Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Santino hit the button and turned off the automatic gun. “It’s off.”
The grenades detonated and cleared our way toward the warehouse.
The drivers in our SUVs flipped back around and drove over the grass on the lawn to provide cover when we approached the warehouse. All the men who were posted there were gone, and the large warehouse door was propped open slightly.
I took cover by the engine of one of our cars, staring into the shadow of the doorway, unsure what to make of it. I looked over at Santino and then at Don Russo and shook my head. “It’s a trap.”
Don Russo moved up the car until he came to my side.
“It’s definitely a trap,” I repeated. “Are you sure Ciro wasn’t under duress when he called?”
Don Russo continued to stare at the warehouse and said nothing, as if he didn’t hear me. His eyes shifted, and his eyebrows moved slightly up like he was thinking it all through.
I didn’t repeat my question, and I didn’t need to, because both of the doors to the warehouse suddenly swung open…and revealed an entire militia of armed men. I could see rows and rows of them, all carrying shotguns and automatic rifles. Some even had grenades in their grasp, the pin already pulled out so all they had to do was toss them in our direction.
And in the center, a man walked forward in charcoal-gray jeans and a black t-shirt. He was unusually tall, my height or maybe an inch or two taller. I never encountered men who were six-five, and I certainly didn’t encounter guys who were six-seven. He wasn’t lanky, but packed with muscle all over his body, as if he only liked to gain and not shred. There was ink on his arms, but at this distance, I couldn’t determine the specifics. You could learn a lot about a man by the marks he permanently made on his body.
He had a rifle leaned against his shoulder with the barrel pointed in the air, a fat Cuban cigar sticking out of his mouth. He took a few steps forward then suddenly snapped his fingers.
The men broke their formation and started to retrieve something from the back. A minute later, we realized it wasn’t something, but someone. He dragged a teenager across the ground and dropped him, red blood splashed all over him. They brought out a woman and a little girl and then a couple men…and then Ciro.
They were all bloody.
Then I realized each one of them was missing a limb, an arm or a leg or a hand. They were all gagged so their cries were muffled like their injuries, and they writhed in pain as they continued to bleed into the bandages that had been applied.
I’d seen a lot of shit—but not this.
Ciro was in tears, his cheeks red and puffy, hyperventilating because he couldn’t adequately breathe through his gag.
Icarus snapped his fingers.
Now what?
A moment later, one of his men came forward with a bloody burlap sack.
I already knew the contents.
“Thank you for coming, Don Russo.”
The lackey turned the bag over and dumped a pile of hands, arms, and legs on the ground like Christmas presents from Santa’s pack.
“These gifts are for you.” Icarus stepped forward and put his foot on a leg. He changed its position with his boot before he kicked it like a soccer ball. It landed about ten feet from the car.
I got a closer look at it, studied the hair on the tanned skin, and knew it belonged to one of the men.
“I’m glad we’ve finally found the time to get together.” He raised his hand and beckoned us forward with his fingers. “Come on, don’t be shy. It’s time we sit down like men and have a nice conversation.”
His cronies grabbed a couple cheap lawn chairs and placed them in front of the pile of body parts.
Icarus leaned his gun against the chair then took a seat. “I apologize, but I’m all out of tea.” He raised his hands in the form of a playful shrug, smiled widely to show all his teeth, and then got comfortable in the chair. Then he clicked his tongue and pushed the other chair with his foot. “Come on. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” He clicked his tongue again.
I’d dealt with some psychopaths, but this man was a cut above all the rest.
I looked at Don Russo and silently asked what we should do.
Don Russo stared for a while before he met my look. Then he shook his head slightly.
That meant we needed to get the hell out of here.
I motioned to Santino behind me, and we spread the message, knowing we all had to jump into the car and take off in the next few seconds.
“Wow, didn’t think Cosa Nostra was the type to run from a fight,” Icarus said. “What a disappointment.” He snapped his fingers, treating his own men like dogs.