Page 5 of Enemy of Ours #1

ROMEO

“ A s you can see, all the cocaine is here for the exchange. It was an effortless export from Italy. Seventy kilos are all accounted for. Do you, uh, have the money?” Marco stutters, reaching into his jeans pocket and producing a handkerchief to wipe the beads of sweat off his forehead.

I don’t say anything, just watch him shift on his feet as he glances towards the exit and back at me with a loud gulp.

Hmm, he’s nervous. What could he be hiding from me?

I arch a brow and move from between Tony and Enzo with my hands in my slack pockets.

My posture is relaxed, even though it’s a scare tactic.

Marco would be foolish to attempt anything.

No one messes with me or the Sicilian Mafia unless they have a death wish.

But maybe he does. I'd be happy to be the one to put the poor bastard out of his misery. With one swift plunge of an ice pick to the back of his neck, all his body functions would cease instantly as I severed the spinal cord. It’s an easy and mess-free kill.

A win-win in my book. I don’t have a problem with getting rid of this greasy toad.

I have the FBI up my ass at the moment, but that’s nothing new.

Someone is always watching, so I just have to get creative with shipments to the States.

That’s why Marco is here; he’s not family, but my second cousin twice removed said he could be trusted.

So I followed my cousin’s advice even though my gut told me it was a risky move to trust someone outside of the familia.

I always follow my gut; it’s what’s kept me alive and outwitting the government for this long.

Three years since taking over the mafia after my pops passed away from a bullet between his eyes, I’ve been leading with a strong iron fist and have earned respect with a healthy dose of fear.

At the current moment, Marco’s whole demeanor is telling me not to trust the fucker, and something isn’t right.

I stroll around a pallet of cocaine, seventy kilos of devil's powder valued at ten million, eagerly awaiting distribution into the streets of New York. It has the potential to triple my wealth with a single exchange with the right buyer. This cocaine is a top product. I hired men in Italy to meticulously prepare, measure, cut, and taste-test the product, ensuring it delivers an unparalleled high. You can’t find any other cocaine like this; it creates animosity with trade businesses and positions me as a competitor to other mafia families trying to distribute their drugs on the streets.

I don’t really see this as a competition; you can’t beat my product, and everyone knows it.

The Irish mob in the Bronx, the triad on the Lower East Side, and low-grade drug dealers brewing in their shithole meth labs have nothing on the Italian mafia.

Marco brought in my supply from the Atlantic Ocean to New York Harbor on a cargo ship, docking and unloading near the Irish territory.

I almost didn’t go through with the shipment.

But after looking at every angle to get the product overseas, with the government breathing down my neck, I didn’t see any other choice.

I didn’t like it, though; I can’t trust anyone but blood.

“It's a bit chilly tonight, isn’t it?” I say casually, keeping my eye on the cocaine as I address Marco.

I hide my smirk as I hear him sputter and shift around some more, his body leaning towards the exit of the door on the far left side of the warehouse.

I cut my eyes to Tony and Enzo, for a split second, their gazes connecting with mine with a small nod.

That’s the good thing about working with family: you don’t have to say much for them to understand what you want.

My two cousins know me; we grew up together, a group of boys getting into trouble together the moment we started walking and still going strong at the age of thirty.

They quietly walk away, going in different directions without saying a word, which makes Marco more nervous.

Yeah, the fucker is hiding something. I smell a rat.

“Ye-yes, really cold. Where are they going?” he asks with a stutter, hardly able to meet my gaze as I step closer to the pallet and produce a switchblade from my pocket.

“You know, I find it very curious. It’s fucking freezing outside and just as cold in this warehouse, and yet… you're sweating bullets. Do you have something to tell me, Marco?” I ask in a casual tone, flipping the switch on the blade and cutting a neat line over the wrapping on the cocaine.

Pure white spills out of the opening, and I stab my switchblade into another cocaine bundle as I grab the blocky package of cocaine while looking up to see Marco go pale as a ghost.

“Wha-what. No. No, I wouldn’t—” He starts but goes silent, backing up a step when I take one in his direction. With a raised eyebrow, I shift the package back and forth between my hands. “You have to understand, Romeo! I—I wouldn’t betray you. I had to think of my family!”

My upper lip curls in disgust as he drops to his knees at my feet, sobbing with snot and spit dripping down his ugly mug.

“What did you do, Marco? Be honest, and I might let you live.” I let my facial expression smooth out so he can’t get a read on me and crouch down in front of him with the package between my hands.

“Vic—Victor approached me, threatened my family, and threatened my life. I didn’t have a choice! I’ve only been telling him when the shipments come in! That’s it, I swear.” he screams, sobbing like a fucking baby, but stops when he sees my face.

I feel like a black cloud descends over me as Marco keeps babbling, but I hardly hear him. I’m seething inside; it makes my vision blurry. This motherfucker. Victor.

The head of the Bratva Russian family.

Why must that piece of shit always show up whenever I’m planning a shipment? Do I have a rat in our midst? I don’t have time for this; I’m supposed to be preparing to leave the States in a month with my bride.

“Now, why did you have to go and make friends with the Russians, Marco? Have we not treated you kindly, like family?” I ask him, snapping the fingers of my left hand towards my cousin, and feel the press of cold metal meet the flesh of my palm.

“No. I mean, yes. You’ve treated me like family! I swear.” Marco whimpers in fear, watching with dilated eyes and sweat dripping from his hairline as I slowly tear the cocaine package open until white snow is spilling from the top.

“Then why did you think it was a good idea to betray me and the family? Did you not consider that it wouldn’t come with consequences for turning on the family?” I say in a deep tone, finally letting the hate and disgust seep through my voice as he squirms while looking everywhere else but at me.

“I-I’m sorry! It won’t happen again,” he stutters, crying, and snot runs down his sweaty, red face.

“No, it won’t,” I calmly say, moving swiftly as he opens his mouth to reply. I shove the package of cocaine in his face, smothering him in it until that’s all he can breathe in.

I hold it there, watching as he stops struggling.

After a minute, his head drops forward as his shoulders slump.

Taking the package away, I grip his greasy hair and pull his head towards the ceiling.

His pupils dilate as he stares at nothing, mumbling random words under his breath as the drugs flood his system.

“Keep giving him doses until he’s bleeding out of his nose and eyes, got it?” I stand and toss the package on the ground at Tony's feet, staring at my cousin with a raised brow until he nods in acknowledgment, his expression grim.

“Yeah, I got it. Do you want me to dispose of the body, or should I leave it as a warning?” Tony asks, already taking my place as I move away, dusting my hands together. I pull out a cigar, and Enzo appears out of nowhere with a lighter.

“Let’s give Victor a positive message: ‘Fuck around and find out.’ Removing attached limbs is optional, but ensure his tongue is cut out so he can’t speak, and also remove his fingers just in case.

It doesn’t matter too much; either Marco will bleed out or Victor will kill him for ratting him out,” I mumble around my cigar, take a deep breath, blow the smoke out, and tip my head back to look up at the ceiling while thinking of the outcome.

“Anything else, boss?” Enzo mutters quietly, patiently waiting for my reply as I take some slow drags off the cigar.

“No. Just keep me posted. I have plans,” I say, flicking the cigar at Marco before checking my Rolex on my wrist. “I’m fucking late. Ciao.”

“Questa nostra cosa,” Enzo, my capo, mutters with a smirk in his voice, but I ignore him as I walk out of the building.

I hate being late for my special appointments.

It’s the only time I can relax and know she’s being kept safe until the time is right.

Hopefully, that time will arrive within the next few weeks.

Excitement crawls through my veins, settling deep into my bones, which leaves me feeling very…

possessive? Obsessive? Probably both. I’m a sick bastard.

I have done many terrible things and will continue to do so without her knowing.

For years, I have been hiding in the shadows and watching her live her life without me.

Well, that’s about to change.

“What do you have for me?” I hold my hand out towards Vinny as I lean against my dark grey Rolls-Royce and remark how empty the streets are. Most people are probably already in bed for the night.

“Nothing really to report. The same old shit as usual, boss. Beat the shit out of a motherfucker who said some words to your lady. She ignored the people running their mouths, as she always does. The caretaker pretended not to notice anything.” Vinny places the folder in my open palm, cracking his knuckles as he watches me silently flip through the pages of reports of Iris’s day-to-day life and the photos taken.

I like photos.