Chapter 24
LUCA
I don’t usually do the collecting myself. In fact, I never have, so this is all new to me. There’s a Bratva restaurant we provide some protection for, and I go there first, craving pierogies.
Natasha, the woman who owns the restaurant, looks at me with wide dark eyes when I enter the building. She ushers me over to a table near the window, returning with a glass of water and a stack of bills that she presses into my hand.
“Is everything alright?” she asks in heavily accented English.
“Of course, Natasha,” I say easily in Russian, and her shoulders relax. “Just wanted to do the collecting myself this quarter.”
She puts a finger to her nose and winks at me. “Keep your enemies close.”
“Something like that.”
She brings a basket of pierogies to the table and I eat ravenously. It’s been a while since I’ve sat down with a homecooked meal.
“My brother says you have problem,” she says, sliding into the booth across from me. “That you are not able to trust your men.”
I frown. “Sergei told you this?”
The Bratva have a minor presence in this city, but they defer to us, the Italians, because we’ve had such a monopoly for so long. They want to stay on our good side, but apparently Sergei has a case of loose lips.
Her dark eyes widen again. “Do not blame Sergei. I am old woman, henpecking, da?”
I look at her sharply but eventually give her a nod. I’m not going to rough up Sergei. He’s pushing sixty and barely has a grip on the Bratva as it is.
She leaves me with a pint of beer and my pierogies, and I finish them before lying a hundred-dollar bill down on the table for the waitress, or for Natasha. Whoever gets to it first.
The next shop is a convenience store on the south side of town. We collect thirty percent of their sales to provide them with twenty-four-hour protection. It’s a steep price to pay, but in the area? It’s the best they’re going to get.
Ricky, the owner, meets me at the door with a wide smile.
“Caputo, it’s been a while! Usually you send your men, yeah?”
“Usually,” I drawl, and he slides an envelope toward me. I heft it in my hands. “Feels a little light, Rick.”
“Alfonso didn’t show up for his shift last night,” he says, almost apologetically. “I had to close, didn’t feel safe.”
Alfonso. Of course he didn’t fucking show.
I nod tightly. “I’ll send Arturo tonight. Don’t worry, Rick. I’ve got you.”
He just smiles again, looking a little nervous as his hands hover over the cash register. I know he probably has more money in there, but if Alfonso didn’t show I feel bad about collecting it.
It’s becoming clear that half my men are loyal to Nico, and that the only two I can trust are Arturo and Diego. Not to mention whoever that masked fucker was who went after Sophia.
I have to get everyone together. Make them understand that being loyal to me is the only way to be loyal to my father. Nico’s activities are wild and unsanctioned. I do my job.
They’ll understand, and Nico will fall in line.
He has to.
The third and final job is the most dangerous. I’ll be accepting a shipment from Columbia, the third shipment from these particular suppliers. I’d met with them when we first started doing business with them, but the man I know only as “Chip” doesn’t fuck around.
He’ll find it strange that I show up instead of one of my men. I’ll have to explain myself, because the only thing these guys understand is power.
I park a block from the warehouse, walking over and Chip meets me at the gate.
He raises a bold eyebrow. “The boss himself coming to collect? Something must be wrong.”
“Everything’s fine,” I lie through my teeth. “Just wanted to do a bit of quality control.”
“You want to try the product?”
I shake my head. “Just want to pay for it. I trust you, Chip.”
He spreads his hands. “A man should only trust his own men, Caputo.”
But that’s the thing. I no longer trust most of my men. But I can’t tell Chip that, not in so many words, at least.
I put the briefcase I’m holding on top of a crate and open it, showing him the hundreds stacked inside.
“There’s a little extra, for your trouble,” I say in a calm, measured voice.
He looks at the money with little interest then nods, closing the briefcase and taking it.
“My men and I will leave it to you, then,” he says. “But a word to the wise, Caputo. The only man you can trust is a dead man.”
I nod sharply and Chip and his men pile into their cars and speed away. I stand there with the shipment, my phone in my hand and texting Arturo, when a shot rings out.
I duck instantly behind the crate, but something is heating up my side, and I put my hand to the heat. My hand comes away bloody and panic races up my throat.
Two more shots ring out, and when I pop up from behind the crate and shoot, I catch a glimpse of a running man, wearing a mask, slide into a car and take off.
Fuck.
That wasn’t one of Chip’s men. It was one of mine, I just don’t know who. It has to be someone loyal to Nico.
I’m an hour and a half from the nearest medic and I don’t know what to do, where to go. My mind just wants to be gone, to be out of here, so I listen to it and get into the car.
I take off, but I’m not speeding toward Charlie, our medic. I’m speeding toward the cottage. To Sophia.
I can’t seem to get my mind wrapped around the fact that I’ve been shot, despite how my breath is coming shorter, the pain in my side more pronounced. I don’t think it’s bad, but I have no way of knowing.
Diego has some training as a military medic, so maybe that’s why I’m headed for the cottage. But I know the real reason. If I’m going to go, I want to see her face. One last time.
I speed up to the cottage and nearly fall out of the driver’s side, stumbling up to the steps. Diego meets me at the door, his eyes going wide at the sight of me.
“Fuck,” he curses and helps me into the house, taking me directly to the bedroom. Sophia scrambles up and when I see her face, my shoulders relax.
“He’s bleeding,” Sophia says flatly, looking like she’s not all the way there.
Diego nods sharply. “Get me some rags. Tear up a clean t-shirt if you have to. And hot water.”
Sophia jerks into action after standing there for a split second, and the next thing I know Diego is offering me a bottle of bourbon. I take one swig then hand it back, shaking my head.
“Have to be clear. Someone’s trying to kill me.”
“No shit,” Diego breathes, and curses again. “Alright, well this is going to hurt. I have to look around for the bullet.”
I take in a couple of deep breaths to prepare myself, and Diego works his belt between my teeth.
He splashes bourbon on the wound and it starts to scream. My teeth dig into the leather of the belt, making marks as I grunt.
He sticks his finger in the hole at my side and I scream, but nothing but muffled sounds come out around the belt. I pant, gasping, in and out of consciousness.
When I see Sophia standing next to me, I grip her hand so tightly it probably hurts.
“Sophia. Pixie,” I gasp around the belt, and she squeezes my hand as Diego roots around looking for a bullet.
“I’m right here.”
“There were women after you,” I say, and she frowns but keeps hold tight of my hand. “I looked for you in all of them.”
I don’t know what I’m saying, words tumbling out of my throat before I can stop him. Maybe I’m dying. Maybe the bullet nicked something vital and I’m bleeding internally, because all I want is for Sophia to be close.
All I want is for her to know how much I wanted her, then and now.
“Don’t talk,” she says quickly, placing a finger over my lips. “It’ll be okay. Diego’s going to fix you.”
“No bullet,” Diego breathes, and he finally takes his finger out of the wound. I breathe out a relieved sigh, tears streaming down my face as he moves the belt from my mouth. “Through and through.”
“Oh thank god,” Sophia breathes, dissolving into sobs.
“Don’t break down on me now,” Diego says seriously. “I need your help to stitch him up.”
“I can’t stitch him up!”
“You can. Your fingers are smaller, you can hold the thread. I’ve got fishing wire, it’ll have to do until we can get ahold of Charlie.”
“Do it,” I tell her, my voice trembling but my gaze steady.
“Without anesthesia? How—”
I squeeze her hand again, almost painfully. “I can take it. Just do it.”
She draws in a shaking breath and holds out her hands. Steady as a rock.
“It doesn’t have to be pretty it just has to stop bleeding,” Diego tells her, pushing fishing wire through a huge needle. The idea of that needle going through my flesh makes me nauseous, so I look away.
Diego groans and puts the belt back between my teeth, splashing more bourbon over the open wound, making me grunt in pain.
Sophia straddles my hips, looking down at me with watery blue eyes.
“Don’t cry,” I say, but it’s muffled by the belt so I just caress her face with one hand, nodding at her.
She shakes her head in response, letting out a long sob.
“You have to do it because I have to hold him down,” Diego urges, and she cries out one more time before she plunges the needle into my flesh.
Diego pushes me down, holding me by my shoulders, but I can’t help writhing as she keeps going. It seems like hours, and I’m in and out, the edges of my vision fuzzing as she keeps stitching.
“You’re okay,” she breathes, cupping my face after it’s done. When my eyes come back into focus all I see is the blue of her irises.
“I’m okay,” I say, shaky, voice still muffled by the belt. Diego removes it, breathing hard himself. It’s the only indication that he felt any type of worry during the event.
“You did a good job,” Diego mutters to Sophia. She climbs off me and Diego bandages the wound, using duct tape to seal the edges. “This will get you by until Charlie can see you.”
“Thank you,” I say to her, and I mean it with everything in me.
“You’re okay,” she says again, like it’s the only thing she can say, like they’re the only words she knows.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, looking at her, but my eyes are drifting shut. I’m fading out of consciousness. If she’s the last thing I ever see, I’ll be grateful.