CHAPTER 21 THE PRISONER EXCHANGE #2
"Carmine," he said without looking at the man beside him. "Check the perimeter again. I want confirmation they didn't bring extras."
Ruso exhaled through his nose but reached for the radio. "On it, boss." His fingers tapped a quick pattern against the handset—their private code for possible heat.
The backseat creaked as Vincent Moretti leaned forward. "You're sure about this exchange? Once we hand over those ledgers—"
"They're photocopies," Dario interrupted. "Dominic's too arrogant to check. And we get Anthony back in one piece." He turned his head just enough to catch Vincent's expression in the rearview mirror. "Unless you'd rather leave your cousin to rot?"
Vincent's knuckles whitened around the briefcase handle between them.
Dario pushed the door open before the tension could thicken. Rain needled his face as he strode toward the flickering industrial lights. His shoes splashed through oil-slicked puddles, the chemical smell of old solvents clinging to the air.
Dominic Moretti stood beneath a broken awning, his tailored overcoat untouched by the weather. Two bruisers flanked him, hands conspicuously empty in what was meant to pass for good faith.
"Vitale." Dominic smirked. "Still playing errand boy for my nephew, I see."
Dario stopped three paces short, letting the rain sheet between them. "Let's skip the theatrics. You have Anthony. I have what you want." He snapped his fingers.
Carmine emerged from the sedan with a metal case. He popped the latches under Dario's nod, revealing rows of microfilm canisters. Dominic's eyes tracked the movement like a wolf spotting wounded prey.
"Where's my verification?" Dario asked evenly.
Dominic jerked his chin toward the loading bay. One of his men hauled open the rusted door. Anthony Moretti slumped on a folding chair inside, his left eye swollen shut, but breathing.
A muscle twitched in Dario's jaw. "Carmine. Check him."
Ruso moved forward, but Dominic blocked him with an outstretched arm. "Ledgers first."
Dario didn't blink. "Half now. Half when Anthony's in my car."
Dominic laughed, sharp and sudden. "Still the same stingy bastard." He snapped his fingers. One of his men tossed a keycard onto the wet concrete between them. "Warehouse on Pier 16. Your boy's in the freezer unit."
Vincent sucked in a breath behind Dario. The implication hung in the air—Anthony wasn't the only hostage.
Dario scooped up the keycard, his voice dropping to a blade's edge. "If Owen Pryor isn't breathing when we open that door, Dominic, I'll personally peel the skin from your favorite enforcer while you watch."
Dominic's smirk faltered for half a second. Just long enough for Dario to know he'd scored.
The exchange happened in tense silence—microfilm for Anthony's stumbling form. Carmine caught the younger Moretti before he could faceplant on the asphalt, half-dragging him toward the sedan.
Vincent lingered, his stare locked on Dominic. "This isn't over."
"Oh, it's barely begun," Dominic called after them as Dario turned his back. The rain swallowed the rest of his taunts.
Anthony collapsed across the backseat, his fingers scrabbling at Dario's sleeve. "He's got—Evelyn—"
Dario caught his wrist, squeezing hard enough to silence him. "I know." He met Vincent's furious glare in the rearview. "Drive. Now."
The tires shrieked against wet pavement as they peeled away. A single new fact burned in Dario's skull—Dominic had just upped the stakes. And Evelyn Crane was running out of time.
The van's side door slid open before they'd fully stopped, Carmine catching the handle to keep it from slamming against the warehouse wall.
Dominic stood fifteen feet away under a flickering sodium light, hands in his coat pockets like he'd been waiting for a bus. The bastard hadn't even brought backup.
"Where's the buyer?" Dario stepped out first, left hand loose at his side, right still gripping the pistol tucked in his waistband.
The air reeked of diesel and the sharp tang of the river just beyond the chain-link fence.
A new detail caught his eye—Dominic's right shoe was untied, lace trailing like he'd dressed in a hurry.
Dominic shrugged. "Had a change of heart."
Vincent came around the front bumper fast. "You lying piece of—"
"Anthony's boys intercepted the wire transfer twenty minutes ago." Dominic pulled his right hand free, tossing a burner phone at Dario's feet. The cracked screen showed a banking app with six zeros behind a decimal point. "Turns out our cousins from Jersey don't appreciate being used as bait."
Evelyn shoved past Carmine, Owen's blood streaking her sleeves. "You set us up to flush out Vincent's rivals."
"Correction." Dominic smiled. "I set you up to prove which side you're really on." His gaze locked onto Dario. "Dad wants to know why his consigliere's running ops with Crane's pet surgeon."
Dario kicked the phone aside. "Tell Anthony he'll get his answers when—"
"Now." Dominic drew his own weapon, a compact Glock with filed-down sights. The metallic click of safeties disengaging came from the warehouse roof—two, maybe three shooters Dario hadn't spotted. "Drop the guns or Carmine loses a kneecap."
Vincent's snarl cut through the wet night air. "You'd turn on blood?"
"Better than turning on the family." Dominic jerked his chin toward Evelyn. "She walks. The rest of you come with me to answer for conspiring with outsiders."
Evelyn stepped forward, Owen's scalpel glinting between her fingers. "Try taking them."
Dominic sighed. "See, that's the problem." He raised his left hand—Owen's medical bag dangled from his fingers, the contents spilling across the asphalt. "You're all out of bargaining chips."
Dario felt the trap snap shut. Dominic hadn't just double-crossed them—he'd engineered the meeting point to leave them defenseless. No buyer, no money, no medical supplies for Owen bleeding out in the van. The math was brutal: fight and risk Vincent getting shot, comply and lose all leverage.
Carmine edged sideways, putting himself between Dominic and the van. "Boss, we got maybe eight minutes before Pryor bleeds into his—"
A shot cracked the air. Carmine staggered as concrete chips exploded near his feet.
"Next one's femoral," Dominic said. "Dario. Call it."
The river wind carried the distant wail of sirens—real or bluff, another variable Dario couldn't calculate. He met Evelyn's furious gaze, saw the exact moment she realized the same thing he had: Dominic wasn't just following orders. He was making his move.
Dario slowly raised his hands. "We'll talk to Anthony."
Dominic's grin showed teeth. "Damn right you will." He motioned with the Glock. "Van stays. Crane walks. Rest of you—move."
Evelyn's scalpel didn't waver. "I'm not leaving Owen."
"You are," Dominic said, "unless you want me to put two in his skull right now." He nodded toward the warehouse. "Clock's ticking, doc. Your call."
Dario saw the tremor in Evelyn's jaw, the way her fingers whitened around the scalpel. Knew exactly what she'd do three seconds before she did it. He lunged—not at Dominic, but at Vincent, shoving the older man behind the van's hood as Evelyn threw the blade.
The scalpel buried itself in Dominic's forearm. His shot went wide, shattering a warehouse window. Dario tackled Evelyn as return fire peppered the ground where she'd stood, rolling them both behind a rusted dumpster. Carmine was already returning fire from the van's open door, buying seconds.
Dominic's voice carried over the gunfire, furious now: "Last chance, Vitale! You really want war over some civilian?"
Dario pressed Evelyn down, his mouth at her ear. "They'll kill Owen to spite you." He yanked his pistol free, thrust it into her hand. "Go. I'll hold them."
Her fingers closed over the grip. "This isn't over."
"No." Dario watched Dominic signal his shooters to flank. "It's just getting expensive."
The warehouse erupted into chaos as gunfire sliced through the air. Dominic Moretti’s men surged forward, their weapons trained on Dario and Evelyn. Dario shoved Evelyn behind a stack of crates, his voice sharp. "Stay down. They’re not here to negotiate."
Carmine Russo crouched low, his gloved hands already moving. He’d been in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. "Vitale," he called, voice steady despite the bullets ricocheting off metal. "I’ll get Pryor. Cover me."
Dario didn’t hesitate. He fired two shots, forcing Dominic’s men to duck. "Go. Now."
Carmine moved like a shadow, slipping between the chaos. Owen Pryor was slumped against a wall, his hands bound and his face pale. Blood streaked his temple, but he was alive. Carmine knelt beside him, pulling a knife from his belt. "Hold still," he muttered, slicing through the ropes.
Owen winced, his voice hoarse. "Who the hell are you?"
"Your extraction," Carmine said flatly. He hauled Owen to his feet, ignoring the man’s protests. "Move, or you’re dead."
Dominic’s voice cut through the noise. "Russo! You’re making a mistake!"
Carmine didn’t answer. He shoved Owen forward, using the crates as cover. A bullet grazed his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. Dario’s shots kept Dominic’s men pinned, allowing Carmine to drag Owen toward the exit.
Evelyn watched from her hiding place, her grip tightening on the pistol Dario had given her.
She didn’t fire—her hands trembled too much for accuracy—but she kept her eyes on Dominic.
He stood in the center of the chaos, his face twisted with fury.
"Vitale!" he shouted again. "You think this ends here?"
Dario didn’t respond. He fired another shot, forcing Dominic to dive for cover. "Evelyn," he said, his voice low. "When I say move, you move."
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The gun felt heavy in her hand, foreign. She wasn’t a fighter, but she wasn’t helpless either. Not anymore.
Carmine reached the door, shoving Owen through first. He glanced back at Dario, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Then he was gone, pulling Owen into the night.