Chapter 11

Brute was right. Belemonte was a piece of shit. He ran without rhyme or reason and thought he owned our streets. Back in the day, sure, he was a force to be reckoned with, but the drugs, money, and women ate his brain from the inside out. He’d lost whatever fucking mind he once had.

Chubs crossed his arms over his chest. “He’ll hear about this and fuck you up, buddy.”

“Oh, will he, buddy?” Brute cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think Belemonte will be hearing about this. Well, not from you, anyway.” He paused as he watched Chubs inch his hand toward his pistol. It hung in a holster over his flabby hip. “Maybe he’ll hear about it in the newspapers. Or in the morning, when he sees this place is up in smoke… buddy.”

I chuckled under my breath.

Before he could pull out his pistol, Brute fired a shell square in his chest. One clean shot, and the guy fell backward as his cigarette tumbled next to him. Chubs was dead before he hit the ground.

I leaned against the wall to watch the show run its course. Despite my respect for Brute—the crazy, eccentric man he was—I was using him. He knew that. That’s how things worked in the underbelly of New York. Business was business, and everything else came second. The Old Dogs would serve their purpose tonight. They’d do my dirty work without drawing any unwanted attention to the Luca family, leaving us free to make our next move. A move Belemonte wasn’t going to see coming.

Brute ran back toward us. “Go grab the Molotovs, boys. Let’s raise some fucking hell.”

Ten of his men lit their Molotovs, but he grabbed a bottle from a blond boy who didn’t look old enough to be allowed a beer at the sleaziest 7-11. Brute walked over to me, a gleeful glint in his eye.

“I’ll give you the honorable first,” Brute said, holding out the bottle.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You really do have a soft spot for me,” I teased. I nodded and took the bottle of liquor. Why the hell not?

While I walked up to the building, a few Old Dogs spilled gasoline along the warehouse’s edge, on its walls, and through windows.

I raised the bottle in the air and chucked it then watched it explode into a vivid blaze of reds and oranges.

And then Brute’s men began their assault.

“Make sure no one gets out,” Brute roared. “Secure the perimeter, and burn it all to fucking ashes.”

After the fiery assault on the exterior and the sound of Brute’s shotgun, a few brave Free Birds tried to leave the building and make a stand. Not much of a fight though; they were shot down in seconds. The rest that tried to escape were executed.

The flames grew higher and higher. Molotovs flew inside and set it all alight as the air filled with a repugnant odor, a combination of smoke and burning narcotics—no fucking way that was good for the lungs.

I pulled out my pocket square and covered my mouth as Brute strode over, chuffed with a job well done.

“Now that’s how you do it,” Brute said with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “You impressed, Luca?” There was some more shooting, but it was near finished.

I nodded. “You’ve done well, amico. I am in your debt.” There was some movement to the right where the vans were.

“Aw, shit, we hit the jackpot,” someone exclaimed as the back of one van after another was thrown open.

“Boss, we got booze, drugs, money, and guns in here! We’ve hit the fucken’ jackpot!” the blond kid said with his eyes nearly bulging wide open.

Brute scrubbed his fingers through his hair then raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s your jackpot too, my friend. Want to split it fifty-fifty?”

I looked over his shoulder toward the goods. “It’s all yours, Brute.”

I knew how Belemonte operated, so I had no interest in his shit. Faulty guns, cut drugs, and repackaged moonshine.

“Well, shit. You’re doing me a great kindness. Consider that debt you owed, paid.” Brute turned around. “Round ’em up, boys. I’ll call some of our men over to get the bikes. Get in these trucks and take them home!” he shouted.

“It was a damn fine pleasure working with you, Dominic.” Brute put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You take care of yourself. I know things are a little rocky right now, but you know you can keep me on speed dial if your family needs our firepower.”

“I’ll do that. Now, if you don’t need anything else from me…” “Nah, it’s all good. You late for a hot date?”

I chuckled darkly. “Actually, I am.”

Brute’s eyes went wide. “My Dominic on a real live fucking date? I’ve never known you to wine and dine them.”

True. Dating was messy and time-consuming. Better a no-strings-attached fuck, but this wasn’t exactly an ordinary date—not that it was any of Brute’s business.

Right on cue, the distant whine of sirens sounded. It was time to go. “Ciao, amico.”

“Goodbye, my friend. And good luck.”

I walked back to the McLaren, listening to the crackle of flames and the roar of engines behind me.

Sweet revenge. And if Belemonte wasn’t certain before, he sure as hell would be now.

No one ever fucks with the Lucas.