Wolfe #2
The drivers in our SUVs flipped back around and drove over the grass on the lawn to provide cover when we approached the warehouse. All the men who were posted there were gone, and the large warehouse door was propped open slightly.
I took cover by the engine of one of our cars, staring into the shadow of the doorway, unsure what to make of it. I looked over at Santino and then at Don Russo and shook my head. “It’s a trap.”
Don Russo moved up the car until he came to my side.
“It’s definitely a trap,” I repeated. “Are you sure Ciro wasn’t under duress when he called?”
Don Russo continued to stare at the warehouse and said nothing, as if he didn’t hear me. His eyes shifted, and his eyebrows moved slightly up like he was thinking it all through.
I didn’t repeat my question, and I didn’t need to, because both of the doors to the warehouse suddenly swung open…
and revealed an entire militia of armed men.
I could see rows and rows of them, all carrying shotguns and automatic rifles.
Some even had grenades in their grasp, the pin already pulled out so all they had to do was toss them in our direction.
And in the center, a man walked forward in charcoal-gray jeans and a black t-shirt.
He was unusually tall, my height or maybe an inch or two taller.
I never encountered men who were six-five, and I certainly didn’t encounter guys who were six-seven.
He wasn’t lanky, but packed with muscle all over his body, as if he only liked to gain and not shred.
There was ink on his arms, but at this distance, I couldn’t determine the specifics.
You could learn a lot about a man by the marks he permanently made on his body.
He had a rifle leaned against his shoulder with the barrel pointed in the air, a fat Cuban cigar sticking out of his mouth. He took a few steps forward then suddenly snapped his fingers.
The men broke their formation and started to retrieve something from the back.
A minute later, we realized it wasn’t something, but someone.
He dragged a teenager across the ground and dropped him, red blood splashed all over him.
They brought out a woman and a little girl and then a couple men… and then Ciro.
They were all bloody.
Then I realized each one of them was missing a limb, an arm or a leg or a hand. They were all gagged so their cries were muffled like their injuries, and they writhed in pain as they continued to bleed into the bandages that had been applied.
I’d seen a lot of shit—but not this.
Ciro was in tears, his cheeks red and puffy, hyperventilating because he couldn’t adequately breathe through his gag.
Icarus snapped his fingers.
Now what?
A moment later, one of his men came forward with a bloody burlap sack.
I already knew the contents.
“Thank you for coming, Don Russo.”
The lackey turned the bag over and dumped a pile of hands, arms, and legs on the ground like Christmas presents from Santa’s pack.
“These gifts are for you.” Icarus stepped forward and put his foot on a leg. He changed its position with his boot before he kicked it like a soccer ball. It landed about ten feet from the car.
I got a closer look at it, studied the hair on the tanned skin, and knew it belonged to one of the men.
“I’m glad we’ve finally found the time to get together.” He raised his hand and beckoned us forward with his fingers. “Come on, don’t be shy. It’s time we sit down like men and have a nice conversation.”
His cronies grabbed a couple cheap lawn chairs and placed them in front of the pile of body parts.
Icarus leaned his gun against the chair then took a seat.
“I apologize, but I’m all out of tea.” He raised his hands in the form of a playful shrug, smiled widely to show all his teeth, and then got comfortable in the chair.
Then he clicked his tongue and pushed the other chair with his foot.
“Come on. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. ” He clicked his tongue again.
I’d dealt with some psychopaths, but this man was a cut above all the rest.
I looked at Don Russo and silently asked what we should do.
Don Russo stared for a while before he met my look. Then he shook his head slightly.
That meant we needed to get the hell out of here.
I motioned to Santino behind me, and we spread the message, knowing we all had to jump into the car and take off in the next few seconds.
“Wow, didn’t think Cosa Nostra was the type to run from a fight,” Icarus said. “What a disappointment.” He snapped his fingers, treating his own men like dogs.
They all moved forward and aimed their guns at us. Like soldiers marching into battle, they kept their rows intact and even marched in sync as if they’d trained for this.
Then he snapped his fingers again.
They came to a stop.
When Icarus spoke again, he was no longer calm. He shouted with the force of a hurricane that could fell trees with its strength. He rose to his feet at the same time. “Sit with me—or you all die.”
Santino leaned the back of his head against the car. “We’re fucking dead.”
As if Icarus somehow heard that, he said, “If I wanted you dead, you’d all already be gone. Sit with me like a man, and let us negotiate.”
Don Russo took in a slow breath before he started to rise.
I had a lot of belief in my mentor. I’d watched him pull off moves across the board that no one saw coming. Saw him break skulls and rip a human body into pieces with his bare hands. But he wasn’t that young leader I remembered anymore—and I knew he was outmatched.
So, without thinking it through, I rose from the tire and stepped out into the open.
“Wolfe,” Don Russo hissed as he watched me walk off.
I continued forward, eyes locked on Icarus, and I pulled the strap of my automatic off my shoulder, tossing the gun into the dirt because it was useless to me now.
Icarus’s eyes lit up with uncontained mirth. A boyish smile even moved across his masculine face as I approached. “Ah, I’ve heard about you. Nothing but good things, of course.” He gestured to the seat across from him before he sat down again.
I lowered myself into the chair, our knees just two feet from each other.
I sat back in a relaxed position, arms on the plastic armrests, with his line of men standing on guard behind him.
I could see Ciro and his family continue to writhe in the dirt.
His daughter didn’t move at all, so I was pretty sure she’d already bled out and died.
There was nothing I could do for them.
Icarus continued to study me like I was either a work of art or a puzzle. His arms rested on his knees, and he stared at me without needing to blink once. He cocked his head in one direction and then the other.
This level of adrenaline would have been a gold mine for me before, but those days were over. I couldn’t think about Francesca at that moment because all my energy and focus were committed to getting out of this alive. “And I’ve heard about you—nothing but shitty things.”
He smiled.
Exactly like I thought he would. I understood men like him because I was one of them. Respect would get you a lot further than begging and groveling. “You said you’re out of tea. Do you have anything stronger?”
His grin widened, and he looked over his shoulder. “Got anything good back there for me and my guest?”
Men in the back returned to the warehouse to search for something for us to drink.
It was the strangest sight, the two of us in old, rickety lawn chairs on a farm, the dirt moist from the blood and the sea air.
He sat back in his chair and looked at me again, a massive man who was even bigger than me. I preferred to be ripped, so I protected my gains and burned off the fat, but he was all about size. He just wanted to be as big as possible, even if it slowed him down.
In this case, I didn’t need to be stronger than him—just faster.
The staredown lasted for at least three minutes before one of his men came over with a bottle of something. He brought a little wooden stool to use as a table and left it there with the bottle.
Icarus grabbed the bottle and examined the label. “You like gin, Wolfe?”
“I do, Icarus.”
He grinned and opened the bottle before he took a swig and handed it to me.
I grabbed it and took a big drink of my own, ignoring the fact that I’d just shared saliva with another man.
He took the bottle back and set it on the stool. “This is nice, huh? A beautiful day right here in Sicily.” He extended his arms on either side of him, took a deep breath, and filled his lungs. “That sea air…burns every time.”
“You know where it’s also beautiful? Back wherever the fuck you came from.”
He folded his arms and rested them in his lap as he chuckled. “Why the fuck is that pussy over there running Cosa Nostra when you’re the one who should be in charge?”
“I’m like you—I prefer to serve.”
“You mean hunt, kill, and bury,” he said with excitement in his gaze.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard my boss wants to be the sole operator of the powder business.”
I nodded.
“And he’s gonna get it.”
“I think there’s plenty of business to go around.”
“You don’t know my boss, Wolfe,” he said as he drummed on the armrests.
“I’m sure he’s like every other crime boss out there—nothing special. You and I are the special ones.”
He grinned like a schoolboy. “I’ve always wanted to be special.”
The guy was definitely unhinged. So twisted, he made me look boring. “Sicily has always been its own sovereignty. Even if your crusade is successful, it’ll be expensive and time-consuming to maintain. You can expand into easier and more profitable markets elsewhere.”
“Maybe so, Wolfe. But all the thinking and planning isn’t really my thang.”
“Then what do you want from me, Icarus?”