21. Leander
Leander
The black sedan turns the corner onto Commerce Street, its headlights cutting through the rising steam of the wrecked truck’s radiator.
Julian glides the car to a stop ten feet from where the broken flatbed rests against the retaining wall.
He steps out into the cool air, taking in the scene with a quick sweep of his eyes, the shattered glass, the four dead men on the asphalt, and the two of us standing in the amber glare of the warehouse lights.
"Get in," Julian mutters, a faint, strained grin touching his lips despite the chaos. "Unless you two are planning on inviting the precinct to your midnight date."
I guide Kara into the back seat first, keeping my palm flat against her back until she’s inside. I slide in beside her, pulling the door shut. The cabin cuts off the smell of burnt rubber and copper, replacing it with the familiar scent of leather and faint tobacco.
Julian gets behind the wheel and pulls back out onto the road, taking the side streets away from the industrial district.
"You're bleeding, Leander," Julian says, watching me in the rearview mirror.
"It's a graze," I reply, pulling a clean white cloth from the door pocket and wrapping it tight around my forearm. The sting is dull, lost under the slow surge of adrenaline that hasn't left my blood since the truck blew the red light.
"He used a commercial truck," Kara mutters from beside me. She’s leaning back against the headrest, her hair slightly loose around her shoulders, her eyes clear and sharp in the dim cabin light. "That means he didn't use estate logistics. He paid fifty thousand cash to an independent crew."
"Because he knew Roberto wouldn't authorize a hit on a public street, much less a hit against me.” I say, my voice dropping low.
He's out of options.
Vincenzo lost his dock permits this morning when Kara filed the injunction. Now his street crew is lying dead on Commerce Street, and his fifty grand went up in smoke.
"Where do you think he’ll run to?" Julian asks, keeping his hands steady on the wheel as we hit the perimeter avenue.
"The estate," I tell him. "He has nowhere else to go. He’s going to run to Roberto, throw himself at the old man's feet, and tell him I've gone mad."
Julian glances back at me through the mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Leander... you look like you're about to tear the front gates off the compound."
"I am," I tell him.
"You're covered in blood, man," Julian says, his tone turning cautious. "If you walk into Roberto's study looking like a butcher, the capos who are still sitting on the fence are going to panic."
"They can panic all they want," I say, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. "The ones who panic can leave. The ones who stay can watch."
Kara reaches across the seat, her warm hand closing firmly over my wrapped wrist. I turn my head to look at her. There’s no fear in her expression, no hesitation, no request for me to slow down or reconsider. She looks at me with that same quiet, unshakeable devotion that has been anchoring me.
“You’ve given him so many chances.”
She's right. I gave Vincenzo a chance to walk away with a broken jaw and a plaster cast. I let him live because he shared my father's blood, and because a small, foolish part of me thought years of distance meant something. But a cornered rat doesn't care about mercy.
I might as well put an end to this nonsense.
Julian stays quiet for the rest of the drive. He takes the north bypass, avoiding the main checkpoints, and pulls the sedan onto the winding cobblestone road leading up the hill toward the Moretti estate.
The iron gates at the perimeter are closed, but two guards are standing outside the security booth. When Julian slows the sedan to a crawl, one of the guards steps up to the driver's window with a flashlight.
It’s Leo's younger brother, Marco—a stocky guy in a leather jacket.
"Dr. Sartori," Marco stammers, his eyes widening as he shines the light through the rear glass, catching the blood on my face and torn shirt. "Don Roberto is in the study with—"
"Open the gate," I command, my voice cutting through the quiet night air like a blade.
Marco hesitates for half a second, his hand hovering near his belt, but the look in my eyes stops him cold. He turns back to the booth and hits the manual override.
The iron gates swing open with a low, mechanical groan.
Julian drives up the long, curving driveway, stopping the car directly in front of the front steps of the limestone villa. The massive front doors are unlocked, warm light spilling across the stone porch.
I pull the door handle and step out into the night.
"Leander," Julian calls out from the driver's seat.
I stop, looking back into the cabin.
"I'm staying in the car with Kara," Julian says, his face set in a tight, watchful line. "If things go sideways inside, I'm pulling around to the south terrace."
"Nothing is going sideways," I mumble.
I look at Kara one last time. She nods once and I turn on my heel, heading up the stone steps.
The double doors at the end of the study explode inward with a deafening BANG, the brass latch snapping clean off the frame as I kick the center panel through.
The doors slam back against the leather-lined walls, sending a cloud of dust and splinters flying across the rug.
Every man in the room jumps.
I step through the threshold.
My shirt is torn open at the shoulder, soaked through with dark arterial blood from the men on Commerce Street and the steady bleed from my own forearm.
My face is smeared with soot, gun grease, and red splatters across my cheekbone.
My hair is messy, plastered to my forehead, and my eyes carry that absolute, unhinged violence that belongs to a man who has completely abandoned every rule he ever lived by.
In my right hand, I hold the heavy 9mm pistol I took off the dead mercenary near the truck.
The room goes dead silent. Nobody breathes. The crackle of the fireplace is the only sound in the massive study.
Vincenzo lets out a choked, whimpering gasp, scrambling backward on his knees, hiding behind Roberto's chair like a frightened child.
"He's out of his mind!" Vincenzo tries to roar, though the words come out as a muffled, wheezing hiss through the metal brackets.
He wipes a smear of saliva from his chin with his good left hand, his eyes wide with feverish panic.
"He... he hit the Commerce Street transport! He wiped out the whole crew!"
Roberto doesn't answer immediately. He takes a slow sip of his brandy, his eyes fixed on his eldest son with a cold, unreadable expression.
"The bastard intercepted them! He killed all four of them in the street! He's hunting me!"
"He's hunting you," Roberto repeats, setting his glass down on the table with a soft click. "And why would your brother be hunting you on Commerce Street at ten o'clock at night, Vincenzo?"
Vincenzo freezes. His jaw twitches behind the wires, his posture going rigid as he searches for a lie that holds weight.
"Because... because he wants the docks!" Vincenzo stammers out, his voice rising in pitch. "He wants to destroy the Rossi agreement! He brought that lawyer bitch into our business, and now he's trying to take everything you built!"
"You have to sanction him, Father!" Vincenzo begs, his voice cracking with pure, pathetic terror. "Call the commission! Order the capos to put him down! He's a wild dog! If you don't kill him tonight, he's going to walk into this house and—"
"Leander," Don Roberto calls softly.
I don't look at Roberto. My eyes are locked entirely on Vincenzo cowering on the floor.
"You missed with the truck, Vincenzo," I say neutrally.
"Get... get back!" Vincenzo chokes out through his wired teeth, his hand reaching frantically for the pocket of his vest. "Father! Shoot him! He's going to kill me!"
I step around the edge of the table, my boots leaving bloody prints on the oriental rug.
For years, I tried to pretend I wasn't my father's son. I tried to steer clear of violence, of the family business, but Vincenzo brought out this side of me, and he has to face the consequences, brother or not.
I stop three feet from where Vincenzo is cowering.
Roberto watches me from his chair, his hands resting flat on the table, a terrifying smile on his face. He isn't stopping me. He isn't calling for the house guards. He’s sitting there like a spectator watching his bloodline take what belongs to it.
"Leander... please..." Vincenzo gasps out, his hands coming up to cover his face, tears mixing with the sweat and drool running down his chin. "We're... we're brothers..."
"We were brothers until you messed with my woman," I tell him.
I raise the 9mm pistol, bringing the barrel flat against the center of his forehead.
Vincenzo squeezes his eyes shut, his entire frame shaking violently as he lets out a breathless sob.
"Leander," Roberto speaks up. "If you pull that trigger, there is no turning back. You leave the hospital behind forever. You automatically become my heir.”
I look down at Vincenzo's broken, trembling body, then glance sideways at my father.
If that’s what it takes to stop Vincenzo and protect Kara, I’m ready to do it. But Roberto doesn’t have to know that.
"I'm not taking your seat, Roberto," I say, my thumb flicking the safety lever down on the 9mm with a mechanical click. "And I'm not running anymore."
I bring my focus back to Vincenzo, my grip tightening on the handle as I prepare to end it.
Vincenzo squeezes his eyes shut, his entire frame shaking violently as he lets out a wet, breathless sob.
My thumb hovers on the hammer.
Fifty thousand dollars in cash.
The detail from Commerce Street hits my brain like a cold splash of ice water.
Kara filed the injunction at four o'clock this afternoon. Every single one of Vincenzo's personal accounts and municipal permits was frozen tight by five. He didn't have fifty dollars to buy lunch, let alone fifty thousand dollars to pay an independent strike team in Newark at nine o'clock.
My grip on the pistol tightens, but I don't pull the trigger.
Vincenzo didn't plan this hit.
Vincenzo is loud, desperate, and stupid, but he isn't creative. He didn't hire an independent commercial flatbed from a Newark depot. He didn't have the cash reserve, and he didn't have the logistics contacts.
Someone handed him the cash, someone gave him the flatbed truck, gave him the timing on our sedan leaving The Crown, and told him to pull the trigger so he and I would destroy each other.
I look down at Vincenzo's weeping, pathetic face. He isn't the threat. He's a puppet holding someone else's gun.
Slowly, I click the safety lever back up on the 9mm pistol with a sharp, mechanical click.
I lower the weapon to my side.
Vincenzo opens his eyes slightly, gasping for air, looking up at me in stunned, terrified disbelief.
Don Roberto's eyebrows knit together slightly, the manic smile on his lips faltering. "Leander?"
"He didn't pay for the truck, Roberto," I say, my voice echoing through the quiet study.
"What are you talking about?"
"Kara froze every account he owns already," I tell my father, looking him dead in the eye. "He didn't have fifty grand in cash. He was riding someone else's money."
I turn on my heel, shoving the 9mm pistol into my waistband.
"Where are you going?" Roberto commands, his gravelly voice rising.
"I'm going to find out who signed the check." I stop at the broken double doors. I look back over my shoulder at Vincenzo trembling on the floor. "Keep him breathing until morning. When I get the name on the account, I'll be back to finish the job."
I walk out of the study, leaving my father and my broken brother in the silent, smoke-filled room as I step out to where Kara is waiting.