Page 194 of Vicious Intentions
Ever since this war started, I’ve been on a constant balancing act between trying to free my city from the Outfit’s hold while also making sure Anna’s siblings remain untouched.
Moretti might want to strip me of my title, but I can’t fault his reasoning. He’s right, after all. I’m being a fucking shitty Don, putting the safety of my wife’s family above my soldiers. If it ever came out that I’ve been sabotaging this war every time someone with the last name Romano is involved, my own men would string me up in a noose and leave my body flapping in the wind beside the Statue of Liberty for all to see.
However, I made my wife a promise. One I intend to keep, no matter what.
As soon as we arrive in Queens, I take notice of how quiet the street is. Unlike the Manhattan chaos I’m used to, the street feels eerily devoid of human activity. It’s just a long, half-lit stretch in Maspeth where the warehouses sit like dead weight, and the streetlights flicker as if they were deciding whether to stay alive or just call it a day. It’s the kind of place where things happen because no one’s around to see them. Perfect for holding enemy hostages, but also ideal for an ambush.
I step out of the car first, eyeing the eyesore in front of me. Half-constructed buildings line both sides of the street, but it’s the half-finished one at its heart that has my attention. Cold air hits my face as the scent of oil, damp concrete, and something faintly metallic hits my nostrils. Behind me, Niccolò slams his door harder than necessary, while Rocco closes his quietly, his gaze already sweeping over scaffolding, half-built structures,machinery, and any shifting shadows that might pose a threat. Still, the real danger isn’t out here. It’s inside.
During the ride here, Rocco told me the three Outfit soldiers weren’t high-ranking, but they weren’t useless either. They’ve been here since we were first attacked last summer, which means the odds of them knowing something useful are high. If we push hard enough, they’ll talk. They always do in the end.
I start toward the building, and without looking back, I say, “I’ll lead this one.”
Niccolò scoffs. “We heard you the first time.”
“Bears repeating, since you’ve proven you don’t follow orders all that well when they don’t suit you.” That shuts him up.
I don’t want to be a dick, but I’m more than comfortable to play the role if it will get me what I want. And right now, what I want is to make sure these dipshit Outfit soldiers don’t say anything I will regret later.
Inside, the place is stripped down to its barest essentials. A few standing lights, a couple of folding chairs, and a large plastic tarp on the floor. It’s the kind of setup that you’d expect to find at a construction site. But also the kind that suits us mafiosi just fine when it comes to beating the shit out of our enemies until they’ve confessed every sin they’ve ever made. But confessions are for priests. I’m not here to take their confession, I’m here to silence them. Even if that means pretending to get carried away and killing them while trying to extract intel. Shit like that happens all the time.
It doesn’t take me much time to find our new friends. My soldiers have already done the hard part. The three men are tied to chairs, blood on their faces, breathing heavy. Good. They’re softened up. Now all that’s left is to end it.
Poor bastards never had a chance. It’s either their lives or my wife’s siblings’. And I’ll always choose my wife’s happiness above any stranger’s life. In a fucking heartbeat.
I pull a chair across the concrete just a few inches shy of the tarp and sit in front of it. With a sinister grin, I tilt my head to one side, letting them feel the weight of my penetrating gaze.
“Where’s your base?” I ask.
No introduction. No threats. Just the question.
The one in the middle spits blood onto the tarp and replies, “Go to hell.”
I nod, knowing he must be the one that I’ll have to kill tonight.
“Rocco,” I call out. “If you wouldn’t mind beating some sense into our new friend here while his friends watch, that would be great,” I order, as if I were ordering a meal.
Rocco steps forward and cracks his knuckles, eager to get blood on his hands. But then I hear footsteps, coming at us fast, and from the sound of it, far too many.
My head snaps toward the door just as it bursts open.
“Get down!” I shout at Niccolò, my arm already pulling him to the floor.
Gunfire blazes into the room, making time itself fracture. I’m on my feet before I remember standing, gun already in my hand. Bullets rip through drywall, sparks flying as they hit metal. Our guys return fire instantly, shouting over each other. Then I see them. The very people I’ve been trying to protect.
Marcello moves as if he owned the chaos, stepping through the doorway with that same calm expression, gun steady, eyes locked forward as if he already knows how this will end. Stella runs beside him, looking faster, sharper than any man here, firing without hesitation. More soldiers flood in behind them, all strapped to the nines, ready to aim bullets at anyone who crosses their path.
One of the tied men gets hit in the crossfire, the chair tipping backward. The other screams at his comrade to untie him, whilethe third is scrambling uselessly, his hands bound, clawing at nothing.
Niccolò remains next to me, firing in controlled bursts.
“Fuck! This was a fucking ambush,” he snaps.
“No,” I mutter, watching Marcello move. “It’s an extraction.”
They’re not here for us. They’re here for their men. Which means one of them, if not all, knows exactly where they’re based. I should be relieved that Anna’s siblings came for their soldiers, but right now, relief is the last thing I’m feeling. Especially when they keep shooting at Niccolò and me.
I shift position, using a support beam as cover, firing toward the doorway where neither Romano currently is.
