11. Elio
Chapter eleven
Elio
The heavy smell of smoke and whiskey fills the air, hovering over us like a persistent ghost.
My fingers trail over the rim of my glass, the amber liquid in it swirling lightly from my touch as I lift the tumbler to my lips and take in a long sip.
Cortez is plopped down in the chair directly opposite the one I’m sitting in, brows creased and lips tightened in a straight line.
We’ve been chasing the issue of the warehouse incident throughout the past week, and he’s just brought to my attention that none of the kilos of drugs in the warehouse were taken.
“You’re certain that every single kilo has been accounted for?” My brows raise in question at Cortez, whose head is already bobbing in affirmation.
“ Sì, Capo. No single gram is missing.”
“Something isn’t right. Those drugs converted to cash are even more valuable than the cash and ammo they took.” Rising from the leather chair I’ve been seated on, I take a couple of steps away from Cortez, hands akimbo. “This isn’t just a robbery, someone planned to rat us out.”
Turning around, I circle back towards my chair. “I want you to draw up a list,” the growl of my voice causes Cortez’s alert eyes to meet mine. “A list of every single family that could be a threat to us.”
Cortez’s brows deepen in contemplation. “Yes, Capo . This cannot just be the doing of a random whistleblower, that Mendez guy was definitely a part of the entire plan,” he breathes. “The team and I are already searching the database for any Mendez but there are hundreds of them in New York. It’ll take some time.”
Fuck .
“And the family that orchestrated the whole thing? Give me a list, Cortez. Who could it be?”
Cortez reaches for a stack of plain sheets on my desk, pulling out a pen from his breast pocket.
“ We can start with the Bianchi family. Their leader absolutely detests you,” Cortez says, scribbling furiously on the paper in front of him. “And then, there’s the family that attempted to confiscate our supplies just so their leader could have an audience with you…”
“Ah…what was their name again?”
Cortez’s lips dip in contemplation, and then his broad shoulders jerk in a swift movement, “It was a Spanish name, I don’t recall right now.”
“The Morettis? What about them?” I ask. There’s no ruling out the possibility of any single family who could have a hand in this.
“I don’t think so...” he taps his pen on the paper in front of him again, “They’re too small to stage something this clean. They wouldn’t want to be on our bad side.”
Cortez is right. I’m not on good terms with the families we’ve mentioned, but there’s no good enough reason for them to create the extent of damage my empire is at risk of facing right now.
“What about the Donatos?” My elbows take position opposite each other as my fingers entangle with each other. “They hold a deep resentment towards us. It could be that they’ve come back for their revenge.”
“You think it’s them?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. The leather creaks, a low groan piercing through the tension in the room.
“Actually I do.” His voice is gruff. “Think about it, Capo . We’ve burned a lot of bridges, but none as deep as the Donatos.”
The Donatos. The name alone stirs something in my chest, a mixture of satisfaction and unease. Years ago, I took everything from them. Their territory. Their power. Their pride.
They were the ruling family in New York, untouchable in their prime, but I had bigger plans. Our goods were being stalled because the Donatos controlled every port. Usurping control from them was non-negotiable.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the liquid whirl in tight circles. “Why now? Why wait so many years? If they wanted revenge, they had plenty of chances.”
“Maybe they’ve been biding their time,” Cortez says, his eyes narrowing. “Waiting for the right moment.”
“Or maybe they’re not behind this at all,” I counter, though the doubt in my voice betrays me. Deep down, I know he’s right. The Donatos have every reason to want us dead. I just can’t wrap my head around why they’d surface now, of all times.
Their leader’s still rotting in a cell, and their second-in-command… What was his name again? Marco? Monacco?
Cortez taps his pen against the table, his impatience increasing the pace of his speech to double the speed. “ Capo , you didn’t just humiliate them. You dismantled them. You bought out their men and tripled their pay. You had their shipments seized, and their leader arrested. You made them a joke. If anyone’s got a grudge big enough to pull this kind of stunt, it’s them.”
The glass rests on the table with a soft clink, the brief sound punctuating the silence between us. Cortez is right. The Donatos are the only family with the resources and the motive to cause this much chaos. Still, something doesn’t sit right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, sure, but this is a hell of a long time to wait.
And did they really think the cops were the best option to retaliate if they wanted to?
I rise to my feet again, walking the length of the room. My boots thud against the worn hardwood floor, each step mirroring the storm in my mind.
The faint buzz of the city filters in through the closed windows, distant and muted. “What do we know about their second-in-command?” I ask, stopping near the window. The city lights glimmer faintly. “Their leader is still in prison, so he can’t be commandeering all of this alone.”
Cortez flips through his notes, the sound of paper rustling breaking the stillness. “Last we heard, he went underground after the bust. No sightings, no rumors. Nothing. It’s like he vanished.”
“And you didn’t think to keep tabs on him?” I snap, turning to face him. My voice is sharper than I intended, but the frustration bubbling inside me has nowhere else to go.
He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes dip in reverence. “You told me to focus on the leader. Said the second was irrelevant.”
Curses roll out from my tongue under my breath as my fingers run incessantly through my hair. I did say that. At the time, it made sense. Without their leader, the Donatos were a headless snake. I thought the rest would wither on their own. Clearly, I underestimated them.
“Find him,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I want every scrap of information on him. Where he’s been, who he’s talked to, what he’s had for breakfast. Everything.”
Cortez nods, his pen already moving across the paper. “And the others?”
“The others can wait,” I say, turning back to the window. Somewhere out there, someone is pulling strings, moving pieces on a board I can’t see. And if it is the Donatos, if their second-in-command has come back from the shadows, then I need to know what game they’re playing and how to stop them.
A few years ago, I thought I had won. But maybe all I did was light a fire that’s been smoldering ever since.
Good that I had the Guardiano (Guardian) on my team. He’s a top guy in the media who owes me for saving his life three years ago. If he hadn’t been swift enough to act, and curtail the news, we’d have been swimming in deep shit by now.
“Fuck!” Cortez hisses sharply, springing sharply to his feet.
As I turn around, I can see from his narrowed eyes on his phone and the creases all over his face that something is awfully wrong.
“What is it?” I ask, lowering myself back into the chair.
“Ahmed got into a fight with one of our men who was sent to get the fifty grand he owes us.” He does not meet my eyes as he speaks, meaning that it is even worse than he’s trying to portray.
“What the hell do you mean he got into a fight with him? Why the fuck do we have someone owing us fifty grand? Do we run a charity organization here?” I can feel a sense of heat as blood flushes over my face in anger.
“ Mi scuso, Capo (I’m sorry, Boss). He’s never owed us or failed to pay on time, but now he’s claiming that business has been bad since last month and has still not paid up yet.”
“And he had the guts to lay his filthy hands on one of my men? Who did he hit? And why?” I ask, my hands clenched into tight fists on my lap.
“The report is that our collector went to Ahmed to ask for the long overdue loan. They got into a scuffle over the money and Ahmed’s guys attacked him; then he passed out.”
“He passed out?”
Cortez shakes his head in a light nod. “He was shot in his shoulder and lost a lot of blood before he could reach out to me.”
My clenched fists loosen up and tighten again.
How dare Ahmed? A miserly pickpocket who crawled at my feet a couple of years back, begging for a place in my family, now dares to owe me and even shoot one of my men? I swear, I will be the one to murder that asshole and his goons myself.
“So why are you still here? Why haven’t you taken on Ahmed and his miserable gang of drug peddlers by now?” I yell into Cortez’s face.
“I only got wind of it just now. I’ll handle it right away, Capo .”
“No. We will handle it. We’ll have to pay those guys a visit. Get the car.” Perhaps it’s the pent-up anger against whichever fucker has messed with my warehouse, but my fingers itch to spill blood, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Ahmed’s gang is just a small gang of drug peddlers after all. I can take them all on with my very own hands.
***
Usually, I would have stayed back at home and mobilized my men for this attack, but it would be better to go myself when those bastards are completely unsuspecting.
I would only miss the opportunity to spend the day watching Aria like I did yesterday. She would be in the mansion by now, probably lazing away in front of a Korean drama show like she did yesterday.
My lips lift with a small grin as the thought of her sprawled on my loveseat, munching on popcorn and giggling at the characters in whatever drama show she decides to watch, plays in my mind.
I catch myself and shake my head. I can’t be distracted, not when I’m going on a mission as serious as this one.
I ask the driver to stop the car in a less conspicuous place, just before the empty barn house which Cortez discovered they use as their campout. It’s 4 p.m. already, so my men and I should move in by the next hour.
“Keep your eyes open. I want to be alerted at the smallest sign of movement,” I bark at Cortez.
“ Sì, Capo .”
***
My men are in the cars parked just a few feet away. Cortez and I walk briskly to the building and knock on the wooden door. A rotund man appears to check who it is, gasps upon seeing us, and opens the door wide for us to enter.
His mistake.
I plunge a knife into his gut, turning the handle until blood pours out from both his mouth and nose, then yank out the knife and push him to the ground.
The other guys spring to their feet, but the encounter with the guy at the door gave my men the opportunity to assemble behind me.
I swing an arm out, the hilt of the blade colliding with someone’s skull and the blade itself diving into another gut. There is a roar from somewhere and then gunshots. I neither look back nor around me.
I can feel Cortez at my right hand, grappling with one man twice his size, but he will be alright.
All I want is to have the head of that bastard, Ahmed, in my hands. No one sends a message to Elio Donatelli, at least not with the blood of one of his men. And today will serve as a message from the Marino Empire to all the small drug peddlers like this gang.
I move through the chaos like a predator, twisting arms that get in my way and kicking at guts, then silencing others with my Glock slide.
Suddenly, a fist catches me in the ribs. The pain explodes through me like a thousand fireworks, but before I can drive my elbow into the perpetrator, Cortez has his hand blown off.
I catch a glimpse of Ahmed holding a grenade, ready to launch it at my men and me.
“Duck! Grenade!” I yell, diving behind the nearest pillar, but I don’t make it before I am swept off my feet by the force of the explosive. I fall to the ground face first.
Ahmed, that bastard.
I taste sand and grit in my mouth, along with the sour feeling of blood seeping down my face from either my teeth or my lip.
I shake my head to clear my eyes, then turn around for Ahmed. He is shoving his fist into one of my men.
I pick myself up and run with full force, ramming myself into his frame.
He doesn’t recover before I grab him by the collar of his shirt and ram him into the nearest wall, head first. The second time, I think I hear a crack, and then he falls against my body, limp.
I take out my Glock and shoot right in his forehead to ensure that he isn’t playing tricks on me.
“Let’s go!” I call out to my men. Ahmed is dead. And this war is over. At least for now.
I can hear the sounds of sirens in the distance as my men and I load ourselves into our cars and speed off into the evening.
By the time the cops arrived, there would be no evidence of me or my men, dead or injured. Not even our fingerprints at the scene - when I called for us to leave, I immediately texted my clean up team followed by one of my police contacts.
All the cops would find was the aftermath of a dispute between criminals and the remnants of a fallen operation.
***
When the Tacoma rolls into my garage, I realize that I can barely lift my legs. I let out a loud groan, and Cortez quickly places his arms around me, helping me out of the car.
“Take me straight to the stitch room. Aria must not see me like this.”
“ Sì, Capo . I will call for the doctor all’istante (immediately).”
Cortez calls for two other men to come and assist me while he runs off to call our family doctor.
I’m halfway across the hallway towards the west wing when I hear footsteps echoing down the hall, and before I know it, Aria is standing in front of me, popcorn in hand, mouth opened wide in shock.
“Elio! What the fuck happened to you!?”
The bag of popcorn drops from her hand instantly as she rushes towards me, running her hands all over my bloodied lips and swollen eye.
“Aria,” I call out in a gruff, pain-filled voice, “I’m fine.”
“The hell you are!” she snaps. “Quick, bring the first aid,” she orders my men and follows us as we resume the journey to the stitch room. The white walls and smell of sterile equipment hit my nostrils once I’m in, and my men set me on the operating table.
“What is the meaning of this, eh?” Aria whirls on me the moment my guys leave.
“Stop being dramatic, Princess.”
“Dramatic!” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You look like you fought a mama bear and lost!”
“You should have seen the other guys then. All ashes and smoke.” My lips curl up in a smirk.
Her lips open, try to form some words, then close back again. I nearly laugh at her frustration, but something pierces my ribs, and I let out a sharp groan.
“Let me see,” she stretches her hands toward me.
“I’m fine,” I struggle to stand.
“Just sit down, please.” Her gaze is soft, and for the first time, I see genuine concern in them, so I lower myself back onto the operating table.
Deciding to find the first aid kit herself, she hurries over to the cupboards, checking inside a couple of them, before finding it in the third.
“Cortez has gone for our family doctor. You really should not bother.”
She glares at me. “What were you even thinking?”
“You know, for someone who pretends not to care about me, you’re getting extremely worked up.”
She lets out a huff of breath in frustration and this time, my lips pull up painfully in a smile.
She glares at me again but doesn’t respond, focusing instead on applying antiseptic and ointments on the wound, then bandaging it.
Her hands are steady but her jaw is tight, and her moistening eyes betray the concern she is trying so hard to hide.
“You insufferable bastard. How could you go out there and get yourself injured like this?” she mutters to herself.
“You know I can hear you.”
“Just keep quiet, Elio.” Her sniffles and the fact that she doesn’t meet my gaze cause my lips to lift even further in amusement.
When she dabs hard at the cut in my lip with antiseptic, I yelp in agony.
“Easy…” I whimper. She flickers her lashes at me and dumps the cotton wool in the waste bin.
“Easy,” she mocks, trying to mimic my tone.
“You know, after this, I’m pretty sure you like me.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she grabs one of the pillows from the bed, smacking the good side of my body with it.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re concerned about after coming home all battered like this?”
I snake out my arm and grab her waist, pulling her to me.
“Easy now,” I murmur as I try to settle her onto my lap, but she struggles against me. “Just stay with me like this for a moment. Please,” I say into her ears. And it strikes me that never before have I begged a woman to stay with me.
“You’re reckless,” she murmurs back into my ears, relaxing but not dropping all her weight on me.
“I know,” I respond to her, leaning my head on her shoulder and closing my eyes.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I know what it means to be truly cared for.