44. Dante
Chapter 44
Dante
“I
s this a wise idea?” Enzo wrinkles his nose in disgust, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His eyes dart around the dimly lit alleyway, searching for any signs of danger. “The Destroyers have a reputation.”
Their reputation is exactly what I’m in need of. “You’ve witnessed it as well as I have. Tommaso has gone underground. We need to find a way to ferret him out, and the Destroyers can do that for us.”
The last thing I ever wanted was to get tangled up with a motorcycle gang, but we don’t have a choice. It’s been almost two weeks since anyone has seen Tommaso Martinelli, and rumors swirl that he knows both Saverio Castiglione and myself are hunting him down. His attempt to eliminate me failed, and now I’m more determined than ever to seek revenge and put an end to his treachery.
Regrettably, the only individual who has had any contact with Tommaso is his drug supplier. This forces us to turn to the Destroyers and humbly plead for their assistance in taking down the head of the Martinelli family.
“We could wait them out,” Enzo suggests. “We don’t need to get our revenge right now. We can take our time, come up with a really good plan, and?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “We have to find him now. The longer we wait, the more likely it is Tommaso disappears off the face of the Earth and we never hear from him again.” Or worse, he disappears but sends his men to finish the job. I can’t live with increased security forever. Nor can I live with Salvatore and Luciano for months on end. I love my brothers, but they’ve got to go.
Enzo’s hands twist and fidget with the car keys, a nervous habit. “It just makes me anxious dealing with the Destroyers. They have no class or tact. And they don’t know how to talk to people. They’re unrefined.”
The families have always grumbled about the motorcycle clubs in the area, but we’ve had turf wars with the Destroyers. They’re not really a club so much as they are a gang dedicated to ruining all the progress we brought to the Midwest. They are predominantly situated in Rosedale, but they travel for work. When you’ve got a motorcycle and paying clientele, driving a couple hundred miles a day isn’t a dealbreaker. To them, money and power are worth any price.
“Oh, god,” Enzo groans as four bikers pull into the abandoned lot, “they brought backup. We should have brought backup. I’m still basically useless.”
The gunshot did a number on Enzo’s confidence, but I can’t build him back up right now. There’s work to be done. “It would be open season on the Destroyers if they took us out when we requested a sit-down. Nothing’s going to happen.” But I’ll admit, as they began to encircle us like a pack of hungry wolves closing in on their prey, I get a little nervous, too.
Thankfully, the deafening roar of the motorcycles comes to an end after two rotations. The four riders expertly park their bikes in perfect synchronization, the sound of the engines cutting off abruptly.
The first to take off his motorcycle helmet is Raiden Drake, a well-known Destroyer who runs the drug operation. He tilts his head from side to side, his neck popping with each movement. “Terlizzi,” he says with a curt nod.
Our people don’t interact with the Destroyers that much. Like Enzo said, they’re crude and uncivilized. When we kill someone, we bury their body. When the Destroyers kill someone, they shout it from the rooftops. They are savage and barbaric, and I handle them like a bomb that could go off at any moment. “Drake. Thanks for coming.”
His fellow riders take their cue from him, shedding their heavy helmets and dismounting their bikes. Despite the scorching 87-degree evening, they are all clad in matching black leather jackets bearing the patch of the Destroyers motorcycle gang on the back. “You said it was a catch and release, so I brought my best guys. Wolfe, Gunnar, and Apollo,” he points at them each when he calls their name. “What’s the deal?”
Raiden isn’t the small-talk type. Again, like Enzo said, they don’t have much class. “We know you deal drugs to Tommaso Martinelli’s guys. We want Martinelli.”
They laugh at me as if I just asked them to steal the Declaration of Independence. “I’ve never met Martinelli, you dumb fuck,” Raiden shakes his head. “What makes you think I’m going to get to him?”
“If you can get to his guys, you can get to him. They’re all in hiding. If they’re stupid enough to score from you, they’re stupid enough to lead you to their boss.” I’m not easily offended; Raiden Drake calling me a dumb fuck doesn’t affect me in the slightest.
“What if we do get him?” Raiden crosses his arm over his chest. “What then? You expect us to hand him over to you?”
A sly grin creeps onto my lips, like a shadow passing over the moon. “No, you dumb fuck,” I return the insult, “not without a cash incentive.”
Raiden’s expression twists and contorts with anger, his eyes flashing with fury. He falls silent for a moment, turning to the man next to him, who goes by the name of Wolfe. They share a brief, wordless exchange through subtle eyebrow movements and a slight quirk of their lips. Finally, Raiden’s attention returns to me, but the tension in the air remains palpable. “We all heard about the break-in, Terlizzi. He the one that done it?”
Raiden’s grammar is atrocious. “He sent his men, but yeah. It was Tommaso Martinelli.”
His lips curl into a sneer before he spits on the ground. “You can’t call yourself a man if you aren’t willing to do your own dirty work. If he wanted to hurt you so bad, he shoulda done it himself.”
I wish Tommaso had been there the night of the home invasion. I would have taken my time breaking every bone in his body. “I agree. That’s why I’m here asking you for help and not someone else.”
“You brought your bodyguard, though.” Raiden looks Enzo up and down. “You don’t trust us or what?”
“He goes with me everywhere.” The last thing I need is a burly, leather-clad biker getting it into his head that I can’t trust him. “He took a bullet from Martinelli’s men. He wants his revenge just as badly as I do.”
Raiden’s features morph into a show of respect. Instead of being disgusted by Enzo’s presence, he nods his head coolly at the man and turns to look at me. “You got a deal, Terlizzi. But when we get Martinelli, you better be at the drop-off. I don’t want your guys there to cover your ass.”
I know what the Destroyers expect from me. They don’t insulate their boss from getting caught by the police. If something has to be done, the President does it himself. It’s a different setup than the one our families follow, but I respect their traditions. “You just worry about getting Martinelli as relatively unharmed as possible. I want him in pristine condition.”
“He might take a few hits,” Raiden replies with a shrug. “We’ll try not to rough him up too much.”
At the end of the day, as long as I get the call that they’re ready to exchange Tommaso for a bag of cash, I don’t care what they do to him. “See you soon, Drake.”