CHAPTER 005

Leo’s Point of View

It was already half an hour after five in the evening, and no call.

This was my tenth touch with the watch on my wrist in less than five minutes. I was teased half to death by the seconds that lapsed. I was leaning against the open door of the black SUV with my eyes roving between the warehouse and the men standing inside.

The transaction is supposed to be completed by now. All this evening was slower than usual, perhaps because I had no patience remaining in me.

Luigi flicked a lighter open and closed beside me. The sound was like metal on glass tearing at my nerves.

Manuel, with a cigarette in his lips, leaned back against a crate a couple of feet away and talked to one of my men. Far over on the other side of the room, our commercial associates, Bruno Santini and his crew, were going around the shipment like buzzards.

Santini was little, oily and as true as poison in a baby-doll. His boys moved impatiently, moving their hands toward their weapons, as though they were seeking an occasion to draw them.

I did not trust him. Not through lying--all people lie--but through stupidity. And foolish men were risky.

I checked my watch again. Five forty-four.

Luigi smirked. You keep gawking at it like you are waiting on a girl.

I did not look at him. “Something like that.”

He snorted. How long have you dated, capo?

My jaw tightened. I never waited. I never chased. I took what I wanted. I passed people and not vice versa. But she had not called. That poor little nun had remained silent.

Suppose that the memo had addressed the wrong building? The idea turned in my heart till it was nearly hurting.

Bloody hell, I said to myself, and Luigi heard me. Purchasing a building may not suffice.

His forehead was raised, and I ignored him.

I went to the crates in the center of the room. One was pried open by Manuel and another man, and inside they could see neat stacks of bricks, wrapped in plastic.

Cocaine. Pure.

I got one of them in my grasp, and threw it to Luigi. “Test it.”

He cut the edge, rubbed his knife against the powder, and put it to his tongue.

We waited and I stared at Santini. A single misplaced word, a single misplaced breath and somebody would die.

Luigi wiped the blade clean and clicked his tongue. “Good.”

Santini sighed with his nose, and his shoulders eased. Confidence returned to his body. He crossed his arms, and stared between me and the product as though he had suddenly developed a backbone.

I tilted my head. “Something wrong, friend?”

He hesitated. “This is a big deal, Leo.”

I should not be here except that it was.

“I need to know—”

You insisted that I carry a great deal of freight along my lines, I interrupted. Did you really suppose I would steal your money and go?

His fingers were tapping his arm. You know I think I can not get this far, this quick.

My watch gave me five fifty-six.

Luigi rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

I stepped closer. You have cold feet, do you?

He stiffened. “No. But such a amount of motion draws notice.

“Then do it quietly.”

He swallowed hard. “I just—”

Five fifty-eight.

“You are boring me.”

Luigi grinned to himself.

I do not wish to get into any trouble with the Mexicans, Santini prodded. “You understand—”

“No, I do not.” I spoke in a low voice, and he stayed still. “You agreed. You move it, or you do not. If you do not…” I nodded toward Luigi.

Luigi’s grin widened. “We will find someone else. You will find a grave.”

That set him off. His weapon was twitching in his hand. His men mirrored him.

Manuel shook his head. Never a different thing with these pussies.

I kept my eyes on Santini. You are either participating or not. And when you are away, you know the completion of this already.

His lips parted. “I—”

A gun cocked.

Not mine.

One of his idiots pulled first.

The air cracked.

I caught Santini and pulled him before me when a bullet flew in the air. It crashed against the case at the back of us, and white dust flew everywhere.

Luigi had a gun out already, firing fire into the crowd. Manuel crouched and fired right at them, and within a moment he had killed two men before they could even draw their breaths.

Santini writhed in my grip. “Stop! Tell them to stop!”

I grabbed his arm and put it behind his head with the gun pressed against his head. You missed that opportunity the second your man shot.

Another of his boys fell down and sprayed blood all about the floor.

Santini had a voice that broke. “Please—”

“Call them off.”

He shouted, desperate. “Stand down! Now!”

Some of his men threw down their guns. Others hesitated.

Luigi stepped forward. Whoever still had a gun lost his fingers.

Weapons fell at the feet.

I shoved Santini forward. He stumbled, eyes wild. “You cannot just—”

I shot him in the thigh.

The echo broke through the warehouse. His cry came next, wild and edged.

I leaned over and held him by the chin until he looked at me. “Listen carefully. When I say move it, you move it.”

He winked frantically, and sweaty.

I stood, holstering my gun. “Good.”

Luigi kicked one of the bodies. And doing business, still or shall I dig another hole?

Santini’s voice shook. “We are still doing business.”

“Smart.”

I checked my watch again. Six oh-three. No call.

I pulled out my phone. Nothing.

This was a waste of time.

I turned. “Finish it. Manuel, with me.”

“Where to?” he asked.

I did not answer. My legs were already moving me to the SUV.

My hands had stained with blood, but I was elsewhere in thought. On someone else.

“Drive.”

An hour later we arrived at the Iron Hold.

The place was mine. My Toy House.

The gates were tall and the iron teeth rusty yet keen. It had been twisted at its top with barbed wire resembling a crown. The odor of death hung on the concrete walls. Here had it all been, war and prisoners and political enemies. Now it held my father.

Manuel shut off the engine. “You sure about this?”

“Wait here.”

The cold was biting my skin with a sting. Pickets made way without speaking. They knew better.

There was one steel door at the end of the hall.

I pushed it open.

There he was.

Shackled by the legs and hands, but his eyes as sharp as ever. His hair was thinner, his shirt wrinkled, yet here he still gave out that air he always had, calculating, measuring, cruel.

He lifted his head. A smirk twisted his lips. “Come to gloat?”

I closed the door. The metal echoed. You would be dead, should I wish to gloat.

He chuckled. “Ah, but then you would be me.” His nose flared. “You smell of blood. Fresh.”

I said nothing.

You know you are running things the way I showed you.

“I am nothing like you.”

That earned a laugh. “You are worse.”

He bent backward, chaining. “You carry anger like armor. Men obey or they die. Just like me.”

I hope you are having fun here.

And I hope you are enjoying your throne.

His smirk widened. That I am not killed by you is to say that I have a value. He tilted his head. “So, who is the woman?”

“What?”

“You are restless. Distracted. Not because of me. A woman, is it?”

“That is none of your business.”

“She fights you. Challenges you. Want to shut her lips with a kiss. His laugh was low. “You cannot stay away.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Take her. Keep her. Make her yours. That is how it works.”

My voice was ice. “Like you did with my mother?”

His smirk held. “She resisted at first. Then she liked it.”

My chest tightened.

You stood and watched her die and did not do anything.

“Some things cannot be helped. One day you will realize that I was never the villain.

I turned for the door.

His voice chased me. “You will always be my son.”

I struck the door and he was laughing in the hall.

But they stuck to me with his words and were stinging and stinging.

And once in years I, too, wondered--what suppose he was right?

Could I ever come out of him his son?