Sons of War 3: Sinners

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Vinny stood next to the chair, looking down at his cousin. “And I’ll be there to help you—as long as you start thinking with this.” He pointed to his head.

  Walking over to Adriana, Vinny grabbed her hand, and led her to the single bedroom, where he planned on relieving some stress.

  “Get some sleep, Marco,” Vinny said. “ ’Cause if you’re serious about changing, you’re going to need it.”

  -29-

  Dom floored the Chevy Tahoe away from the City of Industry, taking one last look at the place they had called home for the past year. Abandoning the safe house was an easy call. He should have done it days ago, when they learned of the bounty on their heads.

  Hell, maybe he should have gotten his team out of the city. Left with Camilla’s uncle’s convoy to the Midwest when they still had a chance.

  But there was no time to think about that now. All he could do was try to save everyone he could.

  An explosion bloomed behind them, a fireball poofing up into the night, erasing all evidence of the safe house. Camilla and Bettis both turned in the back seat to look at the blast, and Dom watched the glow in the review mirror.

  Dom looked over at Moose, who stared blankly ahead.

  “What else did your brother say?”

  Moose kept staring out the windshield.

  “Moose,” Dom said, louder this time.

  He looked over. “Yeah?”

  “What else did Ray say?”

  “He said he knows everything about us, and that the Morettis got Namid. He said something about taking out Abdul to protect us.”

  “Abdul?” Dom said.

  “Your brother killed Abdul to protect us?” Camilla asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Moose shook his head. “I . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Abdul didn’t even know Namid’s name, so how did . . .” Dom’s words trailed off as a memory from the hospital shootout surfaced.

  “Oh no,” Dom said. “Fuck me . . .”

  “What?” Camilla asked.

  “I . . . I shouted Namid’s name in the parking lot the night we dropped off the RX-Four. Abdul would have heard it. If your brother got to Abdul, then that’s how he knew who Namid was.”

  “No,” Moose said. “Ray wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t kill a doctor. Or one of us.”

  “I don’t want to believe it, either,” said Dom, “but if it is true, your family is at risk. Ray’s been to your apartment countless times.”

  “He just stopped by the barbecue a few nights ago,” Camilla said.

  “Oh God,” Bettis said.

  “The Morettis could be waiting for you at your apartment,” Camilla said.

  Moose looked incredulous. “No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Ray wouldn’t do me like that, man. He’s an asshole, but not a murderer.”

  “Did you call Yolanda?” Camilla asked.

  “Her cell’s off,” Moose said. He put his head in his hands and moaned. “This shit isn’t happening. It can’t be. It’s a fucking nightmare, man.”

  Dom had never seen his friend like this. They both were shocked by the potential of such a lethal betrayal. If Ray did know everything, then they were all fucked.

  He mashed the pedal.

  “If Namid is dead, chances are, they already got to his family,” Bettis said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary. “All we can do right now is pray.”

  Dom was too mad to pray. Gritting his teeth, he looked over at the pickup truck pulling up behind them. The other Saints were inside, heading to check on Namid’s family.

  Family was everything, and Dom would die to save their wives and kids.

  “Don’t worry, man,” Dom said. “We’re going to get your family out of there and somewhere safe. We planned for this.”

  His heart pounded. If the Morettis did know his identity, then what about his mom? What would stop them from going after her in the hospital?

  Focus.

  He had to stay positive, but he also had to plan for the worst.

  Rocky drove the pickup alongside the Tahoe. The bed of the truck was loaded with weapons, ammunition, and all the gear they could throw inside in five minutes. Tooth rolled down the passenger window.

  “Good luck!” he yelled.

  “You too!” Dom shouted back.

  The truck pulled away. Pork Chop was in the back, wearing black fatigues, a ballistic vest, and a black face mask and holding an M4 carbine. He threw up a hand, then ducked back down to avoid the dust.

  Rocky turned left onto the highway, toward the Goldilocks Zone. Dom took a right, toward the Angel Pyramids.

  Dom decided to pray.

  Please, God. Let Moose’s family be okay.

  “All right, here’s how this is going to go down,” he said after a breath. “We’re parking on the street, and Moose and I are going to head up to his apartment. Bettis, you and Cam guard our ride and provide backup. You hear shots, you come in hot.

  Bettis and Camilla nodded.

  “Moose, I need you frosty, man,” Dom said. “Are you good to go?”

  “Frosty,” Moose said with a firm nod.

  Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he wiped it away and pulled his baseball cap down.

  The pointed tips of the Angel Pyramids winked red in the distance. Moose seemed to be praying in the passenger seat.

  Dom took a left and sped toward the slums. Pedestrians were out and about tonight, enjoying the lights for the first time in days. He parked under a canopy of trees and killed the engine.

  Cayenne looked up as Dom grabbed the door handle.

  “Be good, girl,” he said, reaching back to pat her head.

  Bettis finished pushing shells into his shotgun, and Camilla palmed a magazine into her rifle. Moose grabbed both his submachine guns, and Dom took his M1A SOCOM 16 from the back seat.

  They set off across the sidewalk, moving quickly and keeping to the shadows. The way into the courtyard was empty, but several teenagers were at the next corner, hanging out and smoking.

  Dom followed Moose toward the front gate and into the open space beyond. Sleeping bums occupied several of the benches.

  They both scanned the balconies for contacts as they moved. But Dom saw no evidence of Moretti soldiers in the area.

  Could be in the windows or waiting in Moose’s apartment. That’s the chance you have to take.

  Dom flashed the signal to advance. They made a run for the stairs and then loped up the outside stairwell, clearing the first three landings quickly.

  On the fourth floor, Dom raised his fist. Then he moved past Moose and went up the stairs first. A cracking noise sounded from the courtyard, and he looked down over the railing. Normally, a few teenagers would still be up at this hour, trying to score a blow job or smoke one last joint before the sun rose on another day.

  But he saw no sign of activity in the shadows—only the junkies sleeping on the benches in the moonlight.

  He glanced at the other buildings, including the Angel Pyramids. All were dark but for the red aircraft warning lights blinking at the top. The entire grid for zone 2 had been shut down in another energy curtailment.

  Moose continued up the stairs, and Dom followed. On the fifth floor, the big man raised a submachine gun. Dom shouldered his rifle, heart thumping as he scanned the darkness to see what had spooked his friend.

  They both lowered their weapons when they saw that it was just Leyland, a twelve-year-old neighbor kid. The moonlight partially illuminated a young face already pocked by acne.

  “Get back inside,” Moose said.

  Leyland looked at their guns, then their face masks. He gave him the soulless glare of a boy who feared nothing and no one.

  Dom continued past the kid. Chances were good he’d end up like half the youth in the City of Angels: in jail or dead.

  Moose and Dom made their way down the final stretch of balcony, passing Dom’s apartment. He wanted to stop inside and grab the only tangible item he cared about
—a picture of his family—but there wasn’t time.

  Dom’s heart jackhammered as they approached Moose’s apartment. He took up position left of the door and shouldered his rifle at the balcony across the way.

  Moose crouched down. “What?” he whispered.

  Dom lowered his rifle when he realized it was just another teenager entering an apartment.

  “Let’s go,” Moose said. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. Then he slowly twisted the knob and pushed it open.

  Dom went inside first, with his rifle barrel pointed into the darkness. He held a breath in his lungs, terrified he would find a scene of carnage.

  Moose followed him inside.

  “Daddy?” came an adolescent voice.

  Dom twisted to the kitchen, where Bryon stood with a glass of water. At the sight of their guns, he dropped it to the floor.

  “Bryon!” shouted Yolanda. She came rushing down the hallway, with Tamara right behind her.

  “Be quiet,” Dom said, holding a finger up to his face mask. Then he lowered the mask so Yolanda could see him.

  “Dom?” she said. “Andre? What the hell is going on?”

  “Grab your stuff, baby,” Moose said. “We got to go.” He slung his guns and helped Bryon skirt around the broken glass.

  “What do you mean, go?” Yolanda said. “Go where?”

  “Just get your stuff,” Moose said.

  She rushed back into the bedroom with the kids. Dom stayed at the front door, guarding it while they packed. He pulled back the drapes and scanned the balconies, listening to Moose and his wife talking quietly in the bedroom.

  “Does this have something to do with your brother?” she asked.

  “Why?” Moose said.

  “He stopped by earlier, gave me a letter to give to you.”

  “Hurry up,” Dom whispered. He moved to the other window on the left side of the door. He could hear both Bryon and Tamara sobbing.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Moose said. “We’re going on a trip.”

  They finished packing in a matter of minutes and brought the kids back into the living room.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” Yolanda whispered to Tamara.

  Dom moved to help them with their bags, when he heard footfalls on the balcony. He cracked the drape and saw two figures moving furtively in the shadows.

  “Back, back!” Dom said, waving. “Two contacts. Get the kids into the bedrooms.”

  Moose crouched down and unslung his weapons while Yolanda herded the kids away. Dom aimed his rifle at the window, holding back the drape in one hand.

  He checked the balconies across the way but saw no movement there. Whoever these two were, they appeared to be alone.

  Dom moved his finger to the trigger and aimed at the first figure. The person moved into the moonlight, and he realized in time that it was Camilla.

  “Hold your fire,” Dom said. “It’s just Cam and Bettis.”

  Moose slung the straps over his shoulders and hurried back to the bedrooms. “Come on, kids, we got to go.”

  Dom opened the door. Tears streamed down Camilla’s face, soaking into the mask.

  “I told you to stay put,” he whispered.

  She wiped a tear away. “I know, but Rocky called. He said there’s a crime van at Namid’s apartment. They brought out a stretcher with one victim. All we know is, it was an adult female.”

  Dom’s guts churned at the news. He walked over to the railing and slowed his breath.

  Keep it together. You have to keep control . . .

  Camilla put a hand on his back.

  “We need to move,” Bettis said. “Come on, guys.”

  Dom turned from the view of the courtyard, his mind on fire. He cradled his rifle, letting the anger turn to fuel.

  Moose emerged in the doorway, holding a letter.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dom said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Moose held the note up. “It’s from my bro. He wasn’t trying to sell us out. He was trying to save us.”

  -30-

  Neither Antonio nor Lucia had slept much. He was still fully clothed and lying on the couch in their living room. For a fifteen-thousand-dollar piece of furniture, it sure wasn’t very comfortable, but that wasn’t the reason for his lack of sleep.

  Everything he had worked so hard for was starting to fall apart. First, the military showing up—something he had told Lucia would never happen—then Marco driving drunk to the clubs and getting in a shoot-out. Then came the news that masked men had stabbed Vito to death at the Diamond Arena in front of his youngest son.

  But Antonio still had outs, even if the Vegas did have his son and nephew. He had Mariana to trade for them.

  In the faint glow of daybreak, he opened the sliding door quietly to avoid disturbing his wife. Soon the destroyed skyscrapers downtown would stand out like the bones of monstrous robots.

  The city, still reeling from last night’s battle between the Vegas and the Bloods, was already alive with predawn workers. The faint wail of sirens and the whine of traffic from miles away drifted into the Moretti compound.

  A brown haze drifted over the skyline. Guards patrolled with German shepherds, but most of his associates and soldiers were still in the city, looking for Marco and Vinny, leaving the compound exposed.

  But would Esteban or his brother really have the balls for that?

  As he stepped closer to the exposed balcony, their recent meeting surfaced in his mind. He was too angry to be fearful.

  Esteban had been clear: They were amigos until the barriers were crossed.

  On the road beyond the walls, dust swirled from an approaching vehicle. A single black Mercedes—one of his. The gates cracked open.

  Part of him was disappointed. Deep down, he wanted to see the Vega brothers try to attack him.

  But neither brother had responded yet to the news that Mariana was in his basement, shitting in a can.

  Still, he scanned the wastes beyond his walls, his heart kicking at the thought of a battle. Not because he missed the thrill, but because he felt like a coward sitting here while his men searched for his son and nephew.

  Maybe Mariana was right.

  “No,” he mumbled. “I am no coward.”

  He used to think the Saints were cowards, but now he realized they were much like the Morettis. Underdogs who wore masks and who ambushed their enemies and framed others.

  The same playbook Antonio had used to climb to the top of the food chain and build his empire.

  He had upped the bounty on their heads to three million each, because there was one thing underdogs couldn’t fight: money.

  Soon, he would have the head of every Saint on a pike—a warning to other vigilantes who threatened his operation. He cursed himself for letting Vito leave the compound last night, and he cursed himself for making a deal with Esteban.

  Just like Antonio, the narco had his eyes on the prize. And Esteban had struck first, seizing an opportunity to take out his rival’s only heir.

  But only one contender would come out on top. Only one would control the drug trade and the lights, the food, and most importantly, the water.

  His wife’s Neapolitan accent pulled him from thoughts of war and grandeur.

  “Have you heard anything yet?” She stepped just outside the open door, arms folded, shivering in the cool predawn breeze. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead.

  She had calmed down since threatening him earlier. Deep down, Lucia had to know this wasn’t his fault. Marco had made choices that put their family at risk.

  “One team has just returned,” he said. “Maybe they’ll have news. Everyone else is still looking.”

  “We’re not.”

  Antonio closed the bulletproof glass behind them. He held her cheeks in his hands, looking her square in her dark eyes. “I will bring our son home, and then I will rip the hearts out of the men who did this.”

  “No . . .” She paused but h
eld his gaze. “I will rip their hearts out.”

  The living room door opened, and Carmine walked inside with an ARX160 slung over his shoulder.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Don Antonio,” he said.

  Lucia stepped up. “Did you find Marco and Vin?”

  Carmine sighed. “Not yet.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Antonio asked.

  He gestured to the hallway, where a dark-skinned man wearing a leather jacket walked into the open doorway. Antonio didn’t have his glasses on and couldn’t make the guy out until he stepped under the crystal chandelier.

  “Detective Clarke,” Antonio said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.”

  “That makes two of us,” Ray said.

  “Mikey says you have some information for me.”

  “I do.”

  “Hearing you were involved with the port attack was a real disappointment. But I’m assuming, if you’re standing here, that you know the Saints’ identities and have brought that info to redeem yourself.”

  “That’s correct, Don Antonio.”

  Carmine lurched a few steps into the living room. The soldier had been a mess since Christopher whacked Frankie. But Carmine wasn’t the only one fucked up tonight.

  Ray staggered slightly. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his skin looked pale. He was either high or really nervous. And that made Antonio nervous.

  He narrowed his eyes. “So where is Mikey?”

  Ray slowly opened his leather jacket, grimacing as he revealed a blood-soaked bandage on the right side of his belly—the true reason for the sweat and the ashen skin.

  “Your two-million-dollar bounty is what happened,” Ray grunted. He pulled his jacket back over the wound.

  “Mikey decided to try and clip me so he could keep the bounty for himself,” Ray said. “Long story short, they ended up killing the Saint I captured, and then they came for me.”

  Antonio looked to Carmine.

  “I saw it. Ray’s telling the truth. He brought Mikey one of the Saints.”

  “Mikey’s dead?” Antonio asked.

  A nod from Carmine.