Page 5 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

I’d yet to tell my brother what I’d recently learned when I struck a deal with Diana Bergman to secure an invitation to the exclusive club.

Beyond the evils we knew, she’d also been the one who orchestrated the first organ trafficking ring in Africa of all places. Now it was up to me to protect our family legacy and those I loved.

I drove out of Palermo and toward the private airport on the outskirts of the city. Amadeo sat in the passenger seat, devouring his gelato like it was his last meal.

“I swear, you have the worst sweet tooth,” I grumbled.

“Dude, you should have gotten yourself a scoop,” Amadeo said, a chunk of the tutti frutti and chocolate flavor flying out of his mouth and landing on his lap. “It’s the best.”

“I really wish you’d stayed in Rome,” I retorted dryly, flicking a glance in the rearview mirror. I tensed, noting a beat-up Ford Bronco on my tail. The very same one that was parked behind me while I waited for Amadeo to get this damned gelato.

I kept driving, and then a message popped up on the dash of the car I kept in Sicily, registered under a false name.

Unknown: Take a detour to the docks. Location pin shared with you.

Beep .

“What the hell is that?” Amadeo questioned.

I was about to reply and tell the unknown number to fuck off when another message filtered in.

Unknown: Or the woman you stalk will pay the price.

A photo of Penelope flashed on the screen, from the very hospital I’d just left her in. Unprotected.

“Enzo, what the fuck’s going on?” he asked, his dessert forgotten.

“Don’t get that shit in the car,” I hissed, yanking my cell from the dash and typing while my mind tumbled over worst-case scenarios.

Me: Touch a single hair on her head and you’ll wish you were dead.

The reply was instant.

Unknown: Did you know that two of the DiMauro children have something called golden blood? There are fewer than fifty people in the world known to have this blood type.

Fuck .

“What is going on, Enzo?” Amadeo demanded. “Why is he talking about blood types? Who’s messaging you this?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered, distractedly.

Me: Touch them and I’ll make it my mission to destroy you. And anyone in your life.

Unknown: Go to the docks. Leave your brother in the car.

I gripped the wheel until my knuckles almost combusted, wishing it were the neck of the person behind these messages. I had my suspicions, and if I was right, I intended to kill him the moment he was close enough.

The Bronco zoomed past us, the windows too dirty to get a good look at the driver.

I pushed the gas pedal, and instantly another message flashed across the screen.

Unknown: Don’t tail me.

Or else hung between the letters, and I promptly let off the pedal.

“That’s him?” Amadeo glared at the quickly vanishing outline of taillights. “Why are you falling behind?”

“I’m not risking Penelope’s life,” I gritted. “And neither will you.”

When we arrived at the dock, the other car was nowhere to be found and neither was a single other human being.

“Stay here,” I instructed as I checked my weapon.

Amadeo scoffed, his hand already on the door handle.

“No fucking way.”

I narrowed my eyes, giving him a wordless warning.

He hesitated for a beat, then slumped back into his seat. “Fine, fine. But only because it might jeopardize the lives of the DiMauro kids.”

“Thank you.”

I stepped out of the car, and a cold breeze hit my face as I stared into the distance, scanning the dock for movement.

It was a nightmare from a security standpoint.

A warehouse without any windows, one entrance on this side and probably another around the back that led out to the sea.

There were shipping containers stacked ten high and blind spots everywhere.

Someone could have a gun pointed at me right now and I wouldn’t be able to tell.

Fuck!

I pulled out my gun, checked the bullets, then began walking toward the warehouse. I passed the containers, staying crouched until I reached the path along the length of the dock.

I was about to enter the building when a low rustling sounded behind me. I spun around, my gun still pointed ahead.

But there was nobody there.

“Put the gun away, Enzo.” The stranger’s voice echoed off the damp wooden planks, bouncing off the containers and the sheet-metal roller doors. “You don’t want to shoot me.”

I let out a sardonic breath as I secured it in my holster. “Actually, I really do.”

His chuckle surrounded me like a fog. “If I die, the world will know what your mother did.”

A man stepped out into the open, wearing a ski mask.

My jaw tightened. “Why hide?”

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot.” He glanced up at the red blinking lights on the security cameras, then shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You made a grave mistake when you contacted Bergman.”

“The mistake started decades ago when you teamed up with my mom.”

“That was the best deal I ever made.” He laughed, noting my disgusted expression. He hadn’t denied my claim, which only strengthened my suspicions about his identity. “We’ll just agree to disagree. Okay?”

My fingers itched to put a bullet in this fucker’s head, but first I’d need to find out what he wanted. No more fucking mistakes, like the one I’d made when I reached out to Diana Bergman.

“What do you want?” I spat.

“To warn you.”

“About?”

“Try to take me down, and I’ll drag you with me.” The beady eyes behind the ski mask studied me, calculating any weaknesses. I only had one: family. And contrary to what everyone believed, I counted DiMauro to be part of that family. “And DiMauro organs are mine for harvesting.”

I reeled, ignoring every instinct to pull out my gun and shoot him. I really should have, but this wasn’t a one-man show.

“So, you’ve been running the organ trafficking ring?

” I asked. Organ trafficking had been against the rules for everyone with any shadow of a moral compass.

It went in line with human trafficking, but took a horrid step further in using humans as body parts, only to discard them like animals.

Not even Albanians touched it, although it might have more to do with the fact that Kian Cortes was running it now.

So much had happened over the last two decades, especially with those who walked a thin line between good and evil, like Liana Volkov and Kian Cortes.

“I do. I’m the master behind all the puppets.”

“Who else works with you?”

He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I took a step toward him, and he pointed a gun at me, his finger on the trigger.

“Don’t be brave, Enzo.” He tsked disapprovingly. “I promised your mother I would keep the Marchettis off the list for as long as this organization exists.”

I scoffed. “I guess there’s some honor among criminals.”

“Don’t act all superior. After all, we’re pretty much family.”

Red blurred my vision, but I smiled through it. You had to match some men’s craziness.

“We. Aren’t. Family.” My words were clipped and cold. “Touch the DiMauro girls and their precious fucking golden blood, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“Funny that you’re threatening me and yet I’m holding all the cards.”

“Not all the cards,” I drawled. “Now what do you really want?”

“I need you to stop lurking around the DiMauros. I need one of them, and you’re in the way.” He said it like he was broadcasting the weather.

Fuck, I should just kill the fucker, consequences be damned. Yet, I couldn’t help but worry how my mother’s connection to this vile organization would impact my family. None of them deserved to be dragged into this mess.

Then an idea flickered in my mind.

“Penelope DiMauro has been promised to me. The wedding will happen this month, which makes them family by marriage,” I stated slowly. “And therefore, that family is off-limits. This agreement is decades old. You really should have done your homework.”

I would find a way to kill this guy without airing my family’s dirty laundry, destroying it in the process.