Chapter Eighteen #2
“What can I say? I’m a persuasive guy.” I may have also found a picture of his daughter’s private school on the internet and texted it to him for good measure. It wasn’t a real threat, but he didn’t need to know that. “What about Henry’s birth records?” I ask, swerving onto another topic.
“Those are Catholic church records,” he huffs. “Filing cabinets aren’t hackable. Beyond gluing the son of a bitch back together and pulling a Weekend at Bernie’s , I’m not sure what to do.”
I shrug. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Fuck you. I’m not digging up three hundred chunks of marshal meat.”
Although the thought of desecrating Saddler’s scattered remains sounds diabolically enticing, I roll my eyes. “I’m talking about a personal visit. If they want a live marshal making the request, let’s give ’em one.”
His stare widens as my meaning works its way past that concrete block in his head. “I know you’ve got to be fucking lying…”
“Nope,” I say, already typing out the message.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Owen to clear his schedule for tomorrow.”
Anton shakes his head, wisely keeping any further comments to himself. “Whatever. Have you talked to Toscano?”
“No.”
I hear him suck a breath through his teeth.
“Calm down. I’ve got it under control.”
“How?”
I look up from my phone, a little irritated at being scolded like a thirteen-year-old. “We both know Toscano wants an update on Operation Celtic Clean-up. What do you suggest I tell him? That our target has been lurking in the shadows for days like some kind of fucking psychotic Batman?”
“He knows about the accident, Gianni. He’s capo dei capi of the Five Families for Christ’s sake.”
“All the more reason to have the upper hand when we meet.”
He slumps into his chair. “Fine. But I suggest not waiting much longer. You saw what happened when Marcello left a window open too long.”
Yeah, I pushed him out of it.
Hitting send, I toss my phone on the table. “Did you get the number I asked you to?”
He digs in his pocket and hands me a slip of paper. “I feel I have to caution against this.”
But I’m already dialing.
It’s answered on the second ring.
Novice.
“Carrera…” comes a heavily ac cented voice.
“Welcome to America, Valentin,” I say, hitting the speaker button. “I hear Alejandro has you in Houston now. Moved you up to the big boy’s table and handed you a whole stateside operation. Look at you all grown up and following in your father’s bloody footsteps. Congratulazioni .”
“Gianni Marchesi….” A low chuckle rumbles at the other end of the line. “I could say the same to you, mi amigo . I heard about your father’s untimely death and your rather convenient rise to power.”
Walking to the bar, I refill my glass with whiskey, downing a fourth before bothering to acknowledge him. “Good news travels fast.”
“What can I say? I keep my ear to the ground. The Italian mafia is better than any telenovela . But enough about that. Is there a reason you’re wasting my time, or are you just bored?”
Pompous little shit.
“I’m looking for information on our fathers’ trade exchange,” I snap, the burn of the whiskey irritating my throat and nerves.
“I heard through a twisted grapevine you aren’t as passionate about the live product that was being moved between their two ports.
I figured I’d give you a chance to help dismantle it. ”
“How benevolent of you.” He laughs, the shitty connection making his thick accent even more muddled. “However, I don’t need a fucking sidekick, so what do you really want?”
“Information.”
“What’s it worth to you?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I don’t barter with children.”
An insult he takes as lightly as I expected.
“ Pinche cabrón … It’s in your best interest not to make an enemy of me.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a friendly reminder.”
Nothing the Carreras do is friendly , more like deranged. Alejandro Carrera and his merry band of psychopaths don’t even dispose of the people they’ve murdered. They just decapitate them and line their staked heads by the side of the highways like fucking streetlamps.
“Now if you’re serious about doing business,” he continues, his temper calming, “which, I assume you are, considering you called me, then let’s work out a deal. Otherwise, feel free to keep shooting yourself in the dick. It’s not my wife who’ll suffer the consequences.”
I slam my glass onto the bar. If I ever see this little shit, I’m going to kick his ass. “If I were to consider an exchange, what would it cost me?”
“Full control of Elizabeth Marine Terminal.”
Fuck.
EMT is one of the busiest port terminals in New Jersey.
Not only would handing it over to the cartel be a major financial hit, but it also carries the risk of attracting more heat from the Authority.
Plus, I never take first offers. They’re almost always inequitable with hidden clauses that’ll end up fucking you in the ass.
“A quarter control,” I counter.
“No.”
This fucker’s balls outweigh his common sense.
“I have a man following up on another lead right now, Carrera. He’s powered with the same offer, so I’ll get the information I want.
It’s just a matter of when and from who.
Now, the question is, do you want a small piece of the pie, or not even a fucking crumb? ”
“How do I know you’re not lying?” he growls.
“How do I know you aren’t?” I hit back. “Maybe you’re just riding pápa’s demented coattails.”
Silence.
I smile. That’s youth for you. They’re boringly predictable.
“You’ve been searching for the meaning of the rose and dagger tattoo, haven’t you?” he snaps. “The one all those redheaded idiotas have on them?”
My smile dissolves into a scowl. “What about it?”
“That was your father’s insurance policy.”
“Get to the point, Carrera.”
“Half of the terminal. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
I grit my teeth. This fucking kid is going to live to regret this one day. “If I find out any merchandise coming in or out of my port has a pulse, your execution will be extremely painful and very public.”
“Why the hell do you think I want control of it?”
“As long as we’re clear.”
There’s a static moment of silence, and then, “The man you’re looking for is a Rogue reject named Declan Flynn.”
I catch Anton’s eye, his fingers already at work typing on his phone. “How did he get linked up with my father?”
“Through mine,” he says, the disgust in his voice palpable.
“Flynn’s half-brother was part of the Rogue’s inner circle.
Poor bastard, Declan, wanted a piece of the crumbling pie and was in the right place at the right time.
My father has always prided himself in being a murderous matchmaker of sorts. ”
I’m already in this hole; I might as well see how deep it goes.
“Do you know anything about Carmine Damiano dipping his hands in the operation?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Additional information has an upcharge.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wait…” he calls out, prompting me to leave my finger hovering a few millimeters above the disconnect bu tton. “The rose and dagger isn’t just a tattoo. It’s a brand. Your father made his Providence connection get it, too, as a show of loyalty. Brilliant, huh?”
I watch every word of that statement sink into Anton. Knowing the truth of what my father took part in doesn’t cushion the blow of having it shoved in our faces. “And if anything went south, they had guilt literally written all over them.”
Valentin chuckles. “The man was a pendejo , but he knew how to cover his ass. However, their ‘merchandise’ as they called it, received a crude version of it, too.”
A knife sinks into my gut as I think of the tattoo on Becca’s wrist. “What’s the real reason you wanted access to my port, Carrera?”
“I found out your father contacted mine three weeks ago to arrange a pickup out of Elizabeth Marine Terminal. He told him there’d been a breach in the ‘Rogue,’ and he was moving operations to New Jersey.”
That sick, sadistic son of a bitch…
I want to rip everything off the walls. I want buildings to burn and people to bleed.
“Your father didn’t bring your wife to New Jersey to kill her,” he says, the low shift in his accent skating the wrong way down my spine. “He was going to sell her.”
Ending the call, I shove my phone in my pocket and head toward the door.
“Gianni, wait.”
“Go home, Anton.”
I hear metal scrape behind me as he stands. “Are you all right?”
I turn to face him, the rage within me so dark and destructive it has turned me into a sheet of Zambonied ice. “No, I’m not all right . I just found out my father was planning to sell my wife into sex trafficking. I’m very fucking far from all right .”
“Don’t confront her like this,” he says, his stare unwavering. “If you love her, pull yourself together first. Becca needs to find out about this from her husband, not her avenger.”
Every word is true. My head knows it. My heart knows it.
But there’s already too much of a chasm between us. If I let it widen, we both may fall through.
“Let me worry about my wife.” I open the door, take one step, then turn back for one last parting gift.
“By the way, your friend, Sartorre, used up his free pass with me. There won’t be another, so I suggest telling him the next time he feels like offering his assistance to my wife, to do himself a favor, and don’t. ”
I hope that draws a bold enough line for him to keep his fucking ass behind it.
He gives me a dazed look, like a guy who just watched his girlfriend and side piece strike up a conversation.
Fuck.
These goddamn rabbit holes just keep getting deeper.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” I ask in a tone much calmer than I feel. “Sartorre is your infamous ‘contact.’ That’s why you were so hesitant to name him.”
“I told you I offered him a piece of Marcello’s downfall. I just didn’t specify how.”
“You gave him confidential information.”
He sighs. “Look, I get it. Outsourcing family business isn’t something we do. But there was no time for rules and structure. I have my reservations about the outsider you brought in the circle, but I accept it because you trust him. How about doing the same for me?”
I’d rather eat glass. However, he’s right. With Declan Flynn still alive, I can’t refuse anyone’s help.
I’m about to make a concession I really don’t want to when my phone rings.
Irritated, I pull it from my pocket and hit the answer button. “Damn it, Carrera, I’m not?—”
“Gianni…” comes a solemn voice.
I feel my face fall. “Paulie, what’s wrong? Did you find Reese?”
“Yeah,” he says, the edge to his voice turning my blood cold. “What’s left of him.”