Mancuso (Cammareri Family #3)
Chapter One
Mancuso
“Hand over the guns,” the masked man pointing a 9mm Baretta at my face demands.
“Why would I do that?” I ask.
My gaze takes in every inch of my surroundings without ever losing sight of him, from the cracked cement floor to the walls with their peeling paint. There are rusting metal beams high over my head and some shattered windows at the far end. To my left is a warped steel door that I pray leads outside instead of into more of this fucking warehouse.
“If you don’t,” he replies calmly, “I’ll shoot you in the face.”
“I have an overwhelming feeling you’re going to shoot me either way,” I reply, my voice devoid of the encroaching panic I am starting to feel. “You don’t seem like the type of person to leave witnesses behind.”
“You aren’t wrong,” he replies, tilting his head to the side as he studies me. “But I can make this fast or I can make this slow.”
I shake my head. “Do you know who you’re fucking with?”
The smell is driving me insane. Piss, blood, and God knows what else, but it smells like something died in here. Maybe I have gone soft and become too pampered in my position. This man clearly doesn’t fear me or my family name.
“The Cammareri name isn’t as feared as it once was, my friend. There are other families slipping in to pick up the slack.” His words only serve to prove the point I was making.
“We’ll see how you feel about the Cammareri name once I get my hands on you.”
The threat doesn’t carry much weight with him being the only person with a gun.
But the smile I throw his way is half feral. I know I look like a lunatic but that’s the point, right? I’m trying to bide my time while I figure out how to get out of this situation alive. This is exactly why Alceu hates us conducting business alone. But everyone was busy and it’s only one crate of guns.
It couldn’t really be that difficult.
The joke’s on me, I guess. Now I’m staring down the barrel of a gun with an unknown assailant at the other end. No one knows where I am or what I am doing, so it’s not like the cavalry is going to arrive at any minute.
My grip on the black bag loosens and I swing it lightly at my side. I count to three, constantly watching the man in front of me, before throwing the weighty bag directly at his face. It catches him off guard and he stumbles back, just like I planned. Hoped. Turning on my heel, I run. I will never make it to my car before he can get a shot off but if I’m lucky I can make it to the side door of the warehouse.
My feet carry me as fast as they can in my ridiculously expensive Italian leather shoes. But not fast enough. Pain rips through my side before I hear the shot go off in the cavernous space. It burns like a motherfucker but that’s only the prelude. I’ve been shot before, I know how much worse this will get.
Pushing the door open I step out into the late afternoon before slamming the door shut. A stack of wooden crates stands to the left and I push them over, hoping to bar the door to my attacker, if only for a little while. I take off running once more, my hand clutching my side. I can feel the warm blood seeping through my clothes and coating the skin of my hand far too quickly.
Why the fuck do I wear these stupid shoes? The errant thought makes me want to laugh but I know I need to conserve every ounce of energy and air I can.
I also know I need to call someone before I lose consciousness due to blood loss. I need to find somewhere safe to do that, though. My cell phone is in my car because I wouldn’t need it, right? How many times can I be wrong in a single day?
Running down a dark alley, I pray I will be able to keep myself upright for as long as needed. I’m four blocks away from the nearest business that is under the Cammareri family protection if I can only remember the right direction. Turning left onto the next road, I scan my surroundings, trying to remember. But my feet are dragging, my body as heavy as lead. Already, my vision is blurry, and I know that time is running out. Quickly.
I force my feet to cross the street so I can make it to the next block of buildings.
There isn’t any warning before I fall over, my body finally giving up. I hit the tar hard, not even trying to break my fall. The only saving grace is that I somehow don’t hit my head. Turning to my back, the surface of the road beneath me digs into my skin through my clothes as I lay staring up at the first stars of the night as they finally emerge. Bright light washes over my face, momentarily blinding me. I hear the engine of a vehicle cut out. I’m in no shape to fight off my masked assailant. This will be how it ends. Dead in the gutter, just like so many before me.
My brothers are going to be murderous when they finally find my corpse. If they find it. For a moment, I regret not listening to them when they told me I was too reckless. But it’s too late for “could have, would have, should have,” now.
Even through the pain radiating in my entire body, a little hope blooms in my chest when I see the person who emerges from the vehicle. Standing above me is an angel.