Page 24 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)
RAFFAELE
“ H ello, I’m on my way to the club with Marty,” Alessia announces cheerfully when I pick up the phone.
“Hmm.” I hum distractedly while I watch Giulia get into the back of the cab.
“Oh, and I got him a new collar, the old one is frayed and worn out.” It almost sounds like she’s chastising me about maltreating the dog, which is hilarious coming from a woman for whom I’ve written thousands of dollars’ worth of checks.
“You shouldn’t have wasted your time,” I tell her before hanging up the call.
Marty never took to any collar I put on him, whining in distress and being generally miserable.
One day, I dug out Laika’s old collar from a box of keepsakes, and Marty had come running for it.
Since then, he’s refused to let anybody upgrade him to something better.
I wait until Giulia’s cab has disappeared down the street before slipping out of my hiding place and making my way to where my car’s parked. I consider trailing after her to make sure she gets home in one piece, then decide against being that much of a creep.
I gun it back to the club, annoyed that I didn’t end up getting something to eat after all.
As soon as I see Tommaso waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, I know it’s trouble. My brain shifts from the Montanari girl to business mode.
“What’s going on?”
My right-hand man falls into step with me as I cross to my office and settle into the large leather chair. Unlike my father’s study, my office is well lit, with a row of windows just behind me from where I can look down into the main club floor.
“One of our warehouses was hit an hour ago, and most of the shipment was taken,” Tommaso informs me.
I narrow my eyes. “Which one?”
“The one at the docks.”
“Any lives lost?” I ask him.
His jaw clenches. “We have two dead men and a few injured, but the loss of our products is also a big hit here. The docks had some of our biggest products, and losing all that worth of product will hurt us drastically, because we’re supposed to deliver to the Russians soon, and we won’t be able to recover that much before then. ”
I stand up, too agitated to stay seated.
My blood thrums with burning fury, more at the loss of my men than at the stolen products.
Drugs can be gotten back, but nothing’s going to bring back the men I’ve lost. I clasp my hands behind my back and step up to the floor-to-ceiling windows, glancing over the club, but seeing nothing.
“Do we have any leads on who’s behind this?” From the reflection on the window, I see Tommaso’s face harden into granite.
“It’s those fucking Montanaris. Their signature is all over the attack,” he spits. “We should strike back now when they least expect it. They’ll probably be waiting for us to regroup after this hit, while they aren’t on their guard.”
“How do we know it’s them?” I ask slowly, instead of allowing him to fan the flames of my fury.
He steps forward and holds out a tablet. I eye the device before taking it. On the screen is a picture of an M spray-painted on the side of the warehouse that was attacked. My eyebrows hike up in surprise at the evidence.
The whole thing seems so stupidly obvious. Why would the Montanaris make such a big hit and then announce it? It’s like painting a clear target on their forehead and inviting us to take a shot. Unless it’s a trap, hoping that we’ll come for revenge, and they can take us all down.
My instincts say that’s not it, though. This feels more like someone is trying to frame the Montanaris up and lead both sides into a war. But who? Who would stand to gain from this?
“We have to act now, boss,” Tommaso seethes. “I’m so sick of these Montanaris causing trouble at every turn. It’s high time we razed them to the ground.”
“I don’t think they did this.”
Surprise flashes on his face, and he stares at me like I’ve completely lost my senses. “How much clearer can the evidence be?” he finally blurts out after an extended period of silence.
“Get the car ready. I’m going to the docks to check things out for myself,” I tell him.
“Yes, boss.” He nods and walks out of the office.
I stare at the photo on the screen for a while longer, my mind racing with possibilities. I have an odd sense that what is happening is much bigger than it seems, and my intuition has never steered me wrong.
The warehouse at the docks is in a pitiful state.
Whoever is behind this made sure to leave the place in as much chaos as possible.
Some hint of smoke still rises from the buildings, and I can see some of my men picking their way around, trying to salvage anything.
Even at a first glance, I can already tell that there’s nothing salvageable; the hit was thorough.
“Boss,” one of the men acknowledges me with a nod as I step down from the SUV and run a critical eye over the damage. I’m going to have to pay the cops a boatload for them to look the other way and let us handle it our way.
“Those fucking Montanaris!” I hear one man snarl. “I can’t wait until we have their heads on spikes.”
I know that all of the men are counting on me to declare war.
That’s exactly what my father would do if he were here.
Hesitating on that decision will make the men see me as weak, and I can’t afford that if I plan on taking over one day.
I can’t give anyone leave to think I’m not capable of doing what needs to be done.
Steeling my shoulders, I stroll through the wreckage, nudging debris aside with my shoe in search of real evidence. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for until something on the floor catches my eye. I go down to my haunches and nudge the dirt apart, revealing the metal.
Pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket, I wipe the dirt away from the object, stilling when I realize what it is. The gold insignia of the Echelon Syndicate sits in my palm. I close the handkerchief around it and stick it into my pocket, standing up.
A sense of uneasiness washes over me at finding that object here. Why is it here? My father is a part of the Syndicate, so we’re not their enemies. There’s no reason for them to come after one of our warehouses. Did my father do something against them?
They are a vindictive group who can easily decide to destroy even one of their members.
No matter how hard Father tries to convince me to join the Syndicate, I’ve never budged.
I want nothing to do with the bunch of them.
I fell into the mafia lifestyle with my eyes and arms wide open, and I realize that it’s something that I needed—the structure, the violence, strategizing, and being in charge of people.
The Echelon Syndicate is a whole other ballgame. You don’t get into something like that without losing your entire humanity, and there’s no getting out. Some of the things they’ve done turn my stomach, and I’ve got a solid stomach.
So the question is, why would they try to set the Montanaris up? Is my father behind this? Or are they doing this to put us in the middle of a war where we can eliminate each other? What reason can they possibly have to want to get us out of the scene?
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t realize I’m not alone until I hear someone speak.
“It has to be somewhere around here,” the man’s voice says. “We can’t let them find it.”
I clock that they’re hunting for the insignia pendant, and I shift to hide behind a pillar, waiting. From my position, I make out four armed men searching around the rubble. I tap a hand to my pocket to make sure the item is still there and consider calling for backup.
On a second thought, I don’t want anyone else getting involved in this until I know exactly what the fuck is going on. With that thought in mind, I step out of the shadows behind one of the men.
I tap him, and when he turns around, I punch him in the throat.
He drops his gun, gurgling and gasping for air, and I grab him by the back of his skull and smash his head into the pillar, once, twice, three times.
The man drops dead, but by then, the other three have caught wind of what’s happening.
I’m immediately surrounded, and one of the men opens fire. I duck behind the pillar and pull out my gun, raising it to the light switch on the far wall and firing. A moment later, all the lights inside the warehouse flicker out, plunging the room into darkness.
The men start shooting around randomly, but I wait and listen, biding my time. It’s only when I hear their bullet chambers click that a slow smile spreads across my face.
“What the—” He never gets to finish his sentence, because I’m on him instantly, fists flying into his face.
Another of the men comes at me from behind, and my elbow is ready, driving into his throat. The third guy gets a head butt and a knee to the nuts. He lets out a pained howl and drops to his knees.
“Reload! Reload your fucking gun!” one cries.
I go to hit him again, but I miscalculate the recovery of the other man and the weapons he has on hand. I end up getting my arm sliced by the arc of his glinting blade.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl, slapping my other hand over the wound.
There’s no time to stop the bleeding now, though.
I lash out, grab the man’s wrist, and twist until he screams and drops the knife.
I catch it before it can fall to the ground and be lost to me in the dark.
From the corner of my eye, I see the other guy aiming his gun at me.
Thinking fast, I spin around with the knife guy in tow, until he’s positioned in front of me.
The bullets rip through him, while I aim the knife and throw. It finds its way into one of the shooter’s eyes, and he drops dead. I toss the one in front of me to the ground, knowing that he’s also dead.
I rip my shirt sleeves further to examine the wound on my arm, relieved to find that it’s not terribly deep. I’ll take care of it later, but for now, I have something more important to do. I crack my fingers and head over to the man who’s still writhing in agony on the floor, cupping his groin.
I pull him up by his collar and push him up against the nearest wall. “You’re going to tell me everything I need to know, or the next few minutes will be hell for you.”
His eyes widen at the look on my face, and I see him swallow nervously. I can see him thinking of how to get out of this, and how much trouble he’ll be in if he snitches.
I pull out the pendant and hold it up to his face. “What’s this?” It’s a test question since I already know the answer.
“That’s an insignia for the Echelon Syndicate,” he reveals.
Thank fuck this one is ready to sing like a canary. “I assume this is what you were looking for?” When he nods, I go in with my next question. “Why?”
“One of the men left it behind, and we were supposed to retrieve it so there’ll be no evidence pointing to the Syndicate,” he admits. “Can you just let me go? I swear I’m not one of them. I just needed some money fast, and they were willing to pay for?—”
“Shut up,” I bite out. “I’ll let you go when you’re done answering my questions to my satisfaction. Why is the Syndicate trying to frame the Montanaris?”
His gaze shifts away from mine, and he hesitates. “I don’t know. They don’t give me inside knowledge and?—”
Impatient, I pull out my gun and press it to the junction of his legs. The man lets out a high-pitched scream, his eyes going impossibly wide.
“What the fuck, man? You can’t do that!”
I ignore him. “Why are they trying to frame the Montanaris?”
“B-because they’re trying to pit you two against each other, okay?” he stammers, sweat pouring down his face. “I don’t know why they’re doing it, but they have a whole plot to get the Montanaris and the Gagliardis to go to war.”
“Who gave you the order?” I growl.
“I don’t know!” he cries. “I got some money and instructions, that was fucking it. I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Can you let me go now?”
“Of course,” I lie, pulling away.
The man lets out a breath of relief, but the next second, I raise my gun and put a bullet in the space between his eyes. I can’t believe the Syndicate is trying to cause a war of such proportion. What do they stand to gain?
I step out of the warehouse through the back passage, intent on getting out of here without running into Tommaso or any of the other men. I don’t want to have to explain what went down in there. I need some alone time to try and figure out what exactly is going on.
There’s a black Jaguar at the back, and I hazard a guess that it belongs to the men I’ve just killed. I’m sure they’ll forgive me for borrowing their car. I climb into the driver’s seat, pleased to find the car keys stuck in the ignition.
I rev the car and shoot out of the docks.
I need to tell Tommaso to wipe all the evidence against the Montanaris before my father finds out, and I need to get rid of the men’s bodies before someone links them to the Syndicate and starts mouthing off.
There’s a whole lot to do if I have any hope of preventing the war that’s coming to our doorstep.
I should be thinking of the next step to take, but instead my head keeps shifting to the memory of Giulia, how her eyes narrow when she gives one of her smartass responses, how they spark when I say something she doesn’t like, and how she purses her mouth when she’s trying not to indulge me.
I turn the corner too sharply and almost skid off the road, lost in my thoughts of her.
I let out a bitter laugh when I finally get control of the car wheel. Giulia Montanari will be the death of me—that is, if I don’t die first in this shitstorm the Echelon Syndicate is brewing and sending our way.