Page 18 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

EIGHTEEN

Enzo

It was only after Jamie stated he wasn’t moving out of Redcars and leaving Robbie alone, a glint of madness in his eyes, and Logan said he’d stay to back him up, that I even thought of tracking down Mateo because if Vinnie was affiliated, and the man who’d hurt Robbie had actually been on Redcars property…

“What are we looking at with this Stone Cross shit?” Rio asked from the shotgun seat, turning his knife over in his hands and staring ahead with deadly focus. He hadn’t needed to come. I’d told him to stay back, to keep an eye on things at Redcars, to watch over Robbie. But Rio? He didn’t take orders like that. He just gave me this look—steady, certain—and said, “You’re not doing this without me.” That was who he was. Solid. Always there when I wished he’d stayed safe, stayed clear. I didn’t want him anywhere near the shadows I used to walk in. But Rio wasn’t going to let me face them alone. Not now. Not ever.

“Three generations-deep by the time I got close to it. Started small—boosted cars, corner deals, intimidation. My uncle ran with them back in the nineties, my cousin until he OD’d, and by the time I was old enough to be useful to them, they’d got a stranglehold on the district. Mid-sized gang by numbers, but they punched above their weight. Controlled the streets, even had a couple cops on payroll.”

“You got pulled in?” Rio asked. He wasn’t judging—I didn’t know his backstory in full, but he knew what the streets were like.

I sighed. “I had no choice.”

“And?”

“It was run by Sonny Delgado, all swagger and chaos. He’s dead, two years back, so we’ll be talking to his son Mateo.”

“And what do you know about Mateo?”

How much did I tell Rio? He was driving into this with me, but none of us ex-cons at Redcars sat around talking about our histories. We’d all done time, knew what we’d been into, but we’d forged a new family of friends who didn’t dig into this shit. But Rio should know what he was walking into.

“He was my best friend before we killed a man.”

“‘We’?”

“I had the knife—Mateo held him still. He was threatening Mateo, I snapped. Mateo had his hand on the knife. He ran when I told him, and I ended up locked away. I had a deal with his dad. I did time for murder, and kept my mouth shut about his son being anywhere near what went down, and he agreed to release me and leave me, and then Redcars when I got here, alone.”

“You think the deal is over now Sonny’s dead? That maybe Mateo’s the one pulling strings with Vinnie?”

“Fuck knows.”

“ We’ll end it,” Rio said evenly.

But I didn’t look at him in a moment of buddy solidarity, instead, I focused on cutting across a cracked parking lot, steering toward the far corner. The bar up front used to be a dive with loud music that made your teeth hum, but now it was shuttered. The neon sign that had once screamed OPEN 24/7 hung crooked, and the windows were boarded up. I killed the engine and sat there for a second, the silence thick in the car. What if they’d moved on from here? Fuck. If I had to start on the streets asking questions…

“You should stay in the car,” I said, eyes still fixed on the shell of the bar.

Rio snorted, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a set of brass knuckles he’d never admit to owning. “Fuck that,” he said. “If you’re walking into this, I’m not letting you do it alone. You don’t get to play the lone-wolf act today, my friend.”

His voice didn’t waver. That was how I knew he was serious.

“They’ll be armed,” I murmured, watching the entrance as if it might sprout teeth.

“I assumed,” Rio said, voice clipped, his fingers brushing the inside of his jacket where he’d put his knife. No gun, but he didn’t need one. Rio was the kind of guy who turned a wrench into a weapon at half a second’s notice.

I side-eyed him. He was ready, jaw tight, eyes sharp. He’d seen what I’d seen. Maybe more.

“Last chance to back out,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He didn’t flinch. Just opened his door, climbed out, and met me in front of the car. Unzipped his jacket with one quick jerk, hooked his thumbs in his belt like he was showing he had nothing to hide. Like that made him less dangerous.

The one thing we’d all sworn to Tudor when we got out was no more heat, no more cops, no more crawling back into the shadows we’d clawed our way free from. Stay clean. Stay smart. But look at Tudor now, telling us to stop the shadows creeping closer? Trouble had found us anyway and standing still wasn’t peace—it was surrender. We weren’t chasing trouble, but we needed to draw a line in the sand. We weren’t the threat. We were the stop sign.

I walked with purpose, cutting between shadows and old dumpsters, bypassing the front door and heading around back. The place was cleaner than I remembered—no smoke in the air, no trash in the alley and no one was standing guard, which hit me as being all kinds of wrong.

It was too clean. As if someone had scrubbed the history out of it.

The side door opened with a creak. The hallway inside was more like an office building now than a gang HQ. Painted walls, flickering fluorescent lights, cameras tucked into the corners. Legit. On paper, maybe. Not in reality. Rio nodded once at the nearest camera, and we kept walking. Past the empty rooms. Past the silence. Past the ghost of who my brother had once been.

We stopped at a steel door at the end of the hall. I stared at the camera above it and waited.

The lock clicked, and I pushed the door open.

The room beyond was quiet. A long table sat at the center, surrounded by chairs.

“Lor.”

The voice dragged me out of my thoughts. Mateo stood from the table with a grin that hadn’t changed in ten years. He was tall and wiry, with dark hair buzzed close to his scalp and pale silver eyes that missed nothing. Dressed down in jeans and a faded black T-shirt that read Los Angeles in bold block letters, he didn’t look like someone who ran most of the west side with a grip of steel. But then there wasn’t much left of my childhood friend ether. A mix of Italian and Puerto Rican blood, with a healthy overdose of swagger, Mateo was dangerous in any language.

“Enzo.” I corrected because fuck if this asshole got to call me by my childhood nickname now we were all grown up.

He was carrying, of course—holster strapped tight to his ribs like a second skin, the glint of a familiar gun handle catching the light. The design carved into the grip wasn’t for show. I recognized it as the one his daddy used to wear, back when Mateo was a punk kid trailing after one of the most feared men in the community. That handle was a family legacy—and a promise of how things could go sideways. The men flanking him weren’t here to make polite conversation. Both strapped. Both watched Rio and me like we were walking threats.

He rounded the table, Goons One and Two stiffening. “And you brought a friend.” Mateo said and his grin widened. “Rio Villareal, fighter, killed a man in the third round, eight years in High Desert. Right?”

Rio stiffened, took a step forward, Goon Two’s hand rested on his weapon.

I held up a hand in front of Rio. “Why the fuck are you messing with my neighborhood?”

Mateo’s grin faltered, but it soon returned and he motioned to the table. “It’s good to see you Lor. Have a drink. It’s cocoa. Like Momma used to make.” A sense memory of creamy cocoa hit me. Mateo’s mom used to make it taste so good—probably adding love or some shit like that. I remembered one time—just one—when she’d made it for both of us after we’d gotten caught stealing cigarettes from the gas station. She hadn’t yelled. Just sat us down, handed us mugs, and told us we were better than this. That we had choices. Yeah, so many fucking choices. Mateo had laughed it off, always wanting to be the big man, to go places, to be like his dad. That one moment stuck like a splinter under the skin. Still there, still aching. Now Mateo was out here, making moves, marking territory on our doorstep. Why come anywhere near Redcars?

“Answer the fucking question, Mateo.”

Mateo sighed like I was being difficult. “You won’t drink cocoa; you’ve brought muscle; We’re nowhere near Redcars, so I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Lor.”

I stepped up to him, close enough that I had to tilt my chin to meet his eyes; he still had a few inches on me, but I didn’t give a fuck.

Goon One moved, but Mateo waved him back.

“I had a deal with Sonny,” I snapped, unable to keep all of my emotions in check. “But you’re creeping around my home as if that deal didn’t mean shit.”

Both goons stepped closer, subtle, hands flexing.

Rio moved one step. I didn’t want a fight, but for my family… for Robbie… I’d fucking take them all down.

“I don’t break deals,” Mateo said, voice flat. “I’m nowhere near your garage .”

“Vinnie Rizzuto ring a bell?” I asked, watching his face.

Mateo didn’t flinch, but I saw it—a twitch, a tic in his jaw—and then Goon One opened his mouth.

“One of Luca’s new hires, boss.” And there it was—the slip. And if looks could kill, then Goon One would be dead right now.

I leaned in. “You owe me. I want Vinnie. You hear me, Matty ?” Two could play at the childhood nickname game.

Mateo tilted his head. “The deal stands.”

I didn’t blink. “Then fucking fix your shit and bring me Vinnie.”

The room stayed still. Silent.

Mateo chuckled, low and slow. “You haven’t changed, Lor. Still playing alpha like it’s in your blood.” He flicked his fingers, that lazy little kingpin motion that sent people scattering. “You can go now.”

For a second, I thought he meant me, but the goons shifted. Goon One made for the door without hesitation. Goon Two hesitated, loyalty digging its heels into hesitation.

“Boss? This isn’t a good idea.”

Mateo shook him off like swatting a fly. “Fucking go,” he said again, and this time it was laced with threat. Then his gaze slid back to Rio and me like a slow knife. “I want to talk to my old friend alone.”

Next to me, Rio tensed, jaw grinding. I could feel the heat rolling off him.

“I’ll be five minutes,” I said, pulling the keys from my pocket and offering them like a peace token.

“Fuck no,” Rio barked, not even looking at the keys. “Vinnie is my problem too.”

Mateo dropped into a chair with deliberate calm, his voice silky with venom as he tapped his lower lip. “Ah, yes. Rio was Vinnie’s little plaything way back. Right”

Rio lunged the room in a heartbeat, grabbed Mateo by the collar, and yanked him upright, blade at his throat. Fast, efficient, no bluff.

Mateo didn’t flinch either, moved like someone who’d done this dance before. Pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, pressed it against Rio’s gut.

“Where the fuck is the little asshole?” Rio snarled. “I’ll kill him slow—inch by fucking inch—and then I’ll come back here and gut you from belly to throat.”

Mateo smiled, teeth white, and cold. “Are you offering me a good time, fighter?”

I shoved my way between them, palms up, heart hammering. “Talk,” I snapped, eyes pinned on Mateo. “Now.”

“What do you want to know? You know I’m an open book?” The lies just fell from his lips.

“Vinnie.”

“Talked the talk, didn’t do the walk. Came out yesterday talked some shit about this missing link, how he had a line on a million dollar payoff. This person who knows passwords to some big crypto, ran off from his benefactors.” His mouth twisted on the word as if he knew there were no benefactors, just kidnapping abusers. “He swears to me he saw this guy with you.” He blinked all innocent. “You wanna comment?”

My blood turned to ice.

A million dollar payoff. Passwords. Missing link. A guy who’d run off?

Robbie.

My insides twisted up into knots of nausea and rage. My temper flared hard and fast, sharp enough to taste blood. Somehow, Vinnie had known who Robbie was. Or he’d seen something, and Mateo was pinning his hopes on the cash. And worse—he was smiling. That fake-innocent blink, the same one he’d used on teachers when we were kids right after he’d stolen something from their desk drawers. Except this wasn’t candy or test answers. This was about Robbie. My broken, healing, brave-as-fuck Robbie.

Mateo reached into a pocket, and Rio was on him. “Easy fighter, just going for my phone.” He pulled it out and thumbed through the screens. “Crypto’s a big world, Lor. Lotta people on the dark web want their wallets unlocked. Especially when they’re full of Bitcoin some dumbass stashed back in 2013. If you’ve got a line on the kid with the passwords, you’re sitting on a goldmine.” He passed me the phone, and I took it and turned it to see Robbie. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, untouched, blond hair, mismatched eyes, staring at the camera, but it was definitely him. “That kid is the key, and allegedly, if we track him down, it’s a fuck-ton of money from concerned former employers.”

“Traffickers, abusers,” I spat as I saw red. Not metaphorical. Actual red. Behind my eyes, at the edges of my vision. “Is that who you are now, Mateo? Taking victims back to their abusers for money?”

Mateo was silent, and then he tilted his head. “I didn’t say that.”

I thought about Robbie, the scars, the pain, the fact he was only just coming back to life. “Then what are you doing?”

“Nothing, I ordered him to back off,” Mateo said.

I stepped forward so fast that Rio flinched. “Who put this call out and offered this reward?”

Mateo shrugged. “Dark web, anon shit, how the fuck do I know?”

But I caught it—that fraction-of-a-second flicker across his face. A tiny hitch in the corner of his mouth, a faint shift behind his eyes. Most people wouldn’t see it. But I wasn’t most people. And I’d known Mateo since we were kids pulling cons for candy and cigarettes. I’d seen every version of his lies, and that twitch was the tell.

He knew more.

He might’ve built on his daddy’s empire and probably buried bodies since then, but some truths never got old. Mateo was holding something back. He folded his arms over his chest, his lips thin, that was him done for the day.

“You’re crossing a line with me, Matty,” I warned. My voice was quiet, deadly. “And if you come near me or mine again, I’ll make sure you burn.”

He huffed. “You can try.”

“If me doing five years for you means anything, then hear me now—give us Vinnie, or we’ll take him out and leave the pieces where you can find them.”

“Give you one of my men?” he asked, faking shock. “And what do I get in return?”

“Nothing. This isn’t a warning, it’s a final fucking courtesy.”

Mateo raised his hands in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes was sharp. Too sharp. A million dollars. Crypto passwords. Someone who thought Robbie was some tool to be passed around and used. Like he hadn’t already been through hell. Mateo didn’t know it, but I would set the entire fucking world on fire to keep the man I loved safe.

“I’ll get him here for you, as a courtesy .” He threw the word back at me, then smirked. “I’ll call you, and you’ll owe me.”

“Fuck you.”

He grinned then and I wanted to punch him in the face. “Well, fuck you back, Lor.”

As we left, Rio first, Mateo called my name, and I turned back to face him. There was a softness in his expression. “Good to see you, old friend.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Fuck him. Fuck the SC.

I’m going home.

When we got back to Redcars, Jamie inclined his head at me in that quiet way he had, like a nod that said everything okay? and I’ve got this all at once. I returned it, grateful.

Robbie’s door was open, the soft glow of a lamp spilling across the hallway floor. I slowed, heart hitching a little, and peeked in. He was curled on the bed, legs folded underneath him, a book that looked way too heavy for comfort balanced on his knees.

“You okay?” I asked.

He glanced up at me. “Are you?” His voice was shaky. “I was worried.”

“Nothing to worry about. We’re fixing things.”

“You can’t if…” He stopped, and I didn’t push.

I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my voice easy. “What’re you reading?”

He held up the spine. “ Family Law and Custodial Disputes in the State of California .”

“For real?” It was a brick dressed as a book.

Yeah, it was left here, and I … well, Logan’s got some issues with Cassidy. Thought I’d see if I can find some stuff to help.”

My chest pulled tight. “That’s… kind of you.”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but I could see the way he clutched the book—gentle, careful. Like it was more than paper and ink. Like helping Logan, helping Cassidy, meant helping himself in some quiet way he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Enzo?”

“Yeah?”

He opened the book to the front and showed me, scrawled on the page was ‘property of Killian McKendrick. “Do you know this Killian? I heard you and Tudor talking about him. Or at least someone called that name, but how many people called Killian can there be?”

I was confused for a moment. “Oh, yeah, he’s some lawyer Tudor says we should call. I told him we don’t need a lawyer, we need to find Vinnie, then let the rest fall.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Can I get you anything?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m good. Jamie went out for more cookies and?—”

“He left you alone in here?”

Robbie blinked at me. “Logan was here, it’s okay.” He frowned then, “I’m safe here, right?”

My angry response died in an instant. “Of course you are.”