CHAPTER 21 THE PRISONER EXCHANGE
The warehouse lights flickered as Dario Vitale stepped over the spilled ledger books, his oxfords crunching glass from a shattered desk lamp.
Dominic Moretti's accountant wheezed at his feet, one eye swollen shut, wrists zip-tied to the chair.
Blood speckled the man's starched collar where Carmine had persuaded him to stop lying about Owen Pryor's location.
"Your boss wants him back?" Dario tapped the accountant's cheek with a switchblade.
"Tell Dominic I'll trade this useless suit for my guy. Sunset at the old cannery docks. He brings Owen unharmed, I return this one with all his fingers."
He flicked the blade open, letting it catch the fluorescent light.
"That's generous, considering what your people did to my last messenger."
Three blocks east, Dominic paced his office, crushing cigarette butts into a porcelain tray.
"Tell Dario yes," he told the lieutenant relaying the offer, then waited for the door to close before turning to Anthony.
"Put Russo on the roof with a .308. When Vitale reaches for Owen, put a round through his skull."
The cannery docks stank of rotting fish and diesel.
Dario came with four men, the accountant stumbling between them, his wrists now duct-taped.
Dominic's crew emerged from shipping containers, Owen shoved forward with a bag over his head.
Carmine spotted the sniper glint too late—the first shot took the accountant between the shoulder blades.
Chaos erupted. Dario yanked Owen down as concrete exploded where his head had been.
Carmine emptied his Glock toward the rooftops while Vincent's enforcers closed in.
A second bullet grazed Dario's bicep, hot blood soaking his sleeve.
He fired blind toward the muzzle flash, heard a scream, then dragged Owen behind a rusted crane.
"Evelyn's van," Dario barked at Carmine, tossing him the keys. "Go!"
Owen collapsed in the backseat, his shirt blooming red from a gut wound.
Evelyn Crane didn't flinch when Carmine skidded the van into her garage; she was already sterilizing instruments on a fold-out table.
"Hold him down," she ordered, slicing Owen's shirt open with trauma shears.
The bullet had torn through his lower abdomen, glistening loops of intestine visible in the wound.
Dario pressed a towel to Owen's stomach, feeling the wet heat seep through. "Dominic broke the deal," he muttered.
Evelyn didn't look up from clamping a bleeder. "And you didn't expect him to?" Her forceps dug into tissue, extracting a misshapen slug that clinked into a metal tray. "Next time, assume everyone lies."
Outside, Carmine scrubbed blood from the van's upholstery with industrial bleach. The sniper's body would be in the river by dawn, but the real cost was in Owen's ragged breathing, in the way Dario's left hand kept flexing around the grip of his unsheathed knife.
Dominic had made it personal. That wouldn't stand.
Evelyn's hands moved with practiced precision, suturing the torn mesentery as Owen's pulse flickered under her fingertips. "He needs blood," she said, snapping off her gloves. "Type O, and not from any of you gunshot magnets." The overhead bulb buzzed, casting jagged shadows across the garage walls.
Dario pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over a contact labeled Bakery. "I know a guy," he said, but Owen's fingers suddenly clamped around his wrist, weak but insistent.
"Not yet," Owen gasped, his lips pale. "They... they had me in a basement. Heard them talking about a shipment." A cough sent fresh blood trickling down his chin. "Dominic's bringing in new hardware. Tonight. Somewhere near the—" His eyes rolled back.
Evelyn swore, jabbing a syringe of epinephrine into his thigh. "Talk later. Bleed now."
Dario stepped outside, the knife still in his hand. Carmine looked up from the bleach bucket, knuckles raw. "He say anything useful before passing out?"
"Enough." Dario flicked the blade shut. "Call Renzo. Tell him to check the rail yard near Pier 12. If Dominic's diverting from his usual channels, he's either desperate or stupid."
Carmine wiped his hands on his jeans. "Or setting another trap."
"Then we burn the whole yard down." Dario's voice was quiet, the way it got before bodies turned up in dumpsters. Inside, Evelyn barked orders at someone—probably the unlucky soul she'd strong-armed into donating blood.
A phone buzzed in Carmine's pocket. He glanced at the screen, then held it out. "Renzo says the Port Authority logs show an unscheduled cargo train arriving at midnight. Guard details doubled."
Dario smiled, all teeth. "That's our invite." He pulled a burner from his jacket, dialing a number from memory. "Gina? Need your usual rate, plus hazard pay. Bring the nitro."
Carmine stiffened. "You sure that's smart? Dominic'll have every exit watched."
"Let him." Dario pocketed the phone. "Explosions make great distractions."
Evelyn appeared in the doorway, her scrubs streaked with Owen's blood. "If you're planning suicide, take it elsewhere. I just spent two hours keeping this idiot alive."
Dario tossed her the van keys. "Stick to stitching people up, doc. We'll handle the rest."
As the garage door rattled shut behind them, Carmine lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. "Rail yards are open ground. No cover."
Dario checked his pistol's magazine. "Good. Neither will they."
The van lurched forward, tires screeching against the asphalt as Evelyn gripped the wheel with white-knuckled precision.
Owen groaned in the backseat, his breathing shallow but steady, thanks to her quick work.
Dario sat beside her, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror, scanning for tails.
Carmine was in the back, keeping pressure on Owen's wound, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.
"Where's the safe house?" Evelyn asked, her voice sharp. She didn't look at Dario, her focus split between the road and Owen's vitals.
"Northside," Dario replied, his tone clipped. "Dominic's men won't expect us there."
Evelyn nodded, but her jaw tightened. She didn't trust Dominic Moretti any more than she trusted the rest of his family. The Morettis were a nest of vipers, and Dominic was the kind of snake who'd bite even if you fed him.
Carmine exhaled a plume of smoke, his voice cutting through the tension. "You sure about this, Dario? Northside's crawling with Moretti loyalists. If Dominic gets wind of us being there—"
"He won't," Dario interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "Dominic's busy cleaning up his own mess. He won't have time to look for us."
Evelyn's grip on the wheel tightened. "And if you're wrong?"
Dario glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Then we handle it."
She snorted, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Handle it. Right. Because that's worked out so well for us so far."
The van hit a pothole, and Owen groaned again, his hand clutching his side. Evelyn's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, her concern for her patient momentarily overriding her frustration. "Carmine, keep him still. He's lost enough blood as it is."
Carmine ground out his cigarette and shifted closer to Owen, his hands steady as he adjusted the makeshift bandage. "You got it, Doc."
The van sped through the darkened streets, the city's neon lights casting eerie shadows across their faces.
Evelyn's thoughts snapped through options, though she refused to show it.
She'd always prided herself on her ability to read a room, to understand the dynamics at play.
But this—this was something else entirely.
The Morettis operated on a different wavelength, a world where loyalty was a currency and betrayal was just another Tuesday.
She glanced at Dario again, her voice low. "You're playing a dangerous game, Vitale. Dominic's not going to let this slide."
Dario's lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Dominic's already made his move. Now it's our turn."
Evelyn shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't just about Dominic. It's about the rules of this world. And you're breaking every single one of them."
Dario's gaze met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something that looked almost like regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of calm detachment.
"The rules," he said slowly, "are only as strong as the people who enforce them. And right now, Dominic's not in a position to do much enforcing."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed. She'd always known Dario was dangerous, but she was starting to realize just how much she'd misread him. He wasn't just a fixer; he was a gambler, willing to bet everything on a single roll of the dice. And that terrified her.
The van turned a corner, and the safe house came into view—a nondescript building tucked away in a quiet neighborhood.
Evelyn pulled into the driveway, her hands trembling slightly as she cut the engine.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.
Owen needed her, and she couldn't afford to let her fear get in the way.
As they unloaded Owen from the van, Evelyn caught Dario's arm, her voice low but urgent. "This isn't over, Vitale. You can't keep playing this game and expect to win."
Dario looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe not," he said quietly. "But I don't have a choice."
Evelyn stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For the first time, she understood what he wasn't saying—that this wasn't just about Dominic or the Morettis. It was about survival. And in this world, survival came at a cost.
She released his arm, her voice in a low voice. "Then I hope you're ready to pay it."
Dario didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. He was ready. And that scared her more than anything else.
Dario Vitale straightened his cuffs as the black sedan rolled to a stop outside the abandoned textile factory. The engine idled, but he didn't move yet. Through the rain-streaked window, he counted three shadows near the loading dock. Dominic's men. Right on time.