Sons of War 3: Sinners

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Moose had dropped Sammy off at his house after the kid told them about the next Moretti shipment. But more important things were happening. The military had sent a chopper to the city.

  Dom crossed the stadium parking lot with Moose, pondering the implications. If the Executive Council in Norfolk had sent troops, then the city was in bigger trouble than Dom had thought. And some of it, maybe most of it, was his fault.

  It would be the first time in eight years that a soldier set foot in Los Angeles, and it had to be for a compelling reason. He just hoped it was to help fight the crime families.

  The roar of the crowd in the Diamond Arena snapped him from his thoughts. Someone was getting their ass beat on the former baseball field.

  Of all the sporting events that used to be popular in Los Angeles, the only one to survive the apocalypse was violent. Fighting would never go out of style.

  But this wasn’t the cage fighting or boxing that Dom had grown up with. It wasn’t even like the fights the Vegas used to put on when Dom battled Rattlesnake and Apache.

  The athletes about to emerge from the dugouts and onto the dirt followed few rules. One, actually: no guns.

  The only shootings that ever occurred here were in the stands, between fans who drank too much and had poor self-control. Angelenos took fighting seriously.

  But the spectators weren’t all here for the fights.

  Rocky, Camilla, and Bettis sat waiting for Moose and Dom, who joined them in the stands. It didn’t take Dom long to spot his target.

  Vito Moretti was only four rows below, right behind home plate. The fat soldier stuffed his mouth with candy. Bodyguards stood in the stairwells with arms crossed, one hand inside their jackets.

  “Did I do good?” Rocky asked, proud of having discovered Vito Jr. on the fighting roster. Dom had bet the big guy would be here to watch his son.

  But the only person who knew why Dom wanted Vito Moretti was Moose. The others had no idea.

  Tooth and Pork Chop didn’t know, either. They were back at the safe house with Cayenne, prepping the Tahoe, and Namid was at home with his family.

  But Dom wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to kill Vito.

  “Get into position,” he said to Moose. He moved to the concession pavilion, where vendors served hot dogs, beer, and burgers.

  Dom pulled up his face mask as wind gusted through the stadium and over the dirt field.

  The arena looked far different from the days when Dom’s father brought him to watch the Dodgers. It smelled different too, the scent of newly mown grass and salted peanuts replaced by that of alkaline dust.

  The wavy roof atop the right outfield pavilion and most of the top-deck seating was gone, blown out by an aerial bomb. The blast had taken out the electronic scoreboards too.

  Industrial lighting installed after the war spread a glow over the cracked dirt. The checkered green infield and the bases were gone, leaving just a diamond of dirt in the ground.

  Razor-wire fences surrounded the arena where fighters battled before a crowd of thousands. Only a tenth of the original seats remained, most of them behind home plate and under the club levels.

  Dom always found the postwar advertisements odd. Banners of sponsors hung across the field: Golden Oyster, Tipsy Flamingo, Catalina, Pig’s Ear, Flying Crow, and Horizon Bio-Limited, the Chinese company that manufactured RX-4.

  He looked over to Vito. The hardest part was having to sit within fifty feet of the guy who took Monica and do nothing until the tub of shit went to the bathroom.

  He wanted to gut the man right now as he stuffed his face with a hot dog.

  Hundreds of people got up to cheer the female announcer in a green dress as she stepped out onto the dirt. Dom saw why everyone was so excited. It was Regina Díaz.

  “Hello, you beautiful angels!” she yelled.

  Rocky stood on his tiptoes for a better look.

  “Good Lord, look at that turd shooter,” he said.

  “Really?” Camilla said. “Turd shooter?”

  “Her ass, Cam,” Rocky said quite seriously. “I could bounce on that thing like a trampoline.”

  Regina introduced the fighters as they came out of the dugouts and met where the pitcher’s mound would be. On the left side were two bald, shirtless gangbangers with more ink than all the Saints combined had.

  On the right was Vito Jr., a tall twenty-year-old with slicked-back hair, and muscles that rivaled Rocky’s. His team partner was Patrick, an African American guy the size of Moose.

  “I bet I could take all those fools,” Rocky said. “Maybe I should sign up.”

  Bettis, sitting to Rocky’s right, shook his head. “You got a death wish, kid?

  Rocky frowned. “You don’t have much faith in me.”

  “I have plenty of faith—just not in your boxing skills.”

  “I kicked Tooth’s ass last week, and he doesn’t suck.”

  “Quiet,” Dom said.

  Regina brought the mike back to her collagen-enhanced lips. “Tonight, we’re adding something special to the Diamond.” She gestured toward an umpire wearing white and black stripes, his features covered by a skull face mask. He carried two baseball bats wrapped with razor wire.

  “Tonight, we’re bringing back baseball!” Regina yelled.

  Bettis shook his head wearily as the crowd erupted in cheers. He hated gratuitous violence more than anyone.

  The umpire handed a bat to Vito Jr., who twirled it twice. The other bat went to the shorter gangbanger. He swung like a ball player.

  The fans screamed their approval.

  Regina blew a kiss to the crowd as she walked off, through the gate in the diamond-shaped fences. The umpire locked the gate and stayed in the arena.

  He rang a bell, and the two pairs strode toward each other. The crowd fell silent, waiting to see who would strike first.

  The shorter guy with the bat didn’t keep them waiting. He charged and swung at Patrick, who deflected the blow, taking a razor-wire cut to his forearm. He grabbed the weapon, yanking it from the banger’s hand while Vito Jr. swung at the other guy, knocking him to the ground. He let out a scream of agony and scrambled away as Vito Jr. pursued with the bat upraised.

  “This is going to be fast,” Rocky said with a frown.

  Vito Jr. brought the bat over his head just as the man he had hit spun and kicked him in the groin.

  Dom smiled as Vito Jr. dropped to the dirt. The opponent scrambled for the bat, but Patrick kicked it away and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him up.

  The shorter gangbanger jumped onto Patrick’s back, wrapping a tattooed arm around his thick neck. Vito Jr. finally got back to his feet, with the crowd roaring.

  Dom checked Vito in the stands below. He brought his hands to his mouth to amplify his shouting. On the field, Patrick dropped the guy he was holding, then bucked the other guy off his back.

  Vito Jr. had a bat again. He staggered a few steps, then ended the fight with a tight swing into the face of the bucked rider.

  The crowd roared.

  The final opponent smacked Patrick with the other bat, bringing the big man to his knees. Then he turned it on Vito Jr.

  Perhaps this wasn’t over, Dom thought.

  The two men lunged with their bats, holding them like broadswords. The inked gangster got a shot in at Vito Jr., hitting him in the thigh, but Vito Jr. didn’t go down. He didn’t even grab the wound.

  Instead, he let out a scream and swung again, hitting the bat from his opponent’s hand. Then Vito Jr. dropped his bat and lunged at the man, knocking him to the ground.

  He straddled the downed fighter, and then Vito Moretti Jr. went to work, punching his face into the dirt. Over and over, to the immense pleasure of the crowd and his father, who cheered with both fists pumping in the air.

  The referee walked over, calling the fight before Vito Jr. could kill the guy—although, judging from his limp body, the ref may have been a little late.

  Regina returned to the fiel
d to declare the winners and announce a break before the next match.

  Vito got up, and Dom felt the most excitement of the night. He watched as Vito squeezed his fat belly down the row to the stairs, where his bodyguards escorted him up toward the pavilion.

  Dom and Camilla followed, leaving Rocky and Bettis in the stands to watch for Moretti backup.

  At the top of the stairs, Dom melted into the hundred-person crowd, his eye still on Vito. He was headed for the bathroom, just as Dom had hoped. Unlike with Max Sammartino, Dom wouldn’t have a cell where he could interrogate Vito. In fact, he was probably going to get only a few minutes with him, maybe less.

  Dom pulled a knife from his pocket, keeping it concealed in his long sleeve.

  One of the Moretti guards took up position outside the door, but the other man went inside. Moose also waited outside and followed Dom into the bathroom. Twenty men were pissing in the long white trough and the urinals, and it took Dom a second to find Vito.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Vito was standing behind a four-year-old kid. His youngest son, who Dom hadn’t seen earlier. The kid peed in the trough while Vito looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Dom for a second.

  “What you looking at, you sick fuck?” Vito said.

  Dom went over to a urinal, swallowing hard. Killing him in front of his young son seemed . . . like karma.

  No, it’s evil.

  And exactly what Lieutenant Marks had warned Dom about. Embracing evil had changed his father. But Dom wasn’t his father, and he had to make his own decisions. He had to avenge Monica and Ronaldo.

  Dom knew that he had just seconds to act. It was either kill the fat slug in front of his four-year-old son or wait for a better opportunity.

  The kid pulled up his pants, and Vito stepped up to the trough. Dom nodded again at Moose, his mind made up. Moose walked over to the bodyguard, who was in the process of zipping up his pants. He punched the guy in the back of the head, cracking the tiled wall with his forehead.

  The other people all backed away, some of them scattering with their business not entirely finished. Vito’s son was at the sinks when Dom jammed the knife in his father’s back, then into his gut.

  By the time anyone looked in their direction, he had stabbed Vito four times. He slumped against the wall, eyes locked on Dom.

  Moose shut the door and pulled out a gun, waving with his other hand. “Come here, kid.”

  Vito’s son wailed as his dad reached up with a bloody hand and put it on Dom’s face, pulling down his mask.

  “You took my sister, you sick fuck!” Dom yelled.

  Vito choked and tried to talk, but Dom cut him off by grabbing his hand and pushing the blade through his palm. Another scream filled the bathroom.

  “You took her, and you sold her into slavery!” Dom yelled. Vito tried to grab Dom with his other hand, but Dom punched him in the gut, where he had stabbed him twice.

  Vito threw up onto the floor and tried to pull his impaled hand away, but Dom held the grip steady.

  “Tell me where you took those kids,” Dom said. “Tell me or your kid dies.”

  It was a lie. Dom wouldn’t hurt a kid, but Vito didn’t know that.

  “Where did you take those kids!” he shouted.

  “Vegas!” Vito cried out. “We took them almost all to Vegas. If your sister is alive, she’s there!”

  Dom wanted to puke now. With all the searching, he had never found Monica there.

  “Please . . . please don’t hurt my son,” Vito groaned.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Dom, but unlike this fiend, Dom wasn’t a monster. Yanking the knife free, he plunged it into Vito’s gut as he fell forward against Dom.

  Using all his strength, Dom pulled up, opening up a gash. Guts spilled out onto the floor.

  Vito glared at Dom for a moment before Dom backed away and let him slide down the wall to the floor. He fell on his side, intestines slithering out.

  Dom bent down and traced the knife across his throat, wiped the blade on his shirt, and put it back in the sheath.

  Shouting filled the room as Moose opened the door, pointing the gun at the people outside.

  “Move!” he shouted. “Out of the way!”

  Dom pulled the face mask back over his mouth and looked at the boy, who had scrambled over to his father.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” Dom said.

  * * *

  “We still don’t know where he is, Don Antonio,” said Yellowtail. “Vinny isn’t answering his phone.”

  Antonio clenched his jaw and looked at his two most trusted soldiers. Lino and Yellowtail stood guard, protecting the king and queen just in case this was a ploy to bait him out, as he was trying to do to Miguel.

  “We’ll find them, don’t worry,” Lino said.

  Lucia, standing in the entryway of his office, put a hand over her mouth in shock. Unlike his wife, Antonio wasn’t shocked at all. He was enraged.

  He picked up the closest thing, a maple chair, and bounced it off the bulletproof window. Adrenaline and rage rushed through his veins. Even the dogs could smell it.

  A German shepherd, sitting on its haunches in the hallway next to a guard, jumped to its feet and barked viciously. Maybe the order to starve the dogs wasn’t the best idea.

  “Get that animal out of here,” Antonio growled.

  Yellowtail shut the door and stood in front of it, next to Lino, awaiting orders.

  Antonio picked up the wooden chair and righted it. Then he stepped to the window and looked out over the city. The power was back on in the slums tonight, but that hadn’t slowed the bloodshed. Despite the recent purge of his enemies, many were still prowling in the radioactive darkness—animals that would jump at the chance to take out Marco and Vinny.

  Esteban Vega had used the opportunity to attack the Bloods and take the Nevsky territory. It was supposed to be part of Antonio’s master plan, but he never anticipated his son screwing it all up. To get drunk, break orders, and then race off on his motorcycle with zero protection when the city was at war . . .

  Maybe it was time to send him to the wastes, finally teach him how to be a man.

  And on top of it all, the military had shown up after eight years of letting the crime families and LAPD run the city.

  The gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder reined him back in.

  “We must stay strong for the sake of our son,” Lucia murmured. “We must not—”

  “Our son just put the entire family at risk,” Antonio said, “and now we have a new threat. Our very future depends on whether Vinny can protect him out there.”

  The darkness took him, and before he could hold it back, he slammed his fist down on the table, shattering the mirrored surface.

  He brought his aching hand up, gripping it with his other hand. The pain felt good.

  Lucia took several steps back. He hadn’t seen that fearful gaze for years. This time, it wasn’t just because of his temper. She was terrified they would lose Marco.

  “We have to find him before our enemies do,” she said. “If you won’t do anything, I’ll go out there.”

  She moved to the doorway, but both Lino and Yellowtail blocked her way.

  “Move,” she snapped.

  Yellowtail massaged the gold cross hanging over his tattooed chest—his nervous tic. Lino just stood stiffly, waiting for orders.

  “Lucia, come here,” Antonio said.

  A tear rolled down her face—the first he had seen her cry in ages. Her weakness—the only significant weakness—was the way she raised their son, coddling and babying him since infancy.

  This is your fault too.

  He should have been tougher on the boy. Sent him to a military school instead of spending a small fortune on his business education.

  And now Marco had potentially flushed it all down the drain.

  Yellowtail put his cell phone to his ear. “What you got, Chrissy?” he asked.

  Antonio gripped his wife’s hand.

&nbs
p; This time, she didn’t pull away or make any threats. She was scared, and fear softened her heart. The two couldn’t have been more opposite. Fear only hardened his heart and turned him into a monster.

  “Got it,” Yellowtail said.

  He put the phone back in his pocket.

  “Christopher found Marco’s friends in the Goldilocks Zone,” Yellowtail reported. “He’s bringing them here now.”

  “But where are Vinny and Marco?” Lucia asked.

  “Vega sicarios attacked them,” Yellowtail said.

  Lucia tightened her grip on Antonio’s hand.

  “I fucking knew we couldn’t trust them,” Lino said, touching the scar on his chin and neck.

  “You’re sure?” Antonio asked Yellowtail. If this was true, Esteban had already broken his promise, or Miguel had found out they had Mariana. But if that was true, then why go after Marco and Vinny? “Have we confirmed that Miguel or Esteban know about Mariana yet?” he asked Lino.

  “No. We just put the word out.”

  “Then this is unrelated. One or both of the brothers ordered the hit on Marco and Vinny.”

  He paused to think, trying to take it all in and understand how this could have happened. “Tell me everything,” Antonio said.

  “The sicarios were celebrating their victory over the Bloods when they must have seen Marco and Vinny,” Yellowtail said. “They killed Nick and shot Pietro. The twins made it out with Giovanni but were separated from Vinny and Marco. Christopher is on his way back with them right now.”

  Antonio let go of Lucia’s hand, fearful he might squeeze too hard. If Esteban had killed or taken his son hostage, the dark city would soon be glowing with flames a second time.

  Lucia took a seat in front of his desk, and the other two men stood at the door while Antonio watched the city—his city.

  They waited in silence for thirty minutes before a rap finally came.

  One of the wooden double doors opened, admitting Christopher, three boys, and a girl.

  “Who’s this?” Lucia asked, rising from her seat.

  Antonio scrutinized the young woman. Long blond hair curled slightly at the bottom, defined cheekbones with a touch of blush, dark brown eyes.