Chapter Eight #2
“For the most part, the Moretti Mafia is based throughout California. But while Il Don has chosen Palm Springs as a safe haven for some of the family, his true base of operations is in Los Angeles.”
“Why would he choose the desert as a safe haven?” Tank asks.
Luca laughs, a deep, genuine sound. “The heat. People avoid Palm Springs simply because it is too hot. Especially the location we chose.” He lifts a brow. “What better way to hide in plain sight than in a place people actively avoid, sì?”
“Smart,” I mutter. “You guys are practically in the middle of the desert out here. It took us an hour to get here, and I’m pretty sure my tires melted on the sand.”
Luca smirks. “The heat does not bother us. In Italy, we say… only the foolish stand in the sun without a purpose. Here?” He gestures broadly to the estate around us. “We have purpose. Our Don can simply exist. His closest family can live their lives in relative peace.”
His expression darkens.
“Which brings us back to the topic at hand… the threat to that peace.”
“What else does the audio say?” Spike asks. “Do they admit how they plan to attack us?”
“Yes,” Luca says, his face turning grim. “By airstrike.”
“What?” Bones snarls. “They’re going to fucking bomb us?”
“Fuck,” Spike exhales. “Tank, get Knuckles on the phone and have him get everyone underground.”
“There is no need to rush them just yet,” Luca interrupts calmly, raising a hand. “We will be informed the moment moves are made. We also have people in air traffic control on our payroll. They have already been instructed to monitor for any uncharted aircraft heading in this direction.”
He leans forward slightly, voice lowering.
“However… Il Don has extended an invitation for your club to join our famiglia in our underground bomb shelters when the time comes.”
Spike nods respectfully. “We have one of our own, but… thank you.”
Maverick tilts his head. “Is it fortified against bombs, brother?”
Spike rubs a hand down his face. “I have no fucking clue.”
Luca speaks again, his tone shifting from polite to razor-sharp.
“There is… one more thing,” he says. “Something you must understand before we discuss defenses.”
Luca places a hand over his chest, fingers tapping twice…something I notice he’s done multiple times. A nervous tell perhaps? OCD?
“Our man inside Los Fantasmas uncovered something else. Very troubling.” He pauses, choosing his words with care. “Cortéz has… how you say… friends in Palm Springs.”
Spike stiffens. “Are you saying…”
“Someone in your city is feeding him information. Not necessarily someone either of us knows,” he clarifies quickly, lifting a palm, “but Palm Springs herself is… compromised.”
Bones leans forward, eyes icy. “What kind of information?”
“Schedules. Movement. Deliveries. Construction details. Traffic patterns,” Luca lists off. “Someone knows exactly when the Shadows, and the Moretti’s are home, when we’re gone, when your compound and our estate is… quiet.”
My stomach twists.
Tank lets out a low curse. “So we’ve got a fucking leak.”
“Perhaps several,” Luca agrees. “Perhaps none. It could simply be people on Cortéz’s payroll inside the government. Palm Springs is small. But the Moretti family and the Shadows?” He shrugs. “We are not small. We have… how do you say… many employees. Many hands.”
“So we’re fighting the cartel and an info leak,” I mutter. “Great.”
Bones cracks his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “We need to lock our shit down. Lock the compound down tight. No more civilians inside without clearance.”
Tank nods. “We should pull the chapter leaders and prospects in, double perimeter, get drones in the air, and reorganize shifts tonight. Have each chapter close down and lie low until we give the all clear. We can’t sit on our asses waiting for someone to drop a bomb on us.”
“I agree,” Bones grumbles.
Luca gives a small approving nod. “A strong defense is wise. Cortéz is desperate. And a desperate man is a dangerous one.”
Spike’s jaw clenches. “We’ll increase security. But we need that intel if we’re going to stop him.”
“Yes,” Luca says. “And you will receive it. But this is why Il Don insists we work together. If Cortéz has eyes inside Palm Springs…eyes close enough to track both our families…then he has reach neither of us anticipated.”
“Then we go after him first,” Bones says.
Tank nods. “But smart. Not blind.”
Spike exhales slowly. “We’ll plan. Together.”
Luca lifts his chin, pleased. “Bene. Good. Then perhaps there is hope after all.”
Luca exhales through his nose, as if bracing himself for the next part.
“There is something else I must tell you,” he says. “Il Don has already placed men near your compound.”
The entire room snaps to attention.
Tank stiffens. Bones’ hand twitches toward his knife. Spike’s eyes narrow just enough to signal danger.
“What do you mean…placed men?” Spike asks carefully.
“Watchmen,” Luca clarifies, palms up. “Observers. Not inside your walls, of course. Never that. But positioned to monitor the perimeter. If there is unusual movement, they will inform us immediately.”
“Why the hell didn’t you ask first?” Bones growls. “We have men taking care of that.”
Luca gives the most Italian shrug ever committed to existence…one shoulder, elegant, unapologetic.
“It is already done,” he says simply. “Cortéz moves quickly. We cannot afford politeness over protection.”
“That’s not the point,” Tank snaps. “We don’t appreciate being watched.”
“And we do not appreciate having to watch you,” Luca counters, not unkindly. “But it is necessary. For all of us.”
Spike holds up a hand, steadying the rising tension. “We’ll discuss it. But next time we expect a heads-up.”
“Of course,” Luca says smoothly. “Next time.”
Right then, his phone buzzes. He glances down, expression shifting the slightest bit…respectful, attentive.
He reads the message silently, pockets the phone, and reaches into his jacket.
“I have been instructed to give you this,” he says, producing a flash drive. “This contains the audio our man sent us as well as all intel we have collected on Cortéz and Los Fantasmas. Communications. Names. Associated businesses. Routes.”
Spike takes it, turning it between his fingers. “Thank you.”
Luca nods, then clears his throat.
“And… one more instruction.”
We all brace.
“Il Don asks if he may visit your compound in person,” Luca says. “In a few days’ time. To speak with you directly.”
Tank’s brows shoot up. “He wants to come to us?”
“Yes,” Luca replies. “He believes it is time. But only with your permission. He will not approach your territory as il Don uninvited.”
Spike exchanges glances with us, then looks back at Luca.
“Why now?” he asks.
Luca’s answer comes simple and heavy.
“Because Cortéz has moved pieces into place faster than anyone predicted.” Luca’s voice softens, taking on something solemn. “And Il Don believes alliances must be forged face-to-face… in truth and friendship… before the war reaches our doorstep.”
“Why not come out now?” I ask. “And you said he wouldn’t approach us as the Don uninvited. Does that mean he’s approached us as someone else?”
Luca’s eyes flick toward me, curious… but not startled.
“Il Don has many roles,” Luca says. “Many obligations. When he travels, he travels under heavy protection…and heavy secrecy. It is safer that way.”
“So he has other identities?” Bones pushes.
Luca leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice lowering into something quiet and steady.
“When I say Il Don does not approach you as the Don unless invited… it means this: he will never arrive with an entourage. With his titles. With his crown on display.” He taps the table softly. “Power must be… earned. Not imposed.”
Bones crosses his arms. “That didn’t answer the damn question.”
Luca gives him a small, patient smile.
“I mean,” he continues, “that Il Don moves through this world as a man first. A leader second. And an enemy to no one who shows him respect.”
Spike narrows his eyes. “So… what? You’re telling us he doesn’t parade around shouting he’s the mafia boss?”
“Exactly.” Luca snaps his fingers once, the sound sharp. “He values anonymity. Freedom. The ability to walk into a room and not suffocate everyone with fear…unless of course, he desires to.”
Tank tilts his head. “You’re saying he blends in.”
Luca shrugs lightly. “You have seen men like him every day of your lives…men who are quiet, who listen more than they speak, who observe, who judge the world not by power but by character. Men who do not need to announce themselves to be respected.”
Something cold ripples through my chest.
“So we have met him,” I say slowly. “Just… not as the Don.”
Luca lifts a brow, not confirming, not denying.
“Il Don travels often. He speaks with many. He enjoys meeting good men without all the… what is the word?” He waves a hand. “Drama.”
Maverick scoffs, then coughs to cover it up.
But I agree with him. I’m sure the Italian Boss brings drama wherever he goes.
Luca goes on.
“He would never use another name to deceive you. Never to manipulate. If you have crossed paths, it was simply the Don living as a man for a day.” He taps his chest. “Not as a king.”
Spike frowns. “Why the hell would a Don want to do that?”
Luca’s smile softens, almost sad.
“Because even powerful men need moments where they can simply breathe,” he says. “Where they can exist without soldiers, without expectations, without the weight of an empire on their shoulders.”
He sits back, folding his hands.
“And if he did speak to you once as a man?” He gives the faintest shrug. “It was only because he trusted you.”
A thick silence follows.
Not suspicion.
Not fear.
Just… the unsettling realization that any one of the men we’ve crossed paths with over the years could have been the leader of an Italian empire.
Luca finishes softly:
“But understand this, signori…if you met him before, it was never to judge you. Never to evaluate you for war. It was because he wished to see the world without his crown.”