Chapter 13 Roman #3
I deal with other business until it’s time for me to meet Sal at the warehouse.
This section of the city was once Bratva territory, but Marco got it after a violent dispute nearly fifteen years ago.
Another Russian group came in run by Alexi Petrov. He understood that Marco was stronger with La Corona behind him and negotiated a truce that allowed for territory use if he paid tribute.
According to Marco, someone other than Petrov is using the area and they’ve got to go.
I park the SUV in front of the warehouse, and I check my gun. Beside me, Salvatore shifts in his seat, fingers drumming against his thigh.
"You nervous?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Course not. Ready to knock some heads.”
I slide the gun into my shoulder holster and grab my bag from the back seat. I’m a sick mother fucker for looking forward to torturing these assholes. “Let’s go.”
Salvatore nods, his eyes darting to the warehouse entrance. "These Russians think they can move product in our territory without paying tribute. Fucking disrespectful."
The night air is sharp with cold when we exit the vehicle. For a moment, it makes me think of Christmas, which makes me think of Angelica and then Isabella sewing a Christmas dress.
I quickly push those images from my brain.
Roman the family man is gone.
Roman the feared enforcer walks into the warehouse.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the familiar calm settle over me. This part of me, the part that can hurt people without hesitation, is as natural as breathing.
Inside, three men are playing cards at a folding table, surrounded by crates of counterfeit designer goods. They look up as we enter, confusion quickly turning to recognition and fear.
"Gentlemen," I say, tapping the bat against my palm. "Seems we have a problem with your understanding of territorial boundaries."
The oldest one stands, hands raised placatingly. "Mr. Ginetti, there must be misunderstanding. Petrov—"
I swing the bat in one fluid motion, connecting with his kneecap. The crack echoes through the warehouse, followed by his scream as he collapses.
"No misunderstanding," I say, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears. "Just consequences."
“But Pet—”
“You’re not only squatters, but you’re liars too. Petrov okayed our visit. Okayed your extermination.” I glance at Sal. “Which do you want?”
Sal’s gaze goes to the largest man in the group, of course. That’s okay. Two for me.
As if they know it, one starts to run. I pull my gun and fire, hitting him square in the head. He drops into a heap.
I sigh. “It’s not as much fun that way.”
What follows is methodical. Precise. I'm very good at my job. By the time I'm finished, the message is clear. No one operates in Calabresi territory without permission and tribute.
“What do we do with them?” Sal says as we look over the results.
“Who do you think they belong to? Petrov said they’re not his.”
“Tiny said one of them was the son of Lienev wanting to take back what Don Calabresi stole.”
“Lienev is dead.”
“Right, but they’ve got a little club or something over in Queens. We could dump them there,” Sal says, putting his gun back into his holster and sheathing his knife.
“Let’s dump one there, the others at the docks.” I know that Sal understands that this means hiding them in cargo and arranging for someone on the ship to dump them in the middle of the ocean.
“I’ll call cleanup.” Sal takes out his phone and makes the call.
As we walk back to the car, Sal is practically vibrating with adrenaline. I'm steady, the same as always.
As we wait for the cleanup crew, I casually wipe the blood from my bat with a handkerchief. "I've been meaning to ask about your brother."
Salvatore stiffens. "Ernesto? What about him?"
"You’re convinced that Don Ferraza ordered his hit." I open the trunk, placing the bat inside. "I'm curious what you have as evidence."
"Why? You planning to do something about it?" His voice carries an edge of hope.
I shrug. "Just doing my due diligence to protect Marco."
"My proof is solid. First, Ernesto was meeting with one of Ferraza's captains the night before he was killed. Second, he's no drug user."
I raise an eyebrow. "That's it? A meeting and you think he was clean?"
"You questioning me, Ginetti?"
I shrug. "Just worried you've got tunnel vision on this. Ernie was making waves with all the families. Poking his nose into business when he wasn't made. You know how it works."
"He was just eager, that's all."
Sal thinks his brother met with a Ferraza captain, but what if it was Ferraza’s wife? "Any chance he met with Don Ferraza's wife?"
"What the fuck, Ginetti. Why would he do that?"
I shrug again. "Rumor is she was seeing someone… affair or snitch, maybe." I'm not sure I should share so much, but I need answers.
I expect Sal to come at me then. Instead, he glares at me. "Maybe he did know her, but he wouldn't have killed her."
I stop short. "Are you saying Ernie knew Mrs. Ferraza?"
This time he shrugs. "Maybe he did, but like I said, he wouldn't have killed her."
"Why?"
"If anyone wanted her dead, it was Leo. That's what happens to traitors."
I try not to gape at the implications.
Did Leo have his wife killed?
No, that can't be right.
Isabella betrayed him and he fought hard to protect her. Surely, he'd have done the same for his wife.
“What do you mean?” I feel like I’m on the verge of finding the right thread to pull in this convoluted case.
Sal leans in close, putting his face in mine. “Why don’t you ask your wife?”