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“This is good enough. Thank you!” I say breathlessly to the taxi driver.

He’s done exactly as I’ve asked and tailed the black Escalades that Sergio Sacrimoni and his men left in. We’ve wound up in a neighborhood more than a little familiar with mob activity—in every direction is the lifeless and sterile building of a meat-packing plant. The air even reeks of the raw, bloody smell of meat.

I step out of the taxi to the fog rolling through the cold and desolate streets and watch as the black Escalades turn down a path for freight trucks. They’re going around the back of the building to where the meat is likely unloaded.

The taxi hardly waits to see if I’m even safe where he’s dropped me off. Within seconds, his rubber tires are working overtime as he speeds off like he was never here in the first place.

I can’t say I’m surprised.

This isn’t the kind of neighborhood you want to be caught in after dark. Certainly not with all the recent mob-related activity.

It’s not a neighborhood I should be lurking in either.

But, sometimes, getting to the bottom of the story outweighs personal safety. No other journalist is willing to take the risks I am. The NPPD have avoided looking too hard into many of the crimes related to crime families like the Belluccis and Tucos for the same reason.

If Il Diavolo and his iron grip on the city is ever going to be undone, it’ll have to be someone like me breaking the story wide open.

I take my time approaching the factory. I wait several minutes until I’m certain Sergio and his men have dragged Milos inside. Upon approaching the drab building with its flat and squat structure, I realize the black Escalades aren’t the only vehicles at the property after hours.

Several other vehicles are parked around the sides.

Who else is here that Sergio has brought Milos to see? Could it be Titus Tuco, the Don of the Tuco family… or could it be for a showdown with the Belluccis? Is the infamous Il Diavolo involved?

In a matter of minutes, I have the answer to my question. I’ve snuck around the side and let myself into the factory as discreetly as possible. Once I’m inside, I slip into the shadows, staying close to the wall, following the distant traces of voices.

At night in such a large and empty space, voices echo. All sounds travel back to me.

I track the sounds while trying to remain silent and unheard myself.

The meat plant is full of heavy machinery everywhere with giant meat hooks and conveyor belts and crates upon crates. Creeping closer to a stack of these plastic crates so I’ll be concealed, I go still and listen to the men’s exchange.

“I must say I’m pleased to have so many guests,” comes a voice thickened by an Italian accent.

Sergio Sacrimoni scoffs. “If by pleased you mean shitting your pants, then I’ll agree. You’ve got got, Diavolo. We’re shutting down your operation and taking the territory. You thought Milos was going to backstab us for you?”

The man with the thick Italian accent laughs. “You misunderstand everything that’s going on. I was speaking about my other guest.”

I chance a small peek from around the edge of the crates and almost gasp. I have to quickly swallow down air and clamp my lips shut to keep from giving myself away.

The scene before me is shocking enough that it’s worthy of a gasp… and so much more.

There’s a man in an unsettling devil’s mask sitting on what can only be described as a throne. He’s surrounded by a group of intimidating men who wear the same scowls and have the same muscular builds.

Standing opposite them is Sergio and his guys, with Milos cowering at his side.

And then there’s the other visitor Il Diavolo’s referencing. Therealreason I almost gasped.

Rafael Calderone who has just been marched through a door with two armed men I’ve never seen before flanking him. They’re not his usual security guards, and they have their machine guns out, which makes me almost think they’re not his employees.

They’re… not even on his side?

I cover my mouth with my hands and feel the rest of my body shake from the deep waves of shock crashing over me.

Rafael smirks at the room full of hardened, steely Italian gangsters. “Good evening, gentlemen. You said you had some business you wanted to discuss?”

25

RAFAEL