Lining up the barrel, he swept the truck right to left with continuous fire. One of the men spun away; the other fell out of sight.
He swiveled the barrel, looking for more targets as Ronaldo drove around the pickup. Dom turned as they passed, and saw the two men lying in pools of blood.
A tug on his leg pulled him back into the Humvee.
“Nice shooting,” Marks said.
Ronaldo kept his eyes on the road, not saying a word. Dom had seen his dad like this only once before, in the forest after killing the raiders who had put their hands on Elena and Monica.
Please be okay, Dom prayed.
He closed his eyes but couldn’t concentrate. They were just a few blocks from the high school now.
Flying around the next corner, Ronaldo slammed on the brakes. A body lay in the middle of the street.
“Is that a cop?” Marks asked. He opened the door and moved in front of the truck to check, bending down out of sight.
Ronaldo backed up and moved around the body that Marks was now dragging out of the road. He got back in the Humvee, cursing.
“Dead,” Marks confirmed. “Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest.”
Ronaldo sped the rest of the way to the high school.
“Lock and load,” Marks said.
Dom checked his rifle magazine for the third time. As they pulled into the front lot, he moved from side to side to get a better view through the windshield, but he couldn’t see much of anything.
The Humvee jerked to a stop, and all the doors swung open. Dom followed Bettis out and hopped down onto the concrete.
Looking toward the front of the school, he saw bodies.
Dom recognized both men. They were two of the guards he had told to protect his sister and his mom with their lives. It appeared they had kept their promise.
The marines shouldered their rifles and moved toward the entrance in combat intervals, crushing spent brass under their boots. A skirt of glass covered the ground, and bullet holes peppered the walls inside the vestibule they had sealed off from fallout.
Ronaldo took lead, his muzzle sweeping left to right, then forward.
“Clear,” he said.
Coming in last, Dom stepped over the glass shards and followed the marines into an empty hallway. They moved in silence, though he wanted to yell out for his sister and mom.
At the first intersection in the corridor, Ronaldo flashed hand signals. Tooth and Bettis went right, and Marks went straight.
“Dom, stay here,” Ronaldo whispered.
“What? No way!”
Ronaldo gave him a glare. Then he was gone, running down the left hallway while Dom remained in the center. He turned in all directions, straining to catch any sign of life.
Over thirty people had been here when he left last night, and so far, he hadn’t seen or heard a single person.
He didn’t wait long.
“Down here!” Tooth yelled.
Dom hobbled down the right passage, wincing from the shrapnel wound in his foot. He didn’t stop until he got to the auditorium. Tooth and Bettis were standing inside the open door, motioning for people to come out.
Over a dozen filed out into the hallway, looking around, some of them visibly shaking, others sobbing.
“What happened?” Bettis asked them. “Where is everyone else?”
A man Dom didn’t recognize shook his head. “Masked men came in shooting and … took people.”
Dom looked around for his mother and sister. “Where’s my sister Monica, and my mom, Elena?” he asked. “Has anyone seen them?”
“They took Monica, and your mom went after them,” said someone at the back of the group. A man in a wheelchair moved forward. He had a pistol in one hand. It was Samuel and his wife, Lucinda, the neighbors who had lived across the street before their houses were burned down.
“Mr. Kent,” Dom said. “Who took my sister?”
“I don’t know,” Samuel said, shaking his head. “Men in masks, with machine guns. Your mom ran after them with several other people.”
He looked ashamed to have been hiding in here, but Dom didn’t blame the wheelchair-bound veteran. He had protected these people and done what most people would have done.
Dom stumbled away. His heart pounded so hard, it seemed bent on escaping the confines of his chest. His vision clouded, and he felt light-headed.
“I’m sorry,” Samuel called after him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them!”
Dom ran down the hall, the pain a distant thought. He had to find his mom, had to find his sister.
Shouting came from another passage, and Dom rounded the corner to see his dad straddling a man on the ground. Marks tried to pull him off, but Ronaldo jerked free and punched the man again.
“You were supposed to protect them!” he shouted.
“Come on!” Marks said. “Get off him; we have to go find Elena!”
Dom hobbled over to see the man his dad was hitting. It was the third guard from last night. An open storage closet door told Dom all he needed to know. The man had hidden from the attackers.
Ronaldo hit him again and yelled, “Chickenshit!”
Marks had to grab Ronaldo by the neck to pull him off the man, who remained on his back, trembling.
“I’m … sorry,” said the guard, holding up an arm to protect his battered face.
“Forget him!” Marks yelled. “We have to go. Now!”
Ronaldo hesitated.
“Dad, come on!” Dom said. “We have to go find Mom and Monica!”
Ronaldo turned toward Dom but hardly looked at him as he strode past, moving like a machine toward the exit.
* * *
Fight evil with evil, Ronaldo thought. He should have killed the bastard who hid in a closet while soulless men came in and took his daughter and several other kids.
If not for Marks, he probably would have killed the guard he had trusted to protect his family. But he would kill the men responsible. Once he found them, he would kill them and gut them, though not necessarily in that order.
Ronaldo ran outside the school, to the Humvee, with the rest of the Desert Snakes and his son following.
“elena!” Ronaldo shouted.
“Everyone, spread out,” Marks said. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”
Bettis and Tooth took off running in different directions, and Marks followed Ronaldo over to the Humvee. Dom piled in with them.
“I’m coming,” he said.
This time, Ronaldo didn’t argue.
Marks grabbed the radio to report the missing kids and to ask whether any units had heard of kidnappings in the area.
Ronaldo hardly listened to the responses flooding over the channel as he pulled out of the school lot. He searched the street from left to right and decided to go in the direction where they had found the dead cop. Chances were, Monica’s captors had gone that way, and Elena couldn’t have gotten far.
They came up on the dead cop’s squad car. Its windshield was riddled with bullet holes. An officer was still behind the wheel, his head slumped against the door. His partner’s body was still lying on the side of the road, where Marks had dragged it out of the way.
Only months ago, Ronaldo would have had trouble imagining the sort of ghoulish animal that kidnapped kids and killed two cops. But now the world was full of these demons.
His heart iced as he drove farther away from the school, eyes flitting back and forth to look for Elena. He checked the rearview mirror and saw Dom brushing something away from his eye.
Ronaldo felt the warm blur of tears. Don’t do that, Salvatore. You will find your family.
Marks continued talking into the radio while Ronaldo drove. The responses crackled. There were so many reports of violence and atrocities, it was impossible to keep up with them all.
&
nbsp; Ronaldo looked down at a light that flashed on the dashboard. They were almost out of diesel fuel. Cursing, he pounded the steering wheel once, then twice, so hard that his hand hurt.
He took a right on the next street and resisted the urge to burn precious fuel by gunning the engine. Instead, he accelerated slowly, avoiding several wrecked vehicles and swerving to miss a dog that limped across the street.
A woman came out of a house screaming and waving, but Ronaldo didn’t even slow.
It wasn’t his Elena.
“Where is she?” he mumbled.
Fear stabbed his heart at the thought of his daughter with men who would do her harm. He tried to block out the thoughts of evil, but they kept breaking through.
He pounded the steering wheel again, tears streaming from his eyes.
Marks looked over but didn’t speak.
The Humvee was speeding through an intersection when Dom yelled, “Stop!”
Ronaldo slammed on the brakes and looked at the back seat.
“Back that way!” Dom said, pointing.
Reversing the truck, Ronaldo spun the wheel and accelerated down the road Dom had pointed at. Sure enough, a woman was walking down the middle of the street.
She wasn’t facing them, but Ronaldo recognized her long dark hair. She staggered along like an exhausted refugee.
He eased off the pedal as he approached. Then he parked the Humvee on the side of the road, killed the engine, and jumped out.
“Elena,” he said, trying not to spook her.
She kept walking, mumbling to herself, a pistol in her hand.
“Mom!” Dom called out.
She stopped without turning, the gun shaking in her hand.
Ronaldo moved out in front of her, his hands up. “Sweetheart,” he said. “Please give me the gun and get out of the street.”
Her eyes flitted from Ronaldo to Dom, who had joined them.
“Mom,” he said.
Her lips quivered; the lower one was swollen. Blood trickled down her chin.
“Elena,” Ronaldo murmured, his heart breaking at the sight of her bruised features. He reached out to take the gun.
She pushed back at him, screaming, “No! Get away!”
“Mom,” Dom said, reaching out gently. “Mom, it’s me, Dominic.”
She raised the gun and for a moment Ronaldo thought she was going to point it at her head. Out of instinct, he grabbed it and disarmed her before she could hurt herself or one of them.
“no!” she yelled. “I have to save Monica. I have to protect my baby!”
Ronaldo put the gun away and held up both hands again. “Please, Elena, you need to calm down.”
“Mom, it’s okay,” Dominic said.
She looked at him, and her gaze seemed to soften.
Marks got out of the Humvee and slowly walked over.
“Elena,” Ronaldo said. “It’s your husband and son. We’re not going to hurt you. We love you.”
She looked at them in turn again and then dropped to her knees, sobbing with her head against her chest.
“They took Monica,” she wailed. “They took my little girl.”
Ronaldo crouched down and reached out until she finally collapsed into his arms.
“I promise I’ll find Monica and the people who took her,” he said. “I promise you on my life, I will bring our girl back.”
Marks looked as though he wanted to speak.
“What?” Ronaldo said.
“No word about any kidnappings in this area,” Marks said. “But the cops have regained control of HQ. Maybe we can get some help looking for Monica.”
“Come on, we have to get up,” Ronaldo said. He helped Elena to her feet, and he and Dom moved her into the truck.
“We’ll find Monica, Mom,” Dom said. “Dad and I will bring her home.”
-27-
Two days had passed since the battle for Los Angeles ended, and the Moretti family was celebrating tonight. The main floor of the former Commerce Casino was hopping with activity. This section of the city still didn’t have power, but Antonio had authorized use of the generators to power the casino floor.
In the glow of chandeliers, hundreds of his soldiers and associates sat around the card tables, betting silver and other currency. Waitresses in short skirts and tops that left little to the imagination served endless drinks to the men while they gambled their paychecks.
It was only ten o’clock, and half of them were drunk.
They had earned it, and plenty of soldiers were outside standing guard. Everyone, down to the teenagers cleaning dishes in the kitchen, had been vetted in the hiring process, but Antonio still swept the space with the skeptical gaze of a predatory animal.
He had certainly earned a break, but the burden of being a leader weighed heavily on him tonight, and there was still business to attend to. When it was finally finished, he would retire to his chambers with his queen. She was up there now with Marco and several other family members, watching movies and eating pizza.
“Don Antonio!” the men shouted. They raised glasses in salute as he made his way to a table of his captains and most trusted soldiers.
Frankie, Carmine, Yellowtail, Raff, Vito, and Christopher sat at a blackjack table, each with a stack of chips and a drink. At first glance, none of them appeared drunk. And it appeared Carmine had avoided the powder. His eyes were clear, and his scarred face wasn’t bright red.
That was good.
After Carmine blew off the top of Chief Diamond’s head, Antonio had reconsidered a very difficult decision about his old friend who was on thin ice. As long as he stayed clean, that ice would remain firm under his feet and he would stay a captain, in charge of the drug operation. But if Antonio caught him doing blow again, it would be the end for Carmine Barese.
The elevator, up and running now, took them to the top floor. Two associates in suits, each armed with an M4 carbine, stood guard outside Antonio’s office. They opened the double doors, letting in all the soldiers of the Moretti family.
Refreshments awaited on the Italian marble wet bar that his men had installed a week ago. Yellowtail went over to make a drink, and Christopher lit one of his new cigars, blowing smoke rings into the air.
Antonio filled his lungs with the pleasant scent as he crossed the room to the war table he had always dreamed of. Lucia had put the word out to the men to look for a ten-piece dining room table while out on their raids. They had returned three days ago with a custom-made Italian table with a chestnut finish and gold trim.
Maps of the city were now spread over its surface, and Antonio leaned over the table to study them again. He already had the four selling zones of the city memorized, but he wanted to give it another glance before his business partners arrived.
A rap came on the door, and Yellowtail opened it to talk to the guard.
“Our friends are coming up,” Yellowtail said.
Antonio gestured toward the table, and Christopher, Yellowtail, Carmine, Frankie, and Raff all sat down. He remained standing, eyes on the door.
Another knock sounded.
Christopher blew out a cloud of smoke as a man walked in. None of them were expecting to see Lino standing there.
“Don Antonio,” Lino said in a gruff voice. His favorite black suit hung loose on his muscular frame—an indication of more weight loss, on a frame that didn’t have much to lose, in the month since the attack that almost left him dead. His shirt collar covered most of the scar on his neck, but his chin would always have a cleft that was not there at birth.
The Moretti soldiers all rose from their seats as he entered the room.
“Good to have you with us, my friend,” Antonio said. He walked over and pulled a chair back for Lino—something he had never done before. This got everyone’s attention.
“Would you lik
e something to drink?” Antonio asked Lino.
“No, thank you, Don Antonio,” he said, his voice cracking. “A clear mind for me this evening.”
A third knock sounded, and this time when the door opened, two new men walked in. One wore a blue suit with the flag of California on the lapel. Antonio was right back at the Hollywood Bowl. Mayor Buren wasn’t wearing an American flag, then or now. Looking trim and fit in his tailored suit, he seemed quite proud of his perfectly trimmed Vandyke beard.
The police lieutenant accompanying him, by contrast, was pear-shaped and had a real soup strainer covering most of his mouth. His shirttail had come partly untucked under his ill-fitting blazer.
“Welcome,” their host said. “I’m Antonio Moretti, and these are my men.”
“Thanks for having us,” Buren said. “This is Lieutenant Billy Best. He will be filling in for Chief Stone tonight because, unfortunately …”
Best took over when the mayor hesitated.
“Chief Stone was just sworn in and has very important business to attend to,” Best said.
“I know that’s a lie,” Antonio said. “He can’t have more important business than this meeting, can he?”
Best and Buren opened their mouths, but neither man replied.
Antonio grinned. “I’m joking.” He shook their hands in turn and said, “Something to drink?”
The mayor hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, why not. I’ll take bourbon on the rocks.”
“Beer for me,” Best said.
Yellowtail brought the drinks over, wearing the stone face he usually reserved for enemies. Inviting a cop here—especially the cop Vinny had once worked for—had all the men on edge.
Vito sat with his arms folded over his belly, chewing on a toothpick. Antonio didn’t blame his cousin. The guy’s face still showed the abuse he had endured behind bars.
Vito and Yellowtail weren’t the only ones who didn’t like seeing cops in the Moretti stronghold. Frankie and Carmine had opposed his decision to invite the cops here—or to work with them at all, for that matter.
Which was exactly why Antonio had asked his associates to attend the meeting: to show them who was in charge, but also to show them why they needed Mayor Buren and his police henchmen.
Sons of War Page 36