the iPad. “After their last trespass on one of our routes years ago, they’ve gone quiet. Too quiet.”
I lean forward, arms resting on the desk. “Have we caught any of their men around our routes since that time?”
“No,” he replies.
The Russians—foolish bastards thought they could take advantage of the power handover from Elio to me and tried to attack around that time. They failed because my men and I were ready.
“The Russians wouldn’t hide like cowards, it’s not their nature.” I shake my head.
He shuffles the tablet in his hand.
“The D’Angelo mafia in Palermo. Their don, Emiliano, once had issues with our position as the biggest supplier in New York. He thought you didn’t deserve to be don and held envy when you made the mafia the biggest supplier.”
My fist clenches. “Emiliano runs a small gang. All he can do is yap, but still, look into him.”
He nods tightly. “Sì, Capo.”
“We also have—”
“Give me the damn list,” I say thickly. My patience is wearing thin. None of the people he’s listing would even dare.
He hands over the tablet with a small bow. I snatch it from him, my teeth gnashing together as I scroll through the list.
Mantis—A top street gang dealer associated with some of the Marino mafia rivals.
Andretti Camora—Leader of a mafia gang in Naples. Has never interacted with the Marinos.
Damian Ortega—He runs a small, quiet mafia in South America but has recently been moving huge funds to an unknown account.
My eyes narrow at that. “Damian Ortega,” I grit, and Alej starts to talk.
“All I know is he’s been moving huge funds to an unknown account.”
I lift my head, my eyes boring holes in his head.
“The returns from their businesses, illegal and legal, are not enough to produce such massive output.”
“They could just be laundering money.”
“They could. But there’s been no record of such transference in the last seven years.”
I do my best to curtail my anger. If those fuckers are the ones behind this, I’ll make sure to wipe out their entire generation. One by one.
“Look into them.”
“Sì, Capo.”
He turns to go, and I stop him. “Selene Vasquez. Look into her again.”
“Alright, Boss.”
Once the door clicks shut, I light a cigar and take a long drag. I swear if he finds anything new, and she’s somehow involved in this, I’ll kill her with my own two hands.