Chapter Twenty-Two
Lorena
Maximo is dead.
It’s hard to believe it, but the picture of his dead body staring right at me from the screen of my phone is proof. I take in his blue T-shirt which has a large, grey patch staining his back where he was shot. There is another hole at the side of his head, and I can see that because there are several pictures of him on my phone screen, with different angles and shots taken.
All the pictures were sent to me by Uncle Pedro.
He didn’t leave any other message. But he didn’t have to because I get the message loud and clear.
This is both a punishment and a warning for trying to disobey his orders.
My hands shake as my phone clatters to the floor. A choked sob escapes my lips, and I place one hand over my mouth to contain my cries.
My best friend for the longest time has been killed. All because I couldn’t kill Leo, the man I recently just met. And while I was with Leo last night, Maximo was probably taking his last breath.
The tears flowing down my eyes are uncontrollable. I don’t try to control them anyway. I’d just retired to my room to freshen up after making breakfast when I saw the message notification pop up on my phone.
I am a total mess, filled with different emotions swirling through my head. Pain, regret, but mostly anger.
I’m angry at myself, and I’m angry at Uncle Pedro.
I’ve always known that my uncle was a ruthless man, but I never thought he would go this far. He knows how much Maximo means to me, and that is exactly why he had Maximo killed. To get to me.
“It’s all my fault,” I say as a fresh wave of tears pours down my eyes.
Snap out of it , a harsh voice whispers in my head.
Pedro killed Maximo because that’s who he is; a manipulative bastard who derives joy in controlling everyone around him, a heartless man who only cares about himself, a desperate man who would do anything to get what he wants.
My anger rises again, and this time around, the rage is almost blinding.
When I saw the pictures, I’d sent Uncle Pedro frantic texts, begging and hoping that what I was seeing wasn’t true. He replied to none of them. I’d called him, angry and devastated, to demand an explanation. He answered none of my calls.
There is only one way to meet him, and that is by taking the nearest flight to New York.
It is a hasty, risky and rash decision, but it’s the least I can do for Maximo.
With that resolve, I quickly pack a few personal belongings that I would need into a small travel bag. Grabbing my phone, I book the nearest flight to New York, which is in about two hours. I grab my burner phone and a stack of emergency cash buried at the bottom of my suitcase. I cannot risk being caught by withdrawing from an ATM.
I go over my things to make sure I have everything I need at the moment, making a mental note of the things I will get when I arrive in New York. Like weapons.
With everything set, there’s only one issue left. I slip out of my room, hoping that Leo hasn’t left for work yet. I exhale a breath of relief when I see him walking out of the main entrance with Fabio. Without thinking, I rush after him.
“Hello, sir,” I call out, equally stepping outside the house.
They both halt in their steps and turn to watch me approach.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation,” I address the both of them before turning to look at Leo.
“I was hoping to talk to you about my leave,” I say, forcing my voice to sound casual and soft. “I have a family event that I must attend, and I was hoping to take a few days off.”
Leo has an unreadable expression on his face as he takes me in. I will myself to remain calm and impassive under his cool stare.
“Three days,” is all he says, before waving me off and turning to Fabio.
“Thank you,” I mutter before turning and practically running into the house.
On a normal day, it would sting that he just dismissed me like a regular chef after our moment last night. But I have no time to think about that now.
And today is not a normal day.
*********
Leonardo
“I want you to tail my chef. Ensure she's safe, and keep me updated on her whereabouts,” I say gruffly into the receiver.
“Yes, Don,” Matteo, one of my men, grunts on the other side of the line. Fabio raises his eyebrow at me.
“Sure, she's just your chef?” he teases.
I’m about to speak when my phone rings again. Glancing at the screen, I see that it is Vito.
“You need to come to the port pronto, Don,” Vito’s voice fills my ear. “Pedro left you a message.”
I clench my fists, my insides rolling with anger.
“What’s the matter?” Fabio asks as he takes in the expression on my face.
I sigh. “It seems Pedro is finally calling for a war,” I say before walking towards my car.
The drive to the port is one of the fastest I’ve driven in my life. In a few minutes, I arrive, parking my car by my warehouse before stepping out.
Five dead bodies greet me the moment I step into the dim warehouse interior.
“What is this?” I growl, taking in the bodies of young men arranged on the floor.
“These guys shared a studio apartment downtown,” Vito steps forward, joining me. “They were slaughtered at home...”
Vito’s voice fades into the background as I take in the person lying in the middle, particularly at the deep, bloody words engraved on his naked chest.
YOU ARE NEXT.
“I checked them all out. Just regular Joes, except this one,” Vito explains.
“What's his deal?” I demand.
“He's a defector from Cuban territory in Florida. Betrayed Pedro. Thought he'd be safe here since Pedro should have no access to our turf.”
Viscous anger rolls through me, threatening to spill. “Is that all you have on him?”
Vito gestures to one of the men behind him, who brings out a phone and hands it over to me. “Found this on him. I hacked it open, and we were trying to find more information on him before you came in,” Vito says.
I scan the phone, my heart lurching at the last dialed number.
Lorena.
Can’t be her. There are probably a thousand and one Lorena’s in Sicily. But then I see the saved contact, and at the display picture he saved the number with.
Lorena. My Lorena.
Confusion hits me hard, like a brick. How does she know this man? What business could she possibly have with him?
I go to their text messages, and as I scroll upward to the older texts shared between them, I recognize the same messages I’d read from Lorena’s phone while we were in New York. The little boy I teased her about.
Now, I wish I’d killed this man myself.
“This is a warning, Don. Pedro's infiltrated your turf, he probably has men here waiting to fulfil his every command,” Vito's voice brings me back.
It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying while my mind tries to put the pieces of what's going on together. The message Lorena received after we’d had sex last night, her sudden request for leave this morning.
If Maximo, as I’ve learned from the text messages shared between them, ran from Cuban territory in Florida, does that mean…
“Has Pedro’s exact location been found?” I ask Vito, and he nods in response.
“Prepare for an ambush. We move tonight.”
The moment I step out of the warehouse, I dial Matteo’s number. He answers on the first ring.“Where is she?” I say, unable to keep the growl out of my voice.
“At the airport, Don. She booked a flight to New York. I booked one too, and we are currently waiting at the departure lounge,” Matteo replies.
“Keep me posted,” I order before hanging up.
Vito approaches. “Attacking now plays into Pedro's hands.”
“And I don’t give a fuck about that,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Backing away would mean I am scared of Pedro, and I am not.”
Vito nods. “Of course not, Don. I was not insinuating that. I just think we should tread with caution because this might be a trap.”
“I usually take my time before I attack anyone who comes for me. Pedro knows that, so he will not be expecting me. He most likely isn’t ready for war yet, which is why we must move immediately.”
Vito nods in understanding and agreement.
“Send some of the men over to my house. Tighten the security. No one in or out until we return,” I command, before striding away.
By nighttime, my blood is boiling from unshed violence. We arrive at the tarmac where my private jet is waiting. I’m embarking on this journey with only seven of my most trusted and strongest men, Vito included.
The flight to New York takes approximately ten hours, and by the time we land, I’m ready to shed blood. I’m restless throughout the period we wait for the night to come. By the time it’s dark, we are ready for war.
Under the cover of darkness, our cars speed across the streets of New York as we drive towards Pedro’s newly acquired property. In no time, we approach the sprawling compound, which is guarded and protected by layers of security. Parking amongst the bushes, we stealthily navigate through the shadows and trees until we get to the towering fence.
We bypass the outer perimeter and slip through a side entrance. The building looms before us, and we move silently, like ghosts, through the dimly lit compound, making sure to avoid triggering any alarms.
Everything seems to be going smoothly—until it’s not.
Black-clad figures ambush us, confirming Vito's warning: Pedro anticipated our move. The air fills with the deafening sound of gunfire, echoing through the grand halls. We hide behind walls and pillars, shooting relentlessly. But it’s almost hopeless. Pedro’s men are in the hundreds for fuck’s sake. One by one, my men fall as they are shot. My chest squeezes painfully. I heave out heavy breaths.
“Fall back,” I yell to the remaining three.
But there is no way to go. We are completely surrounded. It’s either we kill or be killed.
As the chaos ensues, I press forward, dodging bullets and returning fire. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins. My third in command falls somewhere by my right, leaving us to a total of two men, just me and Vito. I refuse to yield.
The odds are stacked against us, but we have come too far to give up.
Until Vito is shot. I feel my heart drop as his body falls beside me.
“Give up, Leonardo,” Pedro Rodriguez taunts, stepping forward out of the shadows, like the devil he is, with a gun aimed at my head. “Or not. I'm rather enjoying the show.”
“You bastard,” I growl, my anger boiling over. But as I lunge forward, a shot rings out behind me, narrowly missing my shoulder.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Pedro sneers, his voice dripping with spite. “One wrong move and you'll be joining your pathetic father in hell.”
Bloodied and battered, I stand before Pedro, a gun pressed against my head, with a horde of his henchmen looming behind me, their weapons ready to strike.
Shit!