“Keep that asshole on ice. I’m going to take Ivan with me to the meet up with Callahan. Then we’re going to have a little sit down with the Alfonsi family.”
“You don’t trust them to not just kill you, do you?”
“Fuck no. I’m meeting them at a neutral location in Bridgeport. I already have a team setting up at the restaurant. Don’t worry, I’m pissed right now, but I wouldn’t let those Italian bastards get the drop on me.”
“You trust Callahan?”
I shrugged. “Not really, but I know he has no love for Yuri, and he appears to have developed an attachment to Anya. I don’t have any problem using all that to my advantage. It doesn’t serve him to double-cross me right now.”
Maxim nodded. “Agreed. Okay, I’ll hold everything down here.”
“Good. If I learn anything about Yuri from this meeting, I’ll contact you and let you know how we’re going to deal with it.”
Maxim gave me a chin thrust to know he understood and left the room.
Fuck. The longer Yuri was free, the more my gut tightened. He got too close this afternoon. Too close to getting Katya. My teeth clenched as frustration and rage spiked through my system. I needed to get myself under control. If I didn’t, I was going to start making mistakes—mistakes that could be fatal.
I walked outside and saw a car driving up. I figured it was Ivan but reached for my gun, just in case. I stowed it away when I saw Ivan exiting the car.
“Hey,” I called out, making sure he heard me. Ivan also had a twitchy trigger finger.
“Hey. When the fuck were you going to tell me that you’d moved my sister into your place?” Ivan asked, a frown on his face.
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ, you want to have this argument now?”
Ivan huffed out an aggravated breath. “This isn’t the life I want for her.”
“Me either. I tried. I tried to leave her alone. I gave her years to find someone else. She didn’t, so I’m done waiting.”
He gave me a long, hard look. “If she wanted out now, if I convinced her being with you was a bad choice, would you let her go?”
“No.” The very thought of Ivan trying to convince Katya to leave me sending fury and violence strumming through my veins.
Ivan simply nodded his head. “Figured.”
“Jesus, let’s go,” I said, walking towards my car. “We’re heading over to a place in Bridgeport to meet up Callahan who’s going to take us to Alfonsi.”
“Callahan? Garrett Callahan? Since when do we work with him?”
I shot him a look and started the car. “Since today. Alfonsi had him take our weapons shipment, but he didn’t know Yuri was behind it. He set up the meeting with Alfonsi, and we’re going to show up as his special guests.”
Ivan snorted. “Crime makes strange bedfellows, I guess. Alfonsi isn’t going to be thrilled about us just dropping in. I can’t believe Callahan was working for Yuri—bet he was pissed when he found out. Igor did not handle him gently,” Ivan said, rubbing his chin.
“You know about that?”
“Yeah, it was about a year before you came over from Moscow, I was younger, but even I heard about it. Yuri made an example of Callahan, had Igor really fuck him up. Had him in the dungeon for weeks.”
I grimaced. The dungeon was a root cellar in the basement of one of our old buildings. It was a miserable shithole that Igor used for torture. We got rid of the place when we got rid of Yuri. It’s not like we didn’t torture people anymore. We definitely did—something Orlov’s men could confirm. That place was just creepy as fuck, like something out of the Spanish Inquisition. Igor had liked his job too much. I was shocked Anya was as normal as she was.
“Well, I wouldn’t mention it when you see him.”
“Right.”
We parked and met up with Callahan and his man, Ian, down the street from a seedy-looking restaurant in the rapidly gentrifying Bridgeport neighborhood. It used to be Irish and Italian, but now it was hipsters as far as the eye could see.
“Okay, I’m going in to meet him, you follow me in about five minutes later,” Callahan instructed Ivan and me.
I gave him a hard look, my natural suspicion and lack of trust rearing its head. “That is plenty of time to give Alfonsi the head’s up.”
Callahan cocked his head. “Yeah, I suppose, but to what end? It’s a lot of hassle to set you up when I could have already done it long before now.” He shook his head. “I would also have to deal with Anya,” he grumbled.
I smirked, but nodded my head, reassured. “Okay, we’ll follow you in and ambush Alfonsi. My guys have already told me where his people are situated inside, so he won’t catch us off guard.”
Callahan nodded, then turned to walk toward the restaurant with Ian. I pulled out a cigarette and took a few deep drags.
“It’s fucking weird working with Callahan.”
I nodded my head in agreement. “Weird working with anyone outside the organization,” I said, throwing my cigarette on the ground. The Bratva is an interdependent brotherhood. We rarely, if ever, allied with anyone outside of the syndicate. “Let’s go.”
I pulled the door open, gratified to see surprise, and a flash of fear cross Gianni Alfonsi’s sweaty, bloated face. Gianni Alfonsi is exactly what you picture when you think of an aging Italian mob boss from the 1950s. Lots of flashy gold jewelry and expensive clothes, with thinning dark gray and thick, bushy eyebrows set over almost bovine looking brown eyes. He’d been a decent captain under Rossi in his younger years, but decades of alcoholism and stress had taken its toll. A couple of months ago, he decided to put his stupid as shit son in charge of a lot of the day to day operations.
Whether it was alcohol, loyalty, or wishful thinking that provoked him to deputize his son, it had been a catastrophic decision. The son wasn’t a drunk, though he was no stranger to drugs and alcohol; he was just way out of his depth as head of an organization. He made impulsive, ego-driven decisions that ended up backfiring magnificently. That they had chosen to work with Yuri wasn’t much of a surprise.
“Good evening, Gianni,” I said with mock congeniality as I lowered myself into the seat across from him. He quickly darted a look at Callahan to see how he was reacting to my unexpected arrival. Callahan, of course, looked unruffled.
“You brought this asshole here?” Gianni accused.
All nonchalance left Callahan’s expression, and he pounded on the table. “You had me do a job for Yuri Ivanov?”
Gianni’s mouth opened and closed like a landed trout. He looked around for his men but found them surrounded by mine and Callahan’s. “What do you care? Money is money!” Gianni insisted, but it rang hollow. Everyone knew Callahan had history with Yuri.
Callahan grabbed Gianni by the front of his shirt, slightly choking him with the neckline. Alfonsi’s men grabbed their guns reflexively but were quickly disabled. They were outgunned, and they knew it.
Callahan shook Alfonsi again. “You knew I would never take a fucking dime from that Russian asshole. You set me up.”
I cocked a look at him and realized he was right. The Italians picked Callahan because he’d hated The Bratva. He was chosen as a fall guy and assumed we’d jump to the same conclusion—Callahan hated the Bratva and stole our shit because of it. Alfonsi was such a moron.
“I will have you killed for putting your hands on me, you motherfucker!” gasped Gianni.
Callahan bared his teeth. “Oh yeah? It’s hard to give an order with a bullet through your fucking skull, you asshole.”
Figuring this back and forth could go on for a while, I interjected. “Where is Yuri now? Why the fuck are you covering for him? You couldn’t have thought we’d just accept that Callahan randomly decided to steal from us and that we’d get rid of him?”
Callahan let him go, and Alfonsi let out a gasp of air and straightened his shirt and jacket. “When Antonio explained it, it made sense. You took our territory, what rightfully belongs to the Cosa Nostra. It’s only righ
t that we take it back. Yuri assured us when he resumed his role at the head of the Bratva, we’d have our territory back.”
I looked at him, stupefied. “Jesus Christ, are you serious? First of all, that wasn’t your territory, it was Rossi’s, and he got popped, so it was up for grabs. You guys were small-time until Rossi got taken out. Second, you believed Yuri would honor that deal with you? That he’d just hand you back territory that now belongs to the Bratva?”
Doubt crept across Alfonsi’s features for the first time. I suspected his son was the one in charge of this deal, a deal that had obviously provoked Gianni’s skepticism, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. “Antonio told me—”
“Your son is a fucking idiot. Yuri won’t give him shit, and you know it. Why would you let him make this deal?”
Alfonsi picked up a cloth napkin and ran it across his perspiring face, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “He made it without my knowledge. We are deep in debt. Antonio…Antonio has made some poor choices, lost us significant amounts of money. He said the deal with Yuri was going to get us ahead, and we’d have more money and territory after it was done.”
I leaned back in my chair. That made sense. A dipshit like Antonio would definitely fall for that kind of pitch. “When did you find out?”
“After the guns were stolen and Yuri showed up at our office, bragging about eliminating you and taking back his rightful place. I have to admit, he didn’t seem in his right mind entirely.”
What an understatement.
“Where the fuck is he now?”
Gianni breathed in deeply. “I don’t know. He is only dealing directly with my son.”
“Come on, Alfonsi, I know you’re covering for your fuck up of a son, but you have to tell us where the hell he is. He stole a bunch of explosives from that gun shipment. What’s he going to do with them?”
Alfonsi looked defeated. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Antonio, he wanted this to be his deal. He wanted to prove he could take over the syndicate, that he knew what he was doing.”
“Jesus, how did that work out?” Ivan murmured sarcastically.
“Look, I’ll help you all I can, but just…just don’t kill my boy,” Gianni pleaded. Gianni had done fine as a captain under Rossi, he was just not cut out to be in charge of a big outfit, and it looked like his son was even more incompetent. Gianni had a couple of guys under him that could take over and do a far better job than Antonio—if he were smart, he’d hand the organization over to them.
“Call him. Find out where the fuck he is right now.”
Gianni hesitated, but ultimately pulled out his phone and hit the button to call his son.
“Put it on speaker,” I demanded.
Gianni reluctantly complied. The phone rang several times before it picked up and Antonio’s douchey outgoing message played. “Hey, this is Antonio. If you’re hot, leave your number. If not, lose it. Ciao.”
I rolled my eyes and ended the call even though it was Gianni’s phone. I didn’t want him to give his kid a head’s up. “If you want us to spare your dickhead offspring, you better fucking come up with some ideas of where he’s holing up.”
Gianni looked stressed as he considered possibilities. He appeared to age in front of my eyes as the pressure of pulling his son’s ass out of the fire weighed on him. “There is a place, an apartment over a bar on Taylor street. Capri Club or Club Capri, something like that. He and his friends used to hang out there when he was younger, sort of a boy’s club. I think they still go there.”
Callahan nodded. “I know it. He took me there before we boosted your guns.”
“Good. Ivan, you stay here with some guys and make sure he doesn’t tip the little fucker off. Callahan, grab some of your men and come with me. Alfonsi might let you in if he thinks you’re just there to talk business.”
Callahan nodded and rose to follow me out.
I stood next to the table. “Ivan, keep an eye on these bastards. Text me if you learn anything.”
Ivan nodded and fixed his cold stare on Alfonsi’s deflated form. “Got it.”
Confident in Ivan’s ability to keep the situation with Alfonsi Sr. in check, Callahan and I walked out, jumped in the car, and headed up a small convoy of vehicles to Little Italy.
We didn’t say a word as we silently drove up Ashland, both of us anticipating getting our hands around Antonio Alfonsi’s fucking neck.
We double-parked in front of the Capri Bar as Callahan hopped out and went inside to get us access to the apartment. Since the staff had seen him there with Antonio, he was our best bet. There was no way anyone with a Russian accent was getting up there unless we shot our way inside. That was something to consider if Callahan couldn’t get us access.
Callahan ducked his head out and nodded at me, then gestured to a door on the side of the bar. “Wait there, and I’ll let you in.”
I nodded my head and led the small group of men to wait by the door. Before too long, Callahan swung it open, and we stormed up the stairs, not even knocking, just kicking in the door.
Our men had the small group of guys in the apartment pinned down within seconds. There were only five of them, and they were caught completely off guard in the middle of what looked like a poker game.
“What the fuck? Callahan? What the fuck are you doing here with this motherfucker?” asked one of the men, walking toward us and gesturing to me.
“You might reconsider who you’re calling a motherfucker since I’m the one holding the gun. Now put your hands up, motherfucker,” I snapped back.
He blew out a breath and slowly raised his hands.
“Where’s Alfonsi?” Callahan barked out.
The man shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, not realizing the band of dipshits behind him nervously glancing over their shoulders as he answered. I glanced at Callahan, and he indicated he’d noticed the gesture, too.
I turned to my soldiers. “Watch them. Don’t let them move.” Callahan and I walked through the small crowd of men nervously shifting their weight from foot to foot, making my way down a hallway to the back of the apartment. There were two doors on either side of the hallway that appeared to be bedrooms. There was loud music coming from one of them. The other room appeared to be empty, but Callahan checked it out anyway. He came back in the hallway and shook his head slightly.
I turned the doorknob on the other door, putting my ear against it and hearing the sounds of music blaring and sex, which is probably why Antonio didn’t hear us when we busted in and why he didn’t answer his father’s phone call.
I nodded at Callahan, and we raised our guns as I threw the door open.
Antonio was naked, railing some girl who moaned unconvincingly underneath him, piles of blow on the nightstand.
“What the fuck? You dickheads know better than to interrupt me when I’m—”
Antonio stopped complaining when he realized who was standing inside the darkened bedroom. The woman beneath him squealed and dove under the covers as he lunged for his gun.
“Don’t fucking move, you asshole,” I barked.
Antonio froze, then laid back in the bed, knowing he was beaten. He was young, in his mid to late twenties, with dark hair and eyes. He had good looks, but no fucking brains. He had always been more interested in chasing pussy, fucking around, and acting self-important than running the family business, and it looked as though that hadn’t changed even though his father had practically turned the syndicate over to him. He didn’t want to work for anything; he wanted everything easy. Entitled shithead.
“So, what’s the deal, Callahan? You working with these Russian fucks now? I thought you had an axe to grind with these bastards.”
“No, you fuckhead, I had an axe to grind with Yuri Ivanov. You know, the man you had me working for. A fact you failed to mention when we were negotiating our arrangement.”
A dart of anxiety flashed across Alfonsi’s face. “Who the fuck told you that? That’s bullshit. Ivanov’s dead,” he said
without a shred of believability.
I’d had enough of this game. “We don’t have time for you to lay here and deny what we already know. You’re busted, you stupid fuck up, and you’re coming with us. We’re going to get all the information we need about Yuri because you’re going to fucking tell us, or I’m going take you apart––piece by piece.”
Antonio turned pale. “You can’t do that shit! I’m the head of the Alfonsi family. Wait until my father hears about this! He’ll send—”
“Who the fuck do you think sent us here? We already met with him. He knows you put this organization’s ass in a sling working with Yuri.”
“My father gave me up? No fucking way,” Antonio rejected, but doubt shadowed his expression.
Callahan laughed. “You don’t think your father hasn’t noticed that you’ve turned his operation to shit? Not that it was all that fucking great to begin with.”
Doubt turned to anger, but being unable to take it out on us, he turned to the girl on the bed. “Get the fuck out of here,” he screamed, raising his hand as if to slap her.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have no problem putting bullets in some very strategic places. You won’t die, but you might not have much to live for considering how much you like to fuck around,” I threatened.
The woman in question shot us a grateful look and jumped out of bed, quickly gathering her clothes and running into the small adjoining bathroom.
I walked over and grabbed Antonio roughly by the arm. “Hitting a woman? You’re such a bitch. Now, get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere you’re going to enjoy.”
He sighed and pulled his arm away, then grabbed his clothes off the floor, his hand clearly searching. I saw what this dipshit was doing. In a flash, I had him face down on the bed, his arm behind his back and plucked the gun he’d attempted to pull on me out of his hand.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this? If I wasn’t so eager to beat information about Yuri out of you, I would shoot you in the fucking head.” I pulled up on Antonio’s arm, eliciting a whine of pain from him. “If this little bit of pain has you bitching, you aren’t going to last long when we get you back to the warehouse.”
Drago (Dangerous Love Book 3) Page 18