Page 25

“Where is she?” The question comes out like a snarl.

“In good time.” His tone is maddeningly calm. “First, I need you to do one more thing. Burn the shipment.”

I stare at the radio in disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about? Your men just inspected it.”

“Yes. To confirm it was real. Now burn it. All of it.”

“That’s millions of dollars,” I protest, though I already know it’s pointless.

“Consider it price of admission,” Mikhail replies. “You want the girl alive? Burn the cocaine. Now. My men are watching.”

I turn to look at the deserted dockyard. “Vince,” I call. “Get the men back. We’re burning the shipment.”

Vince’s eyebrows shoot up. “Boss, are you?—”

“ Now .”

My crew exchanges glances and move quickly, unloading the duffel bags from one truck and piling them in the center of the second. The smell of diesel fuel fills the air as they douse the pile. Dante watches the proceedings, his bloody smile fading to confusion.

“Wait, Mikhail never said…” I backhand Dante across the face without looking. The crack of impact is satisfying in a hollow way.

“You never understood what matters,” I tell him quietly. “That’s why you’ll always lose.”

When everything is prepared, I take the lighter from Rodriguez. The flame dances in my palm, small and deadly. I hesitate for just a moment, watching it flicker against the darkness. Then I toss it onto the fuel-soaked pile.

The whoosh of ignition splits the night.

Flames climb hungrily up the sides of the truck, licking at the metal frame before engulfing the entire vehicle.

Heat blasts against my face as the fire grows, feeding on the cocaine and diesel.

Black smoke billows upward, a signal visible for miles.

If any cops are watching the docks tonight, we’ve just sent them an invitation.

The fire roars, flames writhing around the wheels like tortured spirits trying to escape hell. The paint bubbles and peels. Windows shatter from the heat.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of the fire crackling through the night and Mikhail’s men move to the cars and climb in along with Dante.

I lift the radio again. “It’s done.”

Mikhail’s voice returns, warm with approval.

“Very good, Leone. You are a man who understands the value of life over money. This is rare quality.”

“Fallon,” I press. “Where is she?”

“Your brother attempted to make arrangements with me behind your back,” Mikhail explains through the radio. “He offered to eliminate you in exchange for your territory. Very ambitious, your brother.”

One of the SUVS stop and I glance in their direction. The rear car door swings violently open, and someone is tossed out. He hits the pavement hard.

“But I prefer to deal with the devil I know than the devil I do not,” Mikhail continues. “Consider this proof of my good faith.”

The radio goes silent with finality that tells me Mikhail is gone.

I signal to Vince and two others. They approach the fallen figure cautiously, weapons raised. After a moment, Vince gives me the all-clear sign—the man is alive.

I stroll toward them and it doesn’t take me long to recognize my brother, who’s now being held up by Rodriguez and another of my men. Blood trickles from his mouth, and one eye is swollen shut. He tries to stand taller as I approach, defiant even now.

“You stupid fuck,” I say, almost gently. “I guess you were right, Mikhail doesn’t intend to kill you, he’s going to let me do it,” I snarl before knocking him out with one punch.

“I want him in my basement. I’ll deal with him once I get my wife back.” Turning, Milo is glaring at him like he wants to finish him off now. I clamp a hand on his shoulder.

“Fallon first, he won’t be dying quickly.”

I nod to my men. They drag Dante across the concrete toward my car. He comes to and struggles weakly. It’s pointless. The fight has been beaten out of him, for now.

I pop the trunk with my key fob. It opens with a soft click that seems to finally penetrate Dante’s arrogance. His eyes widen with genuine fear.

“Leone, wait—” he starts.

I cut him off with another blow, this one to the temple. He goes limp in my men’s arms. They fold him into the trunk like dirty laundry, his long limbs awkwardly arranged in the confined space.

“Make sure he can breathe,” I instruct. “I want him alive for what comes next.”

I slam the trunk shut, sealing my brother in darkness and climb into the car where Milo is. Vince jumps in to drive, and I peer over at Milo who has been unusually quiet for the last few days, making me wonder where his head is at. It’s like he’s on autopilot.

Our convoy pulls away from the docks, three SUVs in tight formation.

The burning truck recedes in my rearview mirror, orange flames painting the night sky.

My mind is already racing ahead, calculating angles, weighing options.

The pieces on the board have shifted. Mikhail thinks he’s three moves ahead, he’s never been good at seeing the whole game.

My phone vibrates. The screen shows Santos’s name.

I press accept. “Talk to me.”

“Leone.” Santos’s voice is tight, controlled. The sound of casino ambience hums in the background—the soft shuffle of cards, the murmur of gamblers losing money they don’t have. “Is he handing over Fallon. I’m checking in to ensure everything is still okay.”

“Depends on your definition of okay.” I gesture for Vince to take a different route, away from main roads. The last thing we need is a routine traffic stop or to pass police who no doubt would be alerted to the fire by now, especially with my psychotic brother in the trunk.

I glance at the time. Almost 2:00 AM. “Mikhail will expect retaliation from you. He’s counting on it. Wants us fighting each other while he takes over both territories.”

“And you think I don’t see that?” Santos’s pride is wounded. “I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive, Presutti.”

“Then you know what comes next. You need to hit one of my places. Make it look believable.”

A sigh filters through the connection. “Suggestions because I am not going to hit randomly, we’ve come this far.”

“If you don’t retaliate with something of value, he’ll know we played him.”

“I can have my men do something tonight, maybe hit the laundromats.” Santos’s voice shifts and for once he sounds his age, sounds tired like this drama is exhausting him like it is me.

I shake my head, though he can’t see it. “That’s what he wants. A bloodbath he can blame on territorial disputes. The cops will swarm every operation in the city.”

“What’s your alternative?” Santos challenges. “Let him burn us to the ground?”

“No.” I pull the convoy into an abandoned factory lot, cutting the headlights. “We control the narrative.”

“What do you want me to do?” The question is loaded. Santos rarely asks for direction.

“Let my patrons clear out,” I say finally. “All of them. I’ll tip off my regulars, especially the ones with connections or badges. I’ll make sure they’re gone by 3 AM and every exit and entry are opened for those on the ground floor to get out; I will clear upstairs and the basement.”

“And then?”

“And then burn Verdigris to the ground.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You’re suggesting I destroy one your biggest assets.” His voice is dangerously flat.

“I’m suggesting you burn an insured building because you hit too small and he won’t believe it, especially when he believes I just stole your shipment worth millions.

” I keep my tone reasonable. “Make it look like the war Mikhail wants everyone to believe is happening. Only on our terms, with no casualties.”

“The insurance investigation?—”

“Will find evidence of Russian gang violence,” I interrupt. “My men can plant it tonight. The right shell casings, some distinctive cigarette butts from those Ukrainian imports Mikhail’s crew smokes. Enough to muddy the waters.”

Another long pause. I can almost see Santos at his desk, fingers steepled, eyes closed as he runs the calculations.

“My people inside,” he finally says. “The dealers, the bar staff?—”

“Give them two weeks’ pay and tell them it’s renovations and I will organize work at the casino; they’ll still have jobs.”

A heavy sigh. “And the product stored there?”

“I’ll move what I can in the next hour. Sacrifice the rest.”

Santos grunts. Not quite agreement, though close enough. “You’re asking for a lot of trust, Leone.”

“I’m asking you to be as predictable as Mikhail thinks you are.” I check my watch.

“And what will you be doing while I’m burning down the place?”

I glance at the trunk. “Getting answers from my brother. Then finding Fallon.”

“The Russian won’t let her go easily,” Santos warns. “Not if she’s leverage.”

“I know.” My voice hardens. “That’s why I’m not asking; I won’t risk her life. He needs to think he has started a war; that’s what he wants.”

The line goes quiet. I wait, listening to Santos breathe as he weighs his options. Finally, he speaks.

“Clear Verdigris. My men will handle the fire. Make it look convincing.” His tone turns sharp. “After this, Leone, I want Mikhail’s head on a pike.”

“You’ll have it,” I promise. “Just make sure the fire’s visible from downtown. I want everyone to see it.”

“It will be… Good luck with your brother.”

“I don’t need luck,” I reply, ending the call. Pocketing my phone, Milo speaks.

“What’s happening now?”

“We wait to hear from Mikhail, then we get her back.”