20. Tito
20
TITO
T he little street cafe is packed, not an empty chair in the open-air dining area. The scaffolding overhead shades this little meeting from the late-evening sun. I tap my finger on the wrought-iron mesh of the table and listen to Vic and Sal going on about my choices. I'm in too foul of a mood to listen to this bullshit, but I'm not going to blow my lid like a maniac so that everyone around me knows my business.
"I'm just saying if you spread yourself too thin, your enemy is going to slaughter you." Sal, older than me and probably wiser, tries to chide me as if he is my father and has authority over me. Of course, his wisdom is correct, but he underestimates the strength of my army of men.
"The Uhkovs are moving in every day now, Boss." Vic crumples the wrapper from his burger and tosses it on the table. "We are having skirmishes every day on street corners. They're stirring up unrest with our ladies. The entire row of businesses on Fifth are squeamish now, wanting to pull out."
"I trust you've put an end to that." My glare is directed at Vic, who is supposed to be in complete control of all of our movement in Central LA. This nonsense about the Russians moving in on my territory has gone on long enough. I've sent enough men down there to push them back and enforce our territorial lines, so I don't understand why we're still having this issue.
"They know you don't have the manpower to push them back the way you want to." Vic's head bobs like a fucking bobble head, and his heavy eyelids betray his haphazard approach to strong-arming my enemies. "They're going to keep coming until we send a clear message, but right now, you're all tangled up in the Peralta bullshit, focusing your time on that."
"My dealings with Hector Peralta are none of your fucking business. I'm making moves you don't know about or understand." Though my volume is low, there is so much poison in my tone that Vic gets the point and shuts up. I glare at him with nostrils flared as Sal steps in to calm me down.
"Hey, Tito, he's just tryin' to help. Listen, we get it. You want that organization, but if your enemies come up the backside while you're pushing down the front lines, you're going to be caught with your pants down." Sal presses his palm into the table, and I turn to look at him.
"Do we or do we not have enough manpower to push the Russians back and send a signal that will make it clear to them that we aren't fucking around?" My shoulders hurt. My head is pounding. I want to go home and blow off some steam, get drunk and fuck my wife to relieve this tension, but I have idiots I need to deal with.
Sal narrows his eyes at me and tilts his head. A shadow of a bird overhead passes across his face, and he purses his lips. "In this organization under normal conditions? Yes. We can defeat the Russians with no issue. But when you've sent more than half of them to work their way into the Peralta businesses, expanding our territory that direction on the streets and in their clubs, no. We can't hold both fronts, Tito."
I'm not pulling out of Peralta territory to fight the Russians. They've been on our back doorstep for years, and that's where they will stay. Maybe it's time to test this alliance with Hector and see if he will lend his men to me. That may fix both issues at once. The fewer of his nosy soldiers that are in my way, the more easily I can take what I want, change things to my way and reinforce to those remaining that I'm leading things now.
Then Hector's men will be fighting on my side against my enemy, showing the Uhkovs that we are a force to be reckoned with. It seems like a win-win to me, but I won’t even bring it up with Sal and Vic. They'll question the loyalty of men who are being forced to fight in a war that's not their own.
"We'll have to finish this discussion later. I am going home now. Just pour what we have into the worst areas. I'll have more support in a few days." I stand and pull out my wallet, dropping a few crisp bills onto the table.
The guys say nothing as I slide my wallet back into my pants, but they stand to join me. We begin walking, heading to the parking garage around the corner where my car is safely stowed for our meeting, and I hear the squeal of tires on the pavement in the distance.
"Watch out!" I hear someone shout, and before I even know what's happening, Sal is on top of me, throwing me to the ground.
Seconds later, gunfire erupts. Something fully automatic lets off more rounds in a second that I can count, and my hand goes to my lower back where my Glock is tucked into my belt.
"Stay down," Sal orders as he pushes off me, but I won't lie here like a coward. He races into the fray with his gun pointed at the car from where the ambush has originated.
I raise my gun and fire too, peppering the side of the black sedan with bullet holes. Vic is down, sprawled on the pavement with blood oozing from a hole in his head. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is agape. He was dead before he hit the ground, and I'm surprised it isn't me. Sal saved my life.
"I said stay down," he screams at me, and I crouch lower, but I keep shooting. These bastards could have just driven past and shot the place up, but they stopped. They're not here to send a message. This is an assassination attempt. And I recognize that license plate. It's the Uhkovs' errand boy.
"Get to the car, Sal!" I order, and as he lays cover fire, I stand and run to the street corner. Then I turn and reach around the corner of the brick building to lay cover fire for him as he charges toward me.
The car doesn't follow instantly, and I see why. They open the driver's side door and push someone out, someone who took a round to the chest, compliments of me or Sal. We can't stand here and wait for them to get their shit together, though, so Sal and I run the half-block to the garage entrance and dart inside.
My car is on level one, left here by Vic who drove us across town. Sal and I can't even unlock the damn thing. The keys are in Vic's pocket. So, Sal gives the driver's window a roundhouse kick and the glass cracks into spiderwebs. His second kick causes the window to shatter and glass to rain down on the ground and into the seat. He reaches in and unlocks the car, and we climb in.
He uses his pocket knife to break open the ignition, but it's pointless. These newer vehicles have an immobilizer built into them. There's no way he will get the thing started. It only shows his old-school techniques are because of his age. While he's dicking around trying an impossible task, I open the glove box where I keep two extra guns and a few clips fully loaded, then I reach into the center console where even more ammunition is stored.
"We have to get a different car," I tell him, already climbing out of mine. "That one… over there. The old Camry." There is a nineties model Toyota with rust trying to claim its rear bumper, and that's the only car I see in this damn garage he could hotwire. I just pray it starts. Those Russians aren't going to just run away. They'll be coming for me.
Sal jumps out of my car, and we hurry to the older model car. He has it started in under ninety seconds, and we're pulling out of the garage as the Russian vehicle rolls past. We turn the opposite direction, and Sal steps on the gas. I know these streets better than he does, so I give him directions to take us through alleyways and side streets, anywhere to lose our Russian tail as they pull a U-turn and gain on us.
I watch the rearview mirror like a hawk, expecting the Russians to open fire at any minute. Their boldness to target me in broad daylight on a busy street is startling. They don't give up once they have their target in their sights. And I'm their damn target. They want me dead, but that’s just not going to happen.
Bullets whiz past the side of my newly acquired ride, shattering the back window. Sal curses, ducking down as I reach for the old window crank in the passenger door. I roll down my window and start to fire. One, two, three… the radiator on their car blows out. Steam pours from their grill, and I know before long, they’ll overheat and lose power. But for now, we’re still in a fight for our lives.
"Nice driving," I tell Sal. "Now get us the fuck out of here."
He obeys without argument, turning down another side street and weaving through a maze of alleyways until we find ourselves in Russian territory with the potential to encounter more men who want me dead. I duck down as we pass by a group of men leaning against a brick wall.
"Shit, Sal! You just brought us to their fucking doorstep!" I yell, my heart pounding in my chest as I fumble for extra ammunition.
"I know, but this is the fastest route to safety.” His definition of safety and mine are polar opposites.
I bite my tongue as we speed past the group of men, all of them staring at us like we're their next meal.
"Just keep driving," I growl, my gun drawn and ready to fire at an instant's notice. One wrong move from any of them and they'll have a lot more than holes in their car to worry about.
The car screeches to a halt in front of my house twenty minutes later with one fewer person inside than when we left. Someone will have to explain to Vic's woman why he's not coming home tonight, but when Sal tries to stick around and talk it out, I snap at him and order him to get out.
Someone made an attempt on my life tonight, and I don't take that lightly at all. The Russians think they can move into my territory and threaten me, and after what's been going on with the Feds and Dad having to deal with the money laundering threat, this just adds another complex layer to an already challenging problem. I need to relax.
I make my way upstairs to the bedroom where I know Aria will be this time of night. She's probably curled up with a book. She'll be curling her toes in a few minutes. I'm already peeling my tie off when I walk into the room, and she doesn't even look up at me. She's got her eyes closed, blankets pulled up over her chest.
"Take your clothes off. You're going to make my body explode so I can just fucking relax already." I've not been this demanding about sex since the first night she slept here, but I'm in no mood to coddle her emotions tonight.
"What?" she mumbles, yawning.
"I need to fuck, so take your clothes off." I undo my belt and begin to slide it out as she sits up and scowls at me.
"I was sleeping. I don't feel well." Her eyes blink slowly as she tries to focus on me.
"Alright, well we can skip the part that makes you feel good and you can just suck me off." I free my dick from my slacks and start to stroke a little, but she scoffs and turns over, lying back down.
"Fuck you. I'm not sucking you off. I'm not feeling well. Go find a whore." There is anger in her tone, and I have a mind to beat it out of her.
"Should I remind you that if you don't do what I say, I own your father's organization?" I ask. Yes, it's a threat. I don't give a fuck that I'm supposed to be her husband. She'll get the point. I'm in charge.
"Why don't I just resist you so you'll leave bruises on me and I can go home and keep all your money and manpower too?" Aria looks at me over her shoulder, and I'm so angry now, there's no way I'll ever get hard. So she's read the contract completely now and she thinks she knows the loopholes.
We'll see about that.
"Fine, I'm going to the club. Don’t wait up." If I can't fuck my wife, I'll go get wasted and make Tony drive. Something's got to give. I'm losing ground on every side now, even in the bedroom.