Diego's POV

“Where are you?” Santo’s voice echoed against the walls of my Ferrari. I reduced the volume on the car phone, but it didn’t fix the annoying echo.

“Corner of Oak and La Salle. What’s up?”

“We got hit,” he explained. “The southside warehouse. Three fuckers with Molotov cocktails. One managed to get away, the second blew himself up, and I’ve got the third rat right here. Squealing like a fucking bitch, I might add.”

“What about the warehouse?” I asked, ...