Page 33 of Sins of the Orchid

But he proved to be a worthy and useful ally. Much like my own father, his was still around but had handed the reins of the business over to his son.

*The food didn’t arrive. Restaurant is poisoned.*

The message was coded but he’d understand. He sent me a vomiting emoji back, and that guy hated fucking emojis. Someone was pissed, and together, we’d tear the motherfuckers down. He hated the Venezuelans; a personal, family vendetta that had been going on for quite a few years.

CHAPTER9

Santino

“Thanks for meeting me so soon.” Luigi strode toward us. Renzo and I just arrived.

It was only yesterday that I saw Amore when Adriano took her out for a driving lesson.

An hour ago, a call came in from Bennetti’s brother. Vincent barely ever called me, but whatever this was, it was bad because the old Bennetti and his son were so shaken up, they couldn’t make the call. It was the only reason I agreed to meet. Renzo and I were dealing with plenty of our own shit after that container of dead bodies was dropped on our doorstep.

I watched Luigi, his face ashen white. I have never seen him like that.

“What’s going on?”

We were at the docks in New Jersey. It was where Benentti usually got his shipments since all the docks in New York were owned by the Russo family. Every once in a while, he would have to re-route it, and we’d come to a mutual agreement allowing him to use ours. But I liked to keep my business mine, and he obviously liked to keep his business private too. After all, you never knew when you’d become rivals again.

“We got a shipment,” he started but visibly gulped, his eyes were wide, and a slight line of perspiration glistened across his forehead. “Our product didn’t arrive but in its place…”

My gaze flickered to the warehouse where the shipment was more than likely stored. Bennetti was lighting up a cigarette, his hands shaking. The last time I saw Bennetti light a cigarette was when he found out his wife was torturing his daughter.

“Yes?” I encouraged him.

Luigi pushed his hand through his hair. “You better come and see it for yourself.”

Renzo and I shared a look. I couldn’t fathom what got them all worked up so bad. We followed him in silence towards the open warehouse.

“Bennetti,” I greeted him.

“Russo,” Amore’s old man acknowledged me.

My eyes darted around the shipping container. “What the fuck?”

The image was almost like deja vu, except every single dead woman in this container had red hair.

Like Amore.

Almost the same shade, but not quite. I counted twenty girls around Amore’s age, of a similar build and all dead. Some with their eyes closed while others, with their dead gaze, stared into a void. The last thing they saw was terror, and you could see hints of dirt and traces of tears smeared on their deathly pale skin.

No wonder old Bennetti was so shaken up. At first glance, every single one of these women could pass as Amore.

I took another step and lowered onto my one knee. I took a strand of one dead woman’s hair into my hand.

Colored. Her hair was colored.

This was a message. It was a coordinated attack. First my shipment yesterday and now this. I’d bet my dick and my life on it. This wasn’t a coincidence.

Dropping the strand of the dead girl’s hair, I looked up at Luigi. “Any message?”

His eyes traveled to the wall behind me where there was a note pinned. I stood up, careful not to step on any bodies. These women deserve at least that much respect.

Fuck!So much unnecessary death!

I read the pinned paper.