Chapter 12 Dante
DANTE
The man I’m meeting tonight at a location so remote even I have to use GPS is one of my lower-level contacts.
Someone who moves small amounts of product and keeps his ear to the ground.
His name came up three times this week in connection with Antonelli Gerard.
I need to know if he's feeding information to my enemy or if he's just unlucky enough to keep showing up in the wrong places.
I'm not looking forward to learning I have a mole in my organization, but from everything I've heard, I don't think I'm walking out of this feeling better about things.
"Look lively, boys," I tell Rico and Enzo who came along just in case things go pear-shaped.
I don’t assume I'll need them, but they insisted.
Men like this, who want to protect me at all costs, are the type of men I need on my side and I'm thankful for them.
We park outside the warehouse and walk inside.
It's dark in here, but it's late.
No one works this time of night except for the snakes that slither in darkness, and some of them happen to work for me.
Vittore stands under a single bulb dangling from a chain with his hands folded in front of himself casually.
"Thank you for coming," I say.
"I didn't have much choice," he replies, and he’s right.
When the boss calls, you fucking show up.
At least he's that loyal and hasn’t run yet.
"You always have a choice. You could've run, but you're here, which means you want to explain yourself."
My hands hang at my sides, fingers twitching. I'm ready to draw my weapon at a second's notice, and I hope I don't have to.
I really don't enjoy punishing my own men like this.
I'd much rather they just follow orders and stay faithful.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why does your name keep coming up in conversations about Antonelli?"
"Because he's been asking questions about you. He's been offering money to anyone who can give him information. I didn't take his money. I swear." Vittore is antsy, eyes flicking around nervously.
Maybe he hasn't spoken directly to Gerard, but he knows something.
Even if all he knows is who has been talking to the man.
"But you talked to his men?"
"They approached me. I couldn't just ignore them. They had guns." He draws a hand over his forehead and smears the sweat and dirt. "Honest, Boss."
I step closer. "What did you tell them?"
"Nothing useful… I told them I didn't know anything about your operations. But they didn't believe me. They kept pushing."
His breathing is faster now and he wipes his palms on his filthy jeans.
I can't believe what I’m seeing.
His meltdown is so dramatic right in front of me that it's obvious he's been selling me out.
And he's lying to my face about it.
No one gets this nervous to tell the truth.
"And?"
"And they planted evidence…" His eyes flick around and land on my face.
I feel my jaw tighten. "What kind of evidence?"
"Forged shipping documents. Financial records that show payments between you and suppliers that never happened."
I know all of this already and Vittore is holding out on me.
He doesn’t realize he's signing his own death certificate.
"Who else is involved?"
"I don't know," he hisses. "They only told me what I needed to know. But I heard them mention the Turkish supplier. I think they're trying to cause division."
Again, all things I know, and he's not being helpful, but I get the feeling he's still holding out on me.
The problem is if he's not giving it up willingly, he never will.
I've trained my men to endure the worst tortures.
He won’t break even for the CIA.
"Where is Antonelli now?" I ask.
"I don't know. I swear…"
I'm about to ask another question when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn and see three men entering the warehouse through the side door.
They're armed and moving quickly and I recognize immediately that they're not mine.
"Goddammit," I hiss.
They're Antonelli's men and the expression on Vittore's face is one of relief.
"It's a trap," Enzo says.
I pull my weapon and dart toward cover behind a stack of crates.
Enzo and Rico do the same.
The three men spread out and open fire and Vittore joins them.
Bullets tear through the air and slam into the walls around us.
I return fire and hit one of them in the shoulder.
He goes down hard.
"Motherfucker." My growl comes as the rage of being sold out by my own man erupts in my chest.
The other two advance, but I move quickly and close the distance before they can get a clear shot.
I grab the closest one and put him in a chokehold after a few good hits to his face.
He struggles and tries to break free, but I tighten my grip until he goes limp.
I let him drop to the floor and turn to the last man.
He raises his weapon and aims at my chest, but before I can get a shot off, Enzo's weapon takes him out.
And Vittore is nowhere to be found, now added to the list of people I have to hunt down and seek for retribution.
Seeing the man I dropped with a chokehold moving, I stride over to him and grip him by the collar, hauling him to his feet.
"Who sent you?" I demand.
"Go to hell," he gasps.
My rage won't let me back down now.
I press the gun to the bottom of his chin and ask again, "Who sent you?"
"You already fucking know," he growls, practically spitting in my face. "And he's sending you a message."
"What message?"
"That you're finished. That your time is running out."
His words disgust me because I feel the pressure of the walls closing in on me so quickly, I can't stop them.
I drop him and at the same time, I kick him hard in the side.
He heaves, gasping for breath as I crouch down beside him.
"Tell me where he's planning to strike next."
"Fuck you," the man grunts and this time, he does spit in my face.
The disrespect combined with how angry I am that Vittore has gotten away clean surges, and I lift my gun and put a bullet right between the man's eyes.
I stand and watch the light flicker from his eyes and then look around at the mess we've made.
There's no point in hiring a cleaner to mop this up.
Everyone knows there's a war going on between the families now, and all I want to do is go home and get to the bottom of all of this.
I'm supposed to be wrapping this up, not making things worse, but every time I pull a thread, ten more come loose.
Gerard really did his homework messing with my organization, and he's going to pay for that soon.
By the time we get back to my villa, it's nearing midnight.
My hand throbs where the skin split open across my knuckles, and I'm just grateful Angelica and Sofia are in bed already.
I know how much she'd hate it to see me coming home covered in someone else's blood yet again.
I head to my den and pour a glass of whiskey.
Then I sit down at my desk and pour some of the liquor over the wound.
It burns, but the pain clears my head and I use a rag I found in the car to dab at the blood still oozing from the cuts.
The door opens and Angelica walks in.
She stops when she sees me sitting at my desk with blood on my hand and a rag pressed against the wound.
"What happened?" she asks calmly.
There's a hint of judgment in her tone, but I can't blame her.
I really thought she'd be sleeping by now.
"Business got messy." Frustration rises again as I think about Vittore and his betrayal.
Nothing is going the way I hoped.
I want this over so I can just figure out what the hell is going on between me and Angelica and make a permanent space for Sofia in my life.
She walks over and takes the rag from my hand and examines the wound and shakes her head. "This needs to be cleaned properly. You're just making it worse."
Her chastising is a bit annoying, but she's not lecturing me, at least.
And I'm surprised when she disappears for a moment and returns with a clean tissue and antiseptic from the bathroom.
She sits down beside me and takes my hand in hers.
Her touch is gentle as she wipes away the blood and applies the antiseptic.
I can only watch her and marvel at the change in her over the past few weeks.
She's gone from hating being in the same room with me to caring for my wounds when I come home from doing business.
I can only wonder what's going on inside her head.
"You're going to get yourself killed," she says quietly.
"I'm being careful."
"This doesn't look careful. This looks like you got into a fight."
"I did. But I won."
She looks up at me but her green eyes are filled with concern and frustration.
"What if Sofia had seen you come in like this? What if she saw the blood and got scared?"
There's the lecture I knew was coming. I grit my teeth and bear it because she's right.
I'd never want my little girl asking me whose blood is on my hands.
"I would've cleaned up first."
"That's not the point. The point is that you're bringing violence somewhere she could see it. You're putting her in danger just by keeping us here."
"I know."
Angelica pauses and holds my hand while her eyes go wide.
"You know?"
"Yes. I know it's dangerous. I know I'm putting you both at risk. But I'm working to end this and eliminate the threats so you and Sofia can be safe."
Her countenance changes, becoming more sympathetic and compassionate.
For a moment she works in silence, using the tissue to remove the rest of the blood.
I'm not sure what to say, though my brain is scrambling to think of something when she asks me, "Why do you even care?"
"Because you're my family," I tell her, and it's the truest statement I've ever spoken.
"We're not your family, Dante. You just feel the need to protect us."
"You're both," I say. "You're people I'm protecting because you're my family."
She sets the tissue to the side but her head stays down.
I can tell she's struggling with the idea of being my family for all the reasons I've heard her give me previously, but none of those things negate the fact that Sofia is mine by blood.
And I want Angelica to be mine too.