Chapter 6
Chapter six
Cortez
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall beside the window.
I did it again. I let my dick lead and even enjoyed myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The first time was supposed to be the last. It should have been just one night of pleasure. But now it’s turning into a mistake even I can’t fathom.
She can’t stop running that smart mouth of hers. She’s rude, snarky, and defiant—everything I hate. Yet apparently I’m drawn to her. No, not to her. To her body. If only I could look beyond her luscious curves and see her for the trouble she is.
I’ve had many girls. Different races, different sizes.
I’ve never struggled to get them out of my head.
It always came easily, like a routine. When I was hustling, struggling to achieve success, she was probably crying to her mother about her first loose tooth.
So why the fuck is her pussy proving to test my nonchalance?
The thought swirls in my head, and my jaw clenches. I can’t let it happen again.
I turn away from the window and sink into my seat, recalling the information she gave.
Docks…bakery. Those were the only valuable pieces of information she was able to provide.
I wish I could say she was deliberately holding back answers, but I saw it in her eyes…
and body language. She was telling the truth.
Alej had given me some more background information on her. She had daddy issues. Still, she’s here to give information, and she will. One way or another.
I fucking hope this one she’s given leads somewhere. She obviously has no clue what is happening, and I can’t suspect that she has something to do with her father’s pipelines. She wouldn’t fake her own death, running from her wolves, to do something that’d scream here I am.
My eyes flit over the pile of papers that has accumulated on my desk. They stare at me with a mocking revelation, and I feel like slamming them into the floor. It feels like every damn thing is testing me.
My mind, Selene, and the undercutting. Fuck. My tech guys and Alej have been searching for any dock near a bakery. The moment they have something, we’ll storm the place.
Biting hard on my lip, I plunge my hand into my hair, tugging harshly at the strands. During Elio’s time, I experienced firsthand what issues like these could cause if left unresolved for long. The burden, the compromise, the fear…the casualties.
Against my will, my mind brings back memories I constantly try to keep at bay. Memories of Mallory.
She was my first hope that love could blossom in a heart like mine, my first breath of fresh air outside my traumas and my father’s constant pessimism.
I thought I had found something when I saw her at the coffee shop.
And when she finally agreed to be my girlfriend, I thought my life was complete. But it didn’t last.
I was reunited with Elio as the second-in-command to the don of the biggest mafia in New York. I thought nothing could go wrong.
I still recall the immense anger I felt when the Morettis called that fateful day. They announced that they had found my little secret and would hurt her if we didn’t comply. I knew how Elio felt about women, and I thought he would deem her disposable. I was relieved when he didn’t.
After saving her, I drove her to the family doctor. She refused to speak to me for days, and when she finally decided to, all she talked about was how I hid who I really was from her.
I didn’t mean to, and honestly, I had dreaded the day she’d find out, but I was just a man who wanted to love and be loved.
Dry laughter erupts from my lips at the thought.
That was my first mistake, thinking my upbringing didn’t define me, and that I could leave the shackles of lies that Dad had put in our heads. The second was loving her.
I felt betrayed when she slapped me across my face and called the cops on me. That was when it dawned on me…that the things Dad said weren’t lies. They were the bitter truth. Women are weaknesses.
About two years later, I stitched together the pieces of my broken heart, nursed the sutures in my chest until I healed.
Now, I know for a fact, there is no such thing as love!
There is only lust, and that’s how I operate.
Women throw themselves at me. No complaints there.
We fuck and off we go our separate ways! I am a man with needs after all.
Shaking my head, I force myself out of the thoughts and dial Alej on the phone. His fucking research is taking time.
In a split second, he’s in my office, walking toward me with tense apprehension. I understand it.
“Dimmi (Tell me),” I clench my jaw.
He scatters a file containing pictures of maps, images of docks, and coordinates on my desk.
“The team and I have been trying to locate any dock near a bakery, but so far we have nothing. These are images of all the docks in New York.”
“We’re running out of time,” I grit, tossing the pictures closer.
“This one. An abandoned dock on the Port Morris waterfront in the Bronx.” He points at the first picture of a dock with a few old ships and cargoes.
They look untouched. “Non è stato toccato da quando c’è stato l’attacco alla famiglia Vasquez (It hasn’t been touched since the attack on the Vasquez family). ”
Studying it, I see that there’s a fishing market just around it. Markets attract crowds. Vasquez wouldn’t want that.
“This is another, but it has recently been in use.” He points to a picture of another dock. The picture captures men operating a forklift, and there’s a warehouse a stone’s throw from it.
My eyes catch one, and I gesture with a nod. “Quello (That)?”
“Un altro molo abbandonato (Another abandoned dock). The facility near this one is a steel mill.”
I narrow my eyes, my head spinning with thoughts.
“Where?”
“Hudson River, near West 12th Street. It seems the girl lied, Capo,” Alejandro says thickly
“Non oserebbe (She wouldn’t dare).”
“Vasquez has so many pipelines. If we do find this bakery, how sure are we that it’s the particular route they’re using now?”
He’s right, but for a start, we just need something tangible to send a signal to whoever is messing with us.
“Does the mill have a name?” I don’t know what strikes me about the mill, perhaps because it’s a defunct-looking mini steel mill. Steel mills and docks aren’t a frequent combination.
“Douglas Metalwork,” Alejandro promptly responds. “It’s apparently owned by some Scottish guy.”
My brows furrow and I stare at the picture long enough to see the name Doughlas Metalwork etched on a small sign. Then something hits me.
“Spell Douglas?”
Alejandro’s eyes meet mine, and realization crosses his expression.
“There’s an h.”
“A Scottish Douglas wouldn’t misspell his own name in his signage.” Pressure builds in my temples like an active volcano waiting to erupt.
His expression locks onto mine, wheels spinning in his head. “Dough…bakery. Dough could be slang for crack, and since crack is made there, he calls it a bakery.”
Touché.
“Gather the men. We storm the place now.” Adrenaline pulses through my veins as Alej breezes past me.
I hear him bark orders through his phone, and in no time, a sleek SUV rolls out in front of me.
A guard opens the door for me, and Alej takes the driver’s seat.
Without wasting time, he revs out of the mansion and onto the road.
My hands are in a permanent clench around my Glock, wicked anticipation coiling in my guts.
This is still a blind entry, but Lord knows, if I get a hold of one fucker—just one.
The car does a deep swerve around a corner, followed by another bend.
I observe Alej’s knuckles turning white. He’s equally eager.
We get there after long, agonizing minutes, and I jump down. Only when I’m down do I notice the SUV is flanked by two more on each side. Backup.
The place looks deserted, like it hasn’t been used in years, but I don’t trust anything yet. For all I know, the dry ambience may be a decoy. I gesture at one group to check the docks while I head inside the mill.
Alej and the other guards follow suit as I lead, taking in the jutting towers of the chimney. The roof is collapsed, with indents at every pane, and the chain link fence is no better. It does no good in protecting the perimeter with its sagging metal.
I jump the fence, landing with a crunch on the muddy sand, my fingers hovering just a click away from firing. A few guards appear on my right, and Alej on my left. Together, we go inside, and I’m instantly welcomed by the smell of mold, oil, and rust.
Cautiously, I take in the surroundings. “Find any inconspicuous passage, any hidden places a smart man like Vasquez could use to transport or store stuff. We’re also looking for any drugs or signs of life. I want any bastard found alive.”
Blood rushes through my fingertips, barely constrained by the rage beneath my skin.
Frozen conveyor belts thick with dust, broken glass, and molten vats come into view as I nudge a crate with my feet and gesture to the others to fan out. They all do.
I lift some metal debris out of the way, feel the wall for indents, and survey the floor and every crevice in sight, but there’s nothing.
After several minutes of searching, they all come back negative. Nothing. Fuck. I turn to go check the docks when I catch a clear reflection of my shoulders on the metal of the conveyor belt. My eyes narrow at that. Oxidized metals don’t reflect this crisply.
Immediately, I move closer, running my fingers against the surface before peeling it. The rust chips off and when I smell it, I can tell it’s paint. I peel until there’s a small pipe that seems to run beneath the conveyor belt, then realization hits me. We’re searching for the wrong substance.
Vasquez was importing liquid drugs…then crystallizing them here.
Alejandro appears next to me. “We didn’t find any—”
He stops when he takes in the sight of the chipped rust and long, tiny pipe. “They brought in liquid drugs,” he breathes.
“There must be a crystallization unit somewhere. Find it.” My words come out in an angered breath.
Since the docks haven’t been in use recently, that means this—rusted paint to cover hidden pipes—was Vasquez’s method, not a new trick by those bastards. This facility is still untouched, and I’ll make sure it remains so.
I crouch and trace the tiny pipe with my fingers until it disappears midway.
Down. Peeling the rust off the leg of the belt, I see another pipe run along its edges until it disappears into the ground.
He probably had some mechanism that poured the liquid drugs into the pipes, and the pipes fed the crystallization unit below.
I must applaud Vasquez. He kept his gimmicks hidden in plain sight…no one would ever suspect.
After a moment, Alej returns. “Nothing, Capo.”
Straightening myself, I ball my hand into a fist, nails digging into my palm. “It’s under. Blow it up. This whole damn place…and the ships.”
It may not be much, but they’ll surely know what hit them. Since they’ve decided to be anonymous and cowardly, I’ll make sure to tear them apart limb by limb until the head screams.