Page 18 of Enemy of Ours #1
ROMEO
M y fists pounding against flesh create a rhythmic thud that resonates deeply within me, a sensation I believe is therapeutic. Everyone has hobbies. Sewing, running, reading… I guess mine is beating the ever-living shit out of someone who pisses me the fuck off.
My day began with a pleasant start; I had the opportunity to observe my girl from the camera set up in her shower as she struggled to understand why her body was so sensitive and sore.
I really thought this time she’d put the pieces together, but I think she’s living in denial and just chalked up our night together as a drunken dream.
I can’t wait to see her face when she finally figures out that I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for her.
Instead of getting to see the pleasure on her face in the shower as she touched herself and seeing the burn from my beard on her inner thigh, I got a phone call from Tony telling me I had to get to the grocery market right the fuck then.
I turned my camera off, fought traffic to get to the west side of Queens, and parked my car in front of the small market the familia has owned for decades.
It looks like any small grocery store up front, but once you step foot in the freezers, there's a hidden door before one of the shelving units that leads to stairs that go down beneath the city. Tenants in the two blocks of stores I own are unaware that beneath their stories lies an entire city. Back in the early twentieth century, they started building on top of existing structures, and as the years went on, people forgot about it. It’s really amazing when you see it, the endless tunnels and rooms that remind me of bomb shelters.
It was discovered by my great-grandfather back in the forties as he started buying development and turned it into something for the mob to use, away from the prying eyes of the cops.
These days, we have the cops in our pockets, and the neighborhoods keep quiet.
We make sure their storefronts and homes stay safe from other gangs that loiter in the streets and cause chaos.
We only have to worry about the FBI at this point, but we also have some connections within that department.
I mainly focus on the other gangs and mafias doing business on my turf, which is unacceptable.
Like fucking Victor, which is the point of why I’m in one of the underground cement rooms beating the shit out of one of his lackeys.
The big Russian fucker hasn’t spoken a word since I came in, only swearing and spitting at my Italian leather shoes.
Tony is leaning against the wall next to our cousin Vinny, who is sporting a split lip and swollen eyes from Victor’s lackey getting the jump on him.
I pound my fist into this fucker’s face for even daring to mess with my familia.
I don’t stop until I hear the satisfying crunch of his nose being smashed in.
“Did Victor not get my last message? Was stringing up a body in front of his warehouse not enough for him to back the fuck off? Why the fuck are you following me?” I shout in his face, enraged, but he just chuckles and spits a glob of blood at my face.
I would love to just snap his muscular neck and call it a day, but I need answers.
I grab a handkerchief out of my pocket and wipe the side of my face while stepping back to think clearly for a second.
I’ll end up killing him before getting anything out of him.
I turn to Tony as I finish cleaning my hands and throw the handkerchief in the burn bin so we don’t leave any evidence behind.
When this interaction concludes, we will burn everything.
“Give me the photos,” I snap, holding my hand out, and flip through all twenty of them.
Each photo makes my blood burn. It’s all of me.
Whether it's getting into my car, having a conversation with Vinny, or walking into my apartment building or Iris's, each photo haunts me deeply. That’s what scares me the most. Victor is letting me know that he has had eyes on me for a while now. He knows about my Iris.
“Fanculo.” I curse in Italian, throw the photos into the burn bin, and storm back over to the big Russian.
I don’t say anything; I just crouch over his slumped form and grasp his fat fingers, snapping two of them in quick succession. His screams relax my shoulders somewhat. Torturing my enemies does that to me; it helps me calm down.
“Fuck you, мудак!” He shouts something in Russian between bloody teeth, grunting in pain as I casually break his pinky finger without batting an eyelash.
“He only had a pack of cigarettes on him and a burner phone,” Vinny rasps out, shifting as he holds his ribs, which are only bruised.
He was already checked out by our doctor.
“I’m sorry, Don. I didn’t see him. From the point of view of the photos, it looks like they were taken from higher angles, like rooftops.
” Vinny grimaces, his face filled with shame, and I conclude that his punishment is sufficient.
“Don’t let it happen again,” I say, maintaining eye contact with him, clearly threatening that if this situation occurs again, I won’t be so forgiving. He gives me one solemn nod in return. “Give me the burner phone.”
Tony tosses the phone into my waiting palm, and I start scrolling through the call log, seeing the same number displayed over and over again. I decide to hit dial and put it up to my ear as I pace back and forth.
“What?” A deep, low voice answers after three rings, and I recognize it’s Victor by the impatient drawl in his tone.
“You have my attention, but I’m afraid your actions have consequences,” I reply darkly, stepping back in front of his comrade-in-arms and quickly snapping his wrist backwards until you hear the telltale breaking of his bones and the unmistakable sound of pain as he screams.
It’s quiet on the phone for a beat, and then Victor chuckles darkly, “If one of my men screams like a baby over a little bit of broken bones, then you may as well kill him. His weakness is of no use to me,” he replies in a thick Russian accent full of arrogance.
I just want to reach through the phone and choke him.
"Consider it done," I respond emotionlessly as I pull out my Glock from behind my belt and shoot point-blank into the huge fucker’s forehead without hesitation. “What do you want, Victor?”
He openly laughs over the phone as I watch the brain matter splat on the floor.
Fuckface is slumped back in the chair, his face tilting towards the ceiling so I can see his last facial expression.
His eyes wide and disbelief still on his face, his last thoughts were probably thinking his Bratva would get him out of this situation.
I can’t blame the guy, but for once I agree with Victor.
If your men can’t take pain in this business, why keep them around?
Those men usually end up being rats and break easily under pressure.
“I just want to meet. You’ve been avoiding me, Messina. You make deals with the Irishmen but not the Bratva? I’m quite hurt, you know?” He’s messing with me, his tone coming off as cocky, and it grates on my nerves.
“Fine. We meet on neutral ground. I will kill you without a second thought if you dare think to try anything.” I growl out in a deadly tone, meaning every word.
“Ah. Yes. I thought you might—less bloodshed and more witnesses. Are you scared, Don?” He taunts me, clearly enjoying himself.
“Fuck you. I’m fucking busy, and now I have to deal with your shit.” I snap, losing my patience because I don’t have time for these games. “Be at the hightop within an hour,” I demand and hang up before he can open his mouth again.
“Are you sure about this, boss? It could be a trap,” Tony asks, scrubbing a hand down his face before helping Vinny to his feet.
“He won’t try anything at the club. He’ll be dead in seconds if he tries to pull out any hidden guns.” I sigh, pulling my phone out and checking in on the cameras real quick to make sure she’s safe and home.
Seeing her move around the kitchen, carefully pulling out baking ingredients to make peanut butter cookies, tells me it’s been a rough day for her, too.
She always makes baked goods for comfort, and it amazes me each time how careful and patient she is when baking.
It takes her longer because of the blindness, but it doesn’t stop her drive.
I love that about her. My gaze hungrily scans over the phone screen, eating up every second I watch her before I log off to get back to work.
"Call the cleanup crew and tell them to use the vat of acid to dispose of the body," I command, and know Tony will get the job done.
It’s just a precaution. Leave no evidence behind that could get you locked up behind bars, and don’t get caught. That’s another family motto.
“Yes, Don. Already done. They will be here in less than ten minutes,” Tony says and helps Vinny out the door, who is leaning heavily to the right side as he walks but doesn’t complain.
“Let’s get this over with.”