Page 35 of Wicked Bloodlines

Floodlights snapped on, blinding white. A second later, the near silence shattered with the metallic bark of suppressed fire, shells popping off steel, and the wet thud of bullets finding bodies. I squeezed off three rounds into the chest of the first Rossi shooter. He dropped before he could get off a shot. A second man spun, dropping his weapon, blood arcing from his shoulder when another of my bullets found its mark.

Gabriel’s angle caught the middle rank in a crossfire, bullets ripping through the gap. Some men crumpled while the rest scrambled for cover, trying to wedge behind a forklift or make it back to the cars. Not long after, one of the SUVs exploded in a fiery ball, knocking several of the retreating men off their feet and blowing apart at least one more.

Not long after, Vincent tried to rally near the third SUV, yelling and firing off wild shots. He took a round high in the shoulder, the impact spinning him into the grill of his own car. His men dragged him back, two clutching his arms, another firing blindly in a poor attempt at covering shots. They shoved him into the back seat and slammed the doors. The lead SUV peeled out, tires shrieking, followed by the remaining men who were able to get to a vehicle before my men blew it up. They left several dead in the open, two more groaning on the ground.

Gabriel’s voice crackled in my ear. “South stack, clear. You?”

“Two in pursuit on the east side. I’m headed that way.” I moved fast, boots splashing through a puddle of blood that trailed from where Vincent went down. The air reeked of cordite and burnt rubber.

Behind the third row, I found Marco Rossi. He was on his ass, back braced against a shipping container, hands clamped to his gut. Blood oozed between his fingers, soaking his shirt black. But his eyes were sharp, mouth twisted in a smile I recognized.

“Matteo,” he said, chuckling even as he coughed blood. “You came yourself.”

“You thought the boss would stoop to send a runner? I respect the name, Marco, but you remember how this goes.”

He wheezed out a laugh. “Old man said you were hard, but I never gave him credit. You know what’s funny?” Another cough, red on his lips. “You’ll never see it coming. The real play.”

“Rossi always liked theater,” I said. “This looks like the end of the act.”

He ignored me. “You got the Marchesi girl in your house. Sofia, right? Pretty thing.” Marco’s grin flashed, ugly and wild. “Cesare swore she’d deliver Luca from the inside. Said he sold her twice. Once to you, once to us. If you think a piece of ass trumps blood, then you’re dumber than—”

I shot him once through the mouth to shut him up. His head snapped back and he went still. Cesare thought he played every angle, but Sofia was never a traitor. Cesare’s played for leverage. Always had. I just wanted this all wrapped up so I could get back to Sofia. I needed to hold her and thank my lucky stars I’d taken Cesare’s offer of an alliance when he offered me Sofia.

I turned away from the corpse and Gabriel met me at the edge of the container row. He looked down at the body, whistled. “Did he run his mouth?”

“About Cesare. Said the old man sold out his own kid. That’s what we needed.”

My radio came to life with Alessandro’s voice, sharp and alert. “Eastern terminal is hot. Rossi crew just went for the real cargo.”

Vittorio’s reply, tight and measured. “Two cars. Anthony’s at the lead. They’re trying to wedge the gate.”

“What are they doing?” It was more a barked order for information than a question.

“They broke on the first push but lost a couple of guys in the process. One’s dead, the other’s hit pretty bad but alive for now. The rest are moving north. Looks like Anthony’s crew’s on them and everyone’s heading for the interstate.”

Gabriel grinned. “Score one for us.”

I looked at Gabriel. “Let’s clean this up, then we’re out.”

He motioned to the men. We stripped the bodies of phones and the encrypted radios Rossi loved. Nothing got left behind to tie us to the dock. The blood, though, was another matter.

It took another couple of hours before we finished. The burned out SUVs had been moved for scrap and the bodies bagged for disposal. I stood there for a minute, breathing the stink of gunpowder and river water and chemicals the crew had used to rid the area of all traces of blood. And yes. That was way harder than it sounded, but there was no margin for error. I washed my hands over another bucket of chemicals to contain the splatter before turning back to the vehicles. Gabriel slammed the trunk, loading the last gear and we left.

The drive back from the docks felt like it took forever. Gabriel did the victory lap on the phone, narrating the body count for Dario while I kept my eyes on the night. Man had a giddy vicious streak someone needed to get under control. No idea who, but… someone. The city was slick with rain and the river still echoed with carnage we’d left in our wake.

We rolled up late into the night. By the time we made it inside, Alessandro already had fresh feeds up, screens running double rows of surveillance from every angle. Dario was waiting, hands on the table, jaw tight. The man looked tired, but in his eyes I saw the fire that built this family.

Vittorio stepped in behind us. “Eastern terminal’s quiet now.”

Gabriel was next. He tossed a battered radio onto the table. “Vincent left his toys. And a small lake of blood, but we got it cleaned.”

Alessandro typed something, and the main monitor split to show two timestamps, side by side.

“Here’s the story,” he said. “Sofia’s document hit Cesare’s burner at 06:13 today. By the time everything was ready go down, Vincent’s men were on Pier 17. That’s direct proof Cesare leaked every play straight to Anthony and the window can be less than a day.”

Dario nodded. “I agree.”

A chill went down my spine for no reason at all. I never ignored feelings like this. Something was definitely wrong.