Chapter Thirty-Three
Stefano
“OKAY, WHAT THE ACTUAL fuck?” Lorenzo storms into the living room. “I leave for two days.”
Pain shoots through my side as I sit up in the recliner. “Nice of you to finally join us, brother.”
Cora rushes over, pushing me back down. “No, no. The doctor said you need to rest. A full week. No movement.”
I swat her off. “Relax, Cora. It’s not that serious. I’ve been shot before.”
“If it’s not that serious, then why is your face all twisted up like that?”
“Wait, you got hit?” Lorenzo asks.
“Barely,” I grunt. “Through the side. Missed anything vital. I’ll be good in a few.”
Gio strolls in, swigging a beer. “Pussying out on his Russian Twists paid off. Those jiggly love handles came through for him.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Also, fuck Russian Twists.
He shrugs. “You’re just pissed I walked out smelling like daisies and you came out bleeding like a little bitch.”
“Can you two cut it with the childish bullshit and tell me what the fuck happened?” Lorenzo snips.
“Let the clown who smells like flowers explain,” I mutter, leaning back. “I need to conserve my energy and focus on healing faster so I can knock his goddamn teeth out.”
Gio snorts. “Keep running your mouth and I’ll come jab a finger in that bullet wound.”
Cora throws her hands up and storms out, muttering a string of colorful curses.
Lorenzo pinches the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, then prompts, “Gio?”
Gio exhales. “Right. So, we had the meet with the Walshes, about getting their arms operation back up and running. Things felt a little off, hasty. But it’s the Irish, you know.
Shit, they’ve been solid with us for over a decade.
We showed up, realized a little too late it was a setup.
A whole ambush. Tactical gear, face masks, high-grade shit.
Found ourselves in a nasty shootout. Got boxed in.
Ran out of ammo, had no choice but to take cover. ”
He drops into the armchair across from me, shaking his head like he still hasn’t shaken it off. “Not gonna lie, I thought that was it for us. Those guys were pros. Clean, efficient, geared up to execute. I swear, I was halfway through a fucking Hail Mary.”
He lets out a breath. “Then out of nowhere, they just start dropping. Like someone flipped a switch. We saw no one, heard no one. It’s as if ghosts came in and took them out.
Fucking insane. The O must’ve changed their minds at the last second about letting us get fucked straight to Hell.
” He stabs an accusing finger in my direction.
“Can’t believe that’s the level of protection we’ve had from them all this time and this dumb ass went and fucked it up. ”
“Well, shit…” Lorenzo mutters, settling on the arm of the couch. “We lost anyone?”
“Benny Ten and Guido,” Gio says. “Oscar took one in the shoulder. Raj and Sully caught a couple, but nothing fatal.”
“We got the fuck out of there and rang up the white coats,” I say.
“Motherfuckers pumped us full of whatever tranquilizer-grade shit they had. By the time word got to us about what was going on here, it was already over. I’ve been in a fog ever since.
Still trying to process what the fuck even happened. ”
Lorenzo crosses his arms, brows drawn. “Well, I already spoke with the Uppers and the surveillance team. We lost two of ours in last night’s attack.”
“Shit.”
“Descriptions of the attackers are the same,” he continues. “Tactical gear, full face masks. Paid mercenaries, it turns out. Said they were hired by Jose Hernandez.”
That makes no sense. “Hernandez is dead.”
As planned, Skullaz MC did a surprisingly smooth job pouring gasoline on the cartels’ fragile truce. Once the match was lit and bodies started dropping, I had Jose Hernandez—the king pin—taken out. Clean and untraceable.
One more off the board.
One step closer to isolating and unmasking the fucker who’s trying to come after what’s mine.
“Exactly,” Lorenzo says grimly. “So, who the fuck is pulling strings behind a corpse?”
“Even if Hernandez was alive,” Gio cuts in, “the cartel doesn’t hire mercs. That’s some cowardly corporate fancy-rich shit. Hernandez would never hide behind anyone. He’d walk up to your front door, shoot you in the face, and leave his name carved in your chest. No masks, no middlemen.”
I grab the water on the end table and take a slow sip. “What’s got two thumbs, thirty-two teeth, and loves to do egregious shit then blame it on immigrants?”
Gio snaps his fingers. “A politician!”
I aim a gun finger at him. “Bingo. This stinks of Lucy Rainford.”
Lorenzo scratches his jaw, skeptical. “I don’t know, man. Isn’t she more of a chessboard straddler than a player? Lots of talk, very little bite.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Do I think she greenlit a hit? Nah. But she’s the kind to whisper the idea into the right ear, then wash her hands while the blood dries. I know her well, how her mind works. She’s devious in her thinking, but she never acts on them.”
“Or maybe…” Lorenzo rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe this one’s on me. I let my guard down, trusted too easily, got the wool pulled over my eyes.”
I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Raya.” He stands and rubs a hand down his face. “You were right all along, brother. It’s her. She’s involved in this somehow.”
Pain rips through my side as I jerk upright. “What makes you think that?”
“Several things.” He begins pacing, fired up.
“First, before I left, I told her to check in with me every hour to let me know where she was and what she was doing. And according to her updates, she was here at the villa all weekend. But Tazi and Eleni reported that she didn’t show up at the Pink House until last night.
Surveillance confirms it. She lied to me all weekend. ”
“Second, I’d instructed Jenkins to reach out to her if he couldn’t get through to either of us,” he goes on. “According to his debrief, when he called her, she knew right off the bat where the attackers were coming from. Gave him a step-by-step to shut it down.”
I say nothing. Just absorb it. Try to connect it.
“Third,” he adds. “Sanders said that when the shooters were subdued and they couldn’t get anything out of them—fuckers were offing themselves with cyanide—she strolled in, took one look, and just…
knew everything. The agency they’re from, where it’s located, and that one of them had a kid.
She’s the one that got them to name Hernandez. ”
He stops pacing and levels me with a look. “And let’s not ignore the obvious. This place has never been hit. Not once. Suddenly she shows up, smart as hell, oh so fucking helpful and insightful, and now all this shit’s happening? Think that’s a coincidence?”
“Have you talked to her yet?” I ask.
“No, not yet.” He shakes his head. “I don’t trust myself not to shoot her in the face if she looks me in the eye and lie to me again. She’s thrown in confinement for now. Until I know exactly who she is, I don’t want her anywhere near the villa or this operation.”
Leaning back, I nod in agreement.
Gio glares at me. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?” I lift a brow. “That I was right?”
“Unbelievable.” He jerks up from his chair, nostrils flared, jaw tight. “You’re a despicable asshole, Stefano.”
He storms out like a tantruming child.
And they claim I’m the dramatic one.
Lorenzo watches him go, then asks, “What’s his problem now?”
I drain the rest of my water. “Probably just mad his lying little girlfriend turned out to be exactly what I said she was.”
Lorenzo mutters something under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “This shit is fucked. Trust me to deal with it, alright? You just focus on recovering.”
“I trust you,” I assure him. “But send me the debriefs. I want everything. Footage. Reports. All of it.”
He nods and walks out at the same time the doorbell rings.
A minute later, he comes back holding a matte black box with that familiar emblem burned into the lid.
He drops it onto my lap. “Hell sent you another message.”
Last time I saw one of these was after Jose Hernandez got dropped. Inside was a golden knight to confirm his hand in the plot.
This time, it’s just a note.
Were you scared, King of Vegas?
We thought we’d remind you what life was like before us.
Without us, you’re king of nothing.
Don’t forget it.
And don’t fret. You’re not abandoned...yet.
P.S. One month left until your death date.
Ticktock.
“What does it say?” Lorenzo asks, eying the box like it’s a bomb that could go off at any minute.
“More of the usual finger wagging to put me in my place.” I drop the card back into the box. “They let the attacks happen to send a message.”
“So, what, are we left wide open now?” he asks. “Do we stay on defense?”
“According to this?” I tilt my head. “Not yet. But let’s activate the Soldati and Mid-Troopers on the outside. Quietly. Keep the pressure low but present.”
“I’ll get on it.”
As he turns to leave again, I ask, “Without Red Cage’s help, how exactly are you planning to prove if Raya’s dirty or not? That kind of dig work, isn’t that what she was doing for us? She was practically our own Red Cage.”
He glances over his shoulder with a wolfish smile. “While you and Gio were busy chasing her tail, I was learning everything she knew.” His smile darkens. “I’ll use her own damn tricks to burn her down.”
~
One week later…
THE DOORBELL ECHOES through the house.
“For shit’s sake,” I mutter. “That better not be another Raya sympathizer.”
From behind the kitchen counter, Cora shoots me a look sharp enough to slice through steel, then huffs and flounces off to answer it. She’s taken a vow of passive-aggressive silence against us in protest of Raya’s confinement.
A minute later, she returns with Sanders, head of the Uppermen, trailing behind her.