ALESSIO #2
"So..." My voice disappears into the empty warehouse. "What did you know that they wanted?"
Silence. Not that I expected an answer from him. There's only the creak of the chains. I circle him once. No wasted movement. No unnecessary injuries. Everything served a purpose. Pain. Fear. Questions. Information.
The cartel wanted something badly enough to spend hours pulling him apart piece by piece.
Which means Flea had something worth protecting.
Or... someone. My gaze drops one last time to the blood pooled beneath him.
I crouch. The droplets aren't random. They're directional.
Dragged. Something heavy was moved after Flea died.
I touch the edge of one smear with a gloved fingertip. Still tacky. Fresh.
"Marco."
"Boss?"
"Something else was here."
He looks around. "What?"
"I don't know."
I straighten slowly. "But whatever they came for..." I look back at Flea. "They found it."
Which means whatever they wanted is sitting in one of those SUVs. "Search every vehicle."
Marco nods. "On it, boss."
I take one last look around the warehouse.
No drugs. No money. No product. Just bodies.
The cartel came for information. I turn toward the loading dock.
Behind me, two of my men wheel over a gurney.
They begin lowering Flea from the chains.
The rusted links groan as his body finally gives up the weight they'd held for hours.
One of the men catches him before he hits the floor.
"Damn..." The younger soldier grimaces.
"What?" Marco asks.
The man gently rolls Flea onto his side. "He's missing part of his ear."
I stop. "What?"
The soldier points. "Look."
The upper third of Flea's left earlobe is gone. Not torn. Not chewed. Cut. Cleanly. Long ago. The scar is pale against weathered skin, years old and completely healed.
"Looks deliberate." Marco crouches beside the body. "Probably biker shit."
Maybe. Maybe not. I don't move. My mind flashes to another ear. Another scar. Luciana. The exact same missing piece. Lenny's voice echoes in the back of my head.
"MC tradition." "The bitch cheated." "They took part of her ear."
"Boss?" Marco's voice pulls me back.
I tear my eyes away from Flea. "Bag him."
He studies me for a second. "Something significant about that ear?"
"No." The lie leaves my mouth before I even think about it. But I also don't believe in coincidences. I button my jacket.
Outside, the desert sun is sinking toward the mountains. The black SUVs sit in a neat line where Marco's men boxed them in. Every door hangs open. Seats have been ripped apart. Door panels removed. Spare tires pulled from the trunks. My soldiers don't do half measures.
One of them waves from the middle SUV. "Boss!"
Marco and I cross the gravel. The interior looks like a tornado tore through it. The seats have been gutted. The dashboard is hanging open. Door panels are stacked in a heap beside the truck. The floor has been peeled back to bare steel.
"I think I found it." The soldier raps his knuckles against something buried beneath the cargo floor.
Steel answers steel. Marco crouches. "Help me."
Another man joins him. Together they wrestle a heavy rectangular box from the hidden compartment. It lands on the gravel with a dull metallic thunk. A safe.
Its matte black surface darkens with the lowering sun. It's maybe eighteen inches wide. Heavy enough that two men grunt setting it down. No manufacturer. No markings. Just a biometric keypad and a small digital display.
"There's blood." The man who found it moves his pointer finger over the side and holds it up for us to see. There's no doubt in my mind this safe sat underneath or by Flea while they tortured him. This is what the Mexicans were after.
Rossi whistles. "That's expensive."
Marco runs a flashlight over the casing. "No pry marks."
"They never got it open." Rossi nods.
I kneel beside it. The display is dark. One of my fingers brushes a small, engraved warning beneath the keypad.
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS WILL RESULT IN PERMANENT DATA SANITIZATION.
I smile. "The bastard was more clever than anybody gave him credit for."
Rossi leans closer. "What does it mean?"
"It means if we guess..." I tap the screen, "everything inside dies."
Marco folds his arms. "So that's why they tortured Flea." He stares at the matte box. "They weren't looking for what's inside the safe."
I nod. "They wanted the code."
Silence. The men exchange glances. One of them mutters quietly, "Son of a bitch..."
Exactly.
Every man we've crossed who even whispered Cesar's name looked over his shoulder first. Men folded before he ever laid a hand on them. Flea didn't.
They burned him. Broke him. Tore him apart for hours... and he still died with the code. Which leaves me with only two possibilities. He had absolutely nothing left to lose... or whatever's inside that safe was worth a hell of a lot more than anything Cesar could ever threaten him with.
I stand. "Load it."
Marco raises an eyebrow. "You think Valentina can crack it?"
I grin. "She loves that kind of shit."
I look down one last time at the safe. Whatever Flea protected... whatever made a cartel torture a man to death... it's in there.