Chapter 43
“He knew, Renzo. Quel figlio di troia sapeva . It was an ambush.” That son of a bitch knew. Tore panted into the phone. “They fucking knew. We have a rat. There’s no other way. It’s bad, man.”
The metallic click and snap of a lighter being opened and closed had never sounded more reassuring. Whatever had happened, he was well enough to fidget.
“How many injured? Give me everything you know.”
I grabbed Ainsley’s hand without a word of explanation and jog-walked back to the car.
She didn’t argue, seeming to catch on quickly, and followed my strides without protest. Tore listed the stats: three dead and nine injured on our side, with similar or greater numbers on the Greeks’ side.
To make matters worse, Dimakos’ people torched the bar on the ground floor and the apartment they’d been staying in above it.
Now the fire department was involved to stop the spread to the rest of the apartment units.
That meant we were unable to do the necessary cleanup before the authorities walked through it.
“I’ll drop you off at your place,” I told her as I peeled out of the park and back onto the hilly streets.
“Definitely not. Where’s Doc?”
“He’s been called.”
“I can help, Renzo. He can’t be everywhere, and two is better than one.”
“You don’t have your degree yet.”
“I’ve been pulling out bullets, placing IV lines, and suturing wounds for three years now. I’ve even assisted Doc in a clandestine surgery. Don’t tell me what you think I can or cannot do.”
Her righteous anger made me want to lean over, capture her lips, and devour the rest of her words.
She was right. Whatever the state of my injured men, her extra set of hands would be appreciated.
I just didn’t like involving her. It meant exposing her to the maelstrom and risking her life in the process, which conflicted with this need bubbling in my chest to keep her wrapped up and cocooned far away from trouble.
And yet, the fight in her, the strength, and the stubbornness were all what made her her.
I clung to that in her letters for years.
I fed from it to fuel my own. I relished it when I was inside her. It shouldn’t ever be stifled.
“Fine,” I gritted out.
Stuck in traffic, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Rush hour wasn’t for another hour at least, but with one street cut off for emergency services, the car crawled at a snail’s pace this close to the bar where the Greeks had been holing up. I needed to see the building for myself.
Sirens wailed up ahead. Fire alarms rang. A fire truck’s trilling horn quickly blasted. Cars honked in all directions as drivers stopped and started, bumpers colliding.
Ainsley sucked in a harsh breath as we passed the block where the fire raged, further down the perpendicular street to ours.
Flames licked the balcony above the first floor.
Scorch marks scarred the white exterior.
It was a chaotic mix of bellowed orders under the roar and whoosh of flames, the blare of fire alarms, the engines of trucks, and the rush of water.
Loud pops boomed, and glass from windows exploded outward.
“Holy freaking fudge,” she whispered. “Do you think everyone got out?”
Her concern lay with the people whose lives were upended by the fire.
Mine was with whether any of this could be tied back to the outfit, to my men, to our lives.
Shell casings would be found. Stray bullets, too, but at least with the way the fire raged, DNA was unlikely.
Nothing was certain, and tension seeped into my shoulders.
“It’ll be on the news,” I said, then I floored the accelerator as soon as the road was clear.
It took ten more minutes to reach the safe house that Tore redirected our men to and park in the underground lot.
“Where are we?” Ainsley asked as she got out of the vehicle and flung her door shut. The slam echoed through the parking lot despite the three vans and the Maserati parked a few spots down.
“Somewhere the cops won’t bother us.” I held my hand out to her. Her delicate fingers wrapped around mine and gave a little squeeze.
“A safe house?”
With a nod, I led her through the garage door and started up the stairs toward the ground floor, two floors up. Our footsteps bounced off the walls.
“Until today, only four people knew about this place: Tore, Vinny, Natale, and me. When my father died, I scrapped and sold off all his safe houses, since I couldn’t be sure how many people knew about them. Then I started buying new ones under several different European front companies.”
She stopped a few steps up the stairwell. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’re my woman.” Stray strands of wavy hair fell in front of her eyes. I swept them back toward her ponytail, then wrapped my hand around its base and gave a little tug. Her head tilted back, putting her neck on display like a sweet offering. “I trust you.”
Her responding smile was an intoxicating mix of sweetness and mischievousness.
I was looking forward to pressing my cock against that pixie mouth of hers and watching it widen to swallow me whole.
Not now, unfortunately. Another time. Instead, I pecked that smile before starting back up the stairwell.
Her sandals clacked against the cement stairs, slowly overtaking me until she was one step ahead.
Another thing I enjoyed about her: she didn’t cede easily or let herself fall behind others.
“You sure no one knows?”
“They have no reason to look into it. The business front for this safe house was originally just a deli. Last year, I had Tore buy the two businesses around it: a restaurant that went out of business and a yoga studio. We redesigned the yoga studio, with one third going into an apothecary and the other two-thirds into a soundproofed vault room. In time, I might invest in buying out the apartment complex above too.”
“Why so much space?”
“All about cover. With three separate business fronts and entrances, we not only have space for a large group but also a way to avoid detection. The deli, with its regular customer base, supplies a viable explanation for heavy traffic. The apothecary allows the delivery of bandages and medicine under the guise of herbal remedies, without too much oversight, and the restaurant has a square footage similar to a large apartment with several bedrooms. Unfortunately, other than the construction of a panic room in the kitchen, we haven’t started the apartment remodel.
It’s still no different than your standard pizzeria. ”
On the ground floor, I directed her to the access door to the restaurant. As she reached it, she smacked her palm against the doorknob and twisted around to face me. “So all the safe houses the kids and I stayed in with Tore years ago were ones you guys purchased?”
“Yes.”
“Even from behind bars, you kept us safe.” She leaned forward and kissed me softly. “Thank you.”
She twisted the door handle, and it was like a switch was flipped. The peaceful limbo we’d been lurking in vanished and in surged the chaos.
The smell of blood and burnt skin tinged the air.
Pained groans came from every corner. Everyone was gathered in the restaurant space.
Tables had been pushed together to accommodate the injured.
Tablecloths served as fitted sheets and covers, and when bundled, as pillows. The place was filled to capacity.
Some helped treat minor injuries and clean wounds.
Others rushed through the kitchens and bustled back with bowls of clean water.
Bandages and water were brought to Doc, who directed where each was needed with a turn of his head or a pointed gesture of his nose.
His gloved hands were already busy prying out a bullet with forceps from Jac, whose feet dangled off a makeshift operating table.
When Jac woke up, he was going to be pissed that the bullet tore through the reaper tattoo over his right clavicle.
Cesare, better known as Doc, observed the bullet over the rim of his glasses before dropping it into a cup.
It clanked against the glass, loud and clear, but Doc never lost his focus.
He’d been the family doctor since before my grandfather moved our family to the States after he’d lost territory in Sicily to another famiglia.
Before that, Doc served as an Italian military field surgeon during the Gulf War.
“Renzo,” Tore called, waving me down halfway through the restaurant as he finished setting up another makeshift bed. He scurried over. “You brought Ainsley?”
A true healer at heart, she hadn’t wasted any time. She was already two aisles away in the midst of patients, the lingering warmth of her presence against me fading fast.
“She’d been with me when you called.”
“Why? She told me she had plans.”
“She cancelled.”
Ainsley tugged off her jean jacket and tossed it into an empty booth as she trudged through the pathways between tables and patients.
Each one got a quick look at their wounds before she passed to the next, only to circle back to Doc once finished, asking where he needed her.
She didn’t look back at me, already fully absorbed in what needed to be done.
“Why the hell are you smiling?”
The grin dropped right off my face. This wasn’t the time or place. I cleared my throat, ignoring the look of disbelief on Tore’s face. “What do we know?”
“After we deal with this shitstorm, we’re talking,” he declared, waggling a finger in my direction. “Come on.”
He led me through the dining area and into what remained of a kitchen.
Half of it had been converted into a panic room.
The other half was bare-bones. Wall dust clung to the air.
All the appliances were torn out. Plastic sheeting covered the floor, crinkling under our footsteps.
Against the new wall, three bodies lay, covered in sheets splattered with blood stains.
I crouched down, examining each as Tore listed their names. Two joined the outfit in my absence, young, in their twenties, and not yet made men. The third was one of the men who’d led the assault against my father with me almost eight years ago. I sighed, hanging my head.
“Compensate their families and plan their burial rites. Add in a house for his wife”—I pointed to the made man—“and college tuition for his kids.”
I rose to my feet, and Tore ushered me into what had once been the manager’s office. I waved off the stale scent.
“Tell me exactly what happened?”
“It was supposed to be an easy grab. I had Natale’s team go in, and Massimo’s stay out for backup.
Right from the start, everything went wrong.
The radio signal went haywire. I had to stay on the line with Natale for information.
Somehow, the Greeks knew. I don’t know how, but they did.
Natale’s team entered the bar without issue.
He said the place smelled of some kind of fuel.
The ground was wet in some areas and not others, but it was quiet.
I instructed him to keep going. I thought, based on what he said, the bar was empty, and Dimakos was upstairs.
But they were lying in wait. Once our guys were all inside and almost to the stairs, they fired from all sides, even from holes drilled through the ceiling to the apartment above.
The Greeks have never had that kind of firepower before. ”
“Why didn’t Massimo go in?”
“He said he was waiting for my signal. All I could hear across the line was the gunfire on both sides. Natale and his team were taking on heavy fire, and by the time I called Massimo to go in, they’d lit the place up.
We couldn’t follow the Greeks out the back door.
They even left their dead, while Massimo and his crew dragged our guys out the way they came. ”
I frowned. “They flambéed their own? That doesn’t sound like Dimakos.”
The old man wouldn’t survive his family if he left behind his own flesh and blood. They’d lynch him for it.
“I don’t get it.” Tore collapsed into a chair. “We ruined them financially four years ago. I swear, when Vinny and I looked into Dimakos two years ago, he’d been living in squalor. They never should’ve been able to afford pulling this off. Someone has to be backing him.”
I should’ve considered this when we captured Julius.
They were in such dire straits financially that Dimakos closed the majority of his businesses in Los Angeles.
Julius never should have been able to afford a table at that Michelin-starred restaurant.
Had the mysterious missing body belonged to an investor?
Or was he funded by his wife’s family? With Michaela’s death, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea for Giambrone to lend Dimakos a hand against me.
“First, we need to find our mole and take out the trash. Let’s focus on that.”
“I’ll get—” Tore’s phone rang. He checked it, his brows furrowing, and answered. “Bee, I’m a little busy right now. Why are you calling? Calm it down, woman. Like hell I won’t. Don’t tell me to shut up.”
I grabbed the phone off his ear, ignoring his groaned protest, and put it on speaker. “Ms. Johnson, why are you calling?”
Ainsley once explained in a letter how her friend Bee, otherwise known as Brielle Johnson, had a condition that permanently scarred her vocal cords, causing her voice to deepen.
Because of this, Brielle preferred nonverbal communication.
However, even though I’d been warned, I still startled in shock when she spoke.
“You’ve got to get over here, like now.” It was like hearing a male smoker talk after years on the pipe. “They took Lou, and Ricco’s been shot. Vinny went after them, but I can’t get a hold of him or Ainsley.”
“Who? Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“At Anzy’s and my apartment. We never left after she did.”
“We’re on our way.” I hung up and tossed Tore his phone back. “We don’t tell Ainsley. Not until we have something concrete. She doesn’t need to lose her focus right now.”
If we lost Lou and there was something I could have done, Ainsley would never forgive me. This needed to be handled as quickly and quietly as possible.