Chapter Five #2
Before my heart can trip over itself and pass out, Lorenzo reaches over and pauses the video.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “Yeah, they haven’t said anything suspicious. But that’s intentional.”
“Meaning?”
“They know the spot is wired.”
“No. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“These two”—I point to the men on the screen—“are swapping stories about their night at one of your strip clubs, talking up how badass the Castellos are, how much respect they have for your organization. But to my ear? Their tone is off. Sarcastic.”
I rewind the video and point to the one I’m certain is the leader.
“See this guy? Notice how he keeps looking around? He’s pretending to be nervous.
But if you watch closely, every now and then, he bounces his gaze directly at each hidden camera.
He knows exactly where they are.” I tap the screen again.
“And here, see how his thumbs are hooked in his front pockets, his fingers positioned just so. He’s sending a message. Do you see it?”
“Fuck you, too, asshole,” Lorenzo mutters.
“Looks like you have a traitor in your camp.”
Just then, Cora enters, carrying a small tray with a mug of coffee and a saucer of biscotti. She sets it down within reach, her hand resting warmly on my shoulder.
“Thanks, Cora.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
Lorenzo rubs his jaw. “We bugged their car during the exchange.” He lifts my headphones off, replacing them with his own. “Listen. Tell me what they’re saying.”
Taking a sip of coffee, I lean back, and focus.
Smart move bugging the vehicle because they’re talking now. No, arguing. Soon interrupted by a phone call. Confirming safe passage out of Vegas.
One’s worrying. Second guessing. Did we pick the right side?
A big payment.
Closing my eyes to immerse, I relay, “There’s a disagreement.”
Lorenzo’s exhale is sharp and tempered. “About?”
“Whether they picked the right side… and if their contact will come through with safe passage out of Vegas before you find out…”
“Find out what?”
I hold up a hand, listening, parsing.
But Lorenzo is impatient. “I swear to God, I’ll break that fucking finger if you don’t—”
“You want translation, I’m giving you a translation.” I open my eyes, arching a brow. “I don’t have the answers yet, but If you shut up and let me work, you might get them.”
He looks at me like he can’t believe the nerve of me. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”
“All my life.” I take another sip of coffee. “But death tends to stay elusive for those who want it most.”
He frowns, studying me like a puzzle he can’t quite solve.
Ignoring him, I close my eyes and tune in again.
The disagreement escalates. Now it’s two against two. Yelling, shouting, name-calling…
I nibble on a biscotti, absently noting how comically incompatible these four are as a team. No trust, no cohesion.
Then... Bingo.
“There’s a tracker…” I tilt my head, listening intently, relaying in real time. “Someone paid them three times what you did to plant it in the package… They want the location of your artillery storage… To hit it, clean you out, steal your clientèle.”
“Motherfucking Russians,” Lorenzo mutters under his breath.
He picks up his phone and makes a call. “Yeah, did you sweep for a tracker? … Well, check again. They were paid to plant one. Clean us out later. … That’s not important right now.
... For fuck’s sake, yes, I made the call to bring her in.
You can bitch about it later. For now, pull off and run a second sweep. ... Yeah, yeah, sure.”
He hangs up and drops the phone onto the desk.
“In trouble with the big boss for bringing me in on private matters?” I ask.
He shoots me a glare, but it holds no animosity. “Shut up.”
“Last night, you were all ‘use your words.’ Now I’m using them, and you want me to shut up.”
“Use them less.”
I smile into my coffee mug.
A few minutes later, his phone rings. He answers, listens, then slides his gaze to me. “You sure you’re not bullshitting me? There’s no tracker.”
“Do you think I’m bullshitting?”
“You just admitted to having a lifelong death wish,” he replies. “Maybe you’re trying to get it fulfilled.”
Sliding him a smile, I shrug. “Maybe.”
He studies me for a long beat, then says into the phone, “No, she’s not lying. I’m convinced she’s disturbed. But not stupid.”
I almost snort at that.
With a sigh, Lorenzo sets the phone down and hits the speaker button. “She’s listening.”
Stefano’s voice comes through, and my stomach dips. Concaves.
Jesus. Get a grip.
“Hey, Little Miss Multilingual. Tell me exactly what was said in the car. Word for word.”
Screw that. “Someone from your camp fed them information,” I say. “If they knew the meet spot was wired, they probably knew you would scan for trackers, too.”
“What?”
“Oh, my bad. You don’t know about the warehouse yet. Lorenzo will fill you in.” I keep my tone even. “For now, let’s focus on the tracker. Were there bullets in the package?”
Stefano’s voice drops to a deceptively calm level. Deadly. “Do you have a goddamn death wish? Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to me like this?”
“Your brother already threatened me plenty.” I take a sip of coffee. “You can follow through on them later. But until then... were there bullets?”
A beat of silence. Then, “Lo, what the fuck?”
Lorenzo doesn’t answer. Instead, he nudges me and nods once to confirm there are bullets, then gestures for me to continue.
“If it’s known that you scan for trackers after a deal, then the Russians would’ve taken precautions to foil detection.
Using either a burst signal timer on the tracker, or a stealthy non-contact radio frequency jammer,” I explain.
“My guess? There’s at least one decoy bullet.
Either a single round with a burst signal tracker inside, or multiple decoys if they went the RF jammer route.
“If it’s the latter, then the tracker is sandwiched among at least four decoy rounds, each embedded with electromagnetic interference microchips to block detection.
You need to search for the decoys. Depending on how much ammo you have, it will be painstaking.
But if wadcutters are in the mix, start there. Those are the most commonly decoyed.”
A stretch of silence, nothing but the sound of traffic in the background.
Lorenzo just stares at me.
I shrug.
Finally, Stefano growls low, “You better be fucking right about this. Or I’m putting a bullet through your mouth for being a smart-ass when I get back.”
“Righty-oh.”
“Lo, stay on the line.”
In the background, he barks orders, muffled voices shifting into action.
Sipping my coffee, I sit back.
For a solid eighteen minutes, there’s nothing but rustling, shuffling, distant rumbles and murmurs, the occasional clang.
Until… “Motherfuckers!”
Boom.
I hold up a hand to Lorenzo for a high-five.
He just stares at it.
“No?” I shrug. “Eh.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrow. “How do you know all that?”
“My dad was one of those ‘in-the-gray’ types,” I answer. “As a bored little girl, I used to crawl into hidden spaces in forbidden rooms, and would overhear a lot of things I shouldn’t have. Now, useful or not, I know a lot of random shit.”
“Do you—”
Stefano’s voice cuts in over the line. “Those Russians aren’t making it out of Vegas alive.”
At the risk of another death threat, I interject, “You could make a big stink about it. Send a message, start an unnecessary war with the Russians… Or you could be quiet about it. Set a trap for whoever paid them to do this.”
“How do you want to die, little girl?”
Little girl? How old does he think I am?
“Over a dish of sickly-sweet blueberry bread pudding,” I say smoothly. “With a shot of Beluga vodka on the side.”
Lorenzo nudges me in warning, even as one corner of his mouth twitches. “Stop pushing him.”
I settle back, elbows on the armrests. “From what I hear, your relationship with these Russians is new. If they came in believing you run this city, only to be intercepted by an enemy offering them three times the price just to plant a tracker, and were fed inside intel by someone from your own organization…then that tells them one thing.”
I let the words hang for a beat.
“It tells them your grip on this city isn’t as strong as they thought.” I pause, then add, “So instead of giving you their loyalty, they gave it to money.”
Lorenzo props his chin on his fist, watching me like I’m some kind of anomaly.
I continue, “You will probably threaten to shoot me again for saying this but…right now, your enemy is not the Russians. They just don’t respect you yet, that’s all.
You can go after them and make a statement, show you’re not to be fucked with.
But in doing so, you’ll tip off the traitor in your ranks that you’re onto them.
Or…you could make a careful plan and go after the real enemy, and bring your city back in line. ”
A long, weighted silence follows.
Lorenzo keeps watching me, but says nothing. No more warnings, just letting me tighten the noose around my own neck.
Eventually, Stefano’s voice comes through, low and measured. “And who exactly are you to ‘advise’ me on how to handle my business?”
“I—”
Lorenzo slaps his calloused palm over my mouth. “She’s right, Stefano. Think about the note from this morning and decide. But whatever you choose, I’m with you.”
Silence stretches, long and heavy.
Then, the line goes dead.
I point to the phone. “What does that mean?”
Lorenzo leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “With him? Could mean a lot of things.” He exhales slowly. “But it definitely means you better not be anywhere near here when he gets back.”