Chapter 36 Gio
GIO
Ipace across the concrete floor, staring at the man tied to a metal chair in the center of the room, a black hood covering his head.
Heavy rope binds his wrists to the armrests, ankles secured to the legs of the chair.
He's been making pathetic whimpering sounds for the past twenty minutes. It's getting on my fucking nerves.
Two of my men flank him, waiting for my signal. Blood has already soaked through the man's shirt from earlier persuasion techniques. Nothing serious—yet.
I stop directly in front of him and nod to one of my associates.
"Take it off."
He yanks the hood from the man's head. Light hits his face, and he blinks rapidly, disoriented.
His left eye is swollen shut, dried blood caked around his split lip.
He's young—early twenties, maybe—with the typical Eastern European features of our Russian friends.
Just a foot soldier. But useful nonetheless.
"Let's try this again," I say, voice calm. I lean down, bringing my face close to his. "Mikhail Petrov and Viktor Sokolov. What can you tell me about them?"
His good eye darts around frantically. "I—I don't know much, I swear."
I straighten up, rolling my neck to ease the tension. "But you do know them."
"Yes," he admits, his accent thick with fear. "They are important men."
"How important?" I press.
He swallows hard. "No one really talks to Viktor. He stays away, gives orders through Mikhail."
These are the men responsible for putting Raven through hell. For burning down her gallery. For trying to take her from me. I hate saying their names, but I know it's so I can make sure death finds them.
"And Mikhail? Tell me about him."
"He handles security for Viktor, keeps the docks safe for shipments." His words come faster now, desperate to provide something valuable. "He has men everywhere. Police, city officials. He's Viktor's right hand."
I file away each detail, constructing a mental map of their operation, but I need more.
"What do they want with Ravenna Carvello?"
The man's eye widens at the mention of Raven's name. "The woman? That artist or whatever?"
"Yes," I say, my voice low. "What do they want with her?"
Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for his answer. The mere thought of another man wanting her makes my vision blur with rage. Raven is marked as mine in ways these bastards could never understand.
He licks his bloody lips. "Viktor was mad. Her father stole a lot of money. Promised daughter as payment."
The rage that's been simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over. I take a deep, steadying breath.
"And what else?" I press, circling behind him. "What else do you know about their operation?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing! I just move packages. I'm not high enough."
"How do I find them? Where are they based?"
"I don't know," he whimpers. "I swear. We get calls, we go where told. Mikhail moves around. No one knows where Viktor stays."
I stand silent for a moment, watching him squirm. He's served his purpose, given me what little information he has. And yet, it's not nearly enough to satisfy the rage burning inside me. Not enough to protect what's mine.
I turn to my men, voice cold. "Kill him."
The man starts thrashing in his chair. "No! Please! I told you everything!"
I don't look back as I walk away. "Make it quick."
I have no patience for this foot soldier. Every second spent here is a second away from her.
I push through the heavy door into the cool night air, inhaling deeply. My black Rolls-Royce idles nearby, its headlights cutting through the darkness. My driver opens the door as I approach.
Next stop, Enzo's place.
I stride into Enzo's office, the blood of the Russian foot soldier speckling the bottom of my shirt.
Marco sits in one of the leather armchairs, his face stoic as he looks up at me. Enzo stands behind his mahogany desk, palms flat against its polished surface, leaning forward.
"Well?" Enzo asks.
"He didn't know much," I say, pouring myself three fingers of whiskey from the crystal decanter.
"But I got enough. Viktor Sokolov runs the show, hiding in the shadows.
His right hand, Mikhail Petrov, handles security and operations.
They're pissed about Frank Carvello's debt and still want Raven as payment. "
"Where's Raven now?" Marco asks.
"At my place. Four men on the perimeter, two inside. She's safe." I lock eyes with Enzo. "For now."
"Okay, so does this mean Viktor is the one Raven was promised to?" Marco asks.
I nod. "I suppose so. He's the one who lost the money."
Enzo nods slowly, then addresses us both. "Knowing you were involved, Gio, they still burned her gallery. They tried to take her. This isn't just about Marco's shooting anymore. This is a direct challenge to our family."
"They're fucking dead," I growl. "All of them."
"We need to be smart about this," Marco interjects. "The Russians have connections. We start a war, there will be consequences."
I slam my fist on the table. "It's already started!"
Marco doesn't flinch. He's used to my temper. "I'm not saying we don't hit back. I'm saying we need a clean strike. Something that can't be traced to us."
Enzo shakes his head. "I don't know if that's possible anymore. Gio sure as shit ain't giving the girl up, so…"
Suddenly, the door opens, and Ares walks in without knocking. Only Ares could get away with that. Besides being a loyal friend since we were all kids, Enzo's security team wouldn't dare stop the son of the head of the Greek family.
"I hear you have a Russian problem," Ares says, crossing the room to shake each of our hands. His grip is firm.
"I called him to come," Gio says.
"Good to see you, Ares. How's your father?"
Ares nods and takes a seat. "He's good. Sends his regards," he says and turns to me. "Sorry about the gallery, friend. How's your woman?"
"She'll be better when I deliver her the heads of every Russian mafia member in Chicago."
Ares laughs. "That's why I'm here. I thought you might want some help with that delivery."
Enzo nods and takes a seat behind his desk. "And what would the Kastaris family want in return for such gracious assistance?"
Ares sits forward. "First, I don't need to remind the room of my family's loyalty and friendship. We'd offer some help no matter what, as I told Gio, but now—now real action is required, and a war will be fought, so my father wants a little something in return." He leans back.
"I'm all ears," Zo says.
"The Russians have been encroaching on our shipping routes for months," Ares explains. "We've been looking for an excuse to push back. This gives us one." He strokes his beard. "In exchange for our help, we want the waterfront district and the three blocks surrounding it."
Enzo's eyes narrow. "A little something? That's prime territory."
"Well, we're offering prime assistance," Ares counters smoothly.
I step forward. "What kind of assistance?"
Ares leans forward in his chair. "Information, for starters. We know that Mikhail Petrov and a crew are arriving at Pier 17 tomorrow at midnight. They're picking up a shipment of weapons from Albania."
My pulse quickens. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes. Six men, maybe seven. Heavily armed, but vulnerable when they're loading."
Marco interjects. "If we hit them at the docks, the Russians will know their plans were leaked. They'll suspect the Greeks immediately."
"We know," Ares says simply. "We're prepared for the consequences. It's time to draw lines in this city again, hence the desire for territory expansion."
Enzo gives me a look, and I nod. So does Marco.
He stands and walks around to the front of the desk. "The waterfront district, minus the south end. And two blocks, not three."
Ares considers for a moment. "My father will be pleased." He stands, extending his hand. "I'll have the details sent over in an hour. We may not get another chance for some time, so prepare, gentlemen."
Zo and he shake, and then Ares turns to me. "It'll be good to do a hit with you again, friend. It's been some time. Business aside, we're all family here."
I nod. "Glad I can always count on you, Ares."
After he leaves, Zo turns to us. "Get the men ready. Full tactical gear. I want our best shooters."
"I'll lead the strike team," I say immediately walking toward the door to leave to prepare.
"Of course you will," Enzo laughs. "Don't do anything stupid. You're no good to this woman dead. Or to any of us, for that matter."