Page 26 of Mercy in Betrayal

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I park just outside the Port Elizabeth docks and get out of the driver’s seat as two more vehicles pull up behind me. I climb into the passenger seat as Tom makes his way to the driver’s side, and Arturo climbs into the back. Tom places an unlit cigarette behind his ear. He knows better than to light it up in my car. The scent of stale cigarette smoke has me rolling down the window slightly, and I hide my irritation. Two more bodyguards get into the back also and we are ready to go.

I don’t like to be chauffeured around. Most dons are, but I’ve only taken the passenger seat so Tom can use his ID to pass through security checks. He’s technically retired but still comes on board for this kind of thing.

We move through light security checks, passing easily through each with Tom’s ID, before continuing on through the mazelike docks. No one bothers to check us for weapons. Even though we are all packing, no one in their right mind would fire a weapon in the docks. It would draw the police, and that would have the port shut down in minutes.

Much like a small city, the various terminals and entry points take some navigation to get through. Tom finally slows down alongside a metal building with red, peeling paint, a crane rising up in the distance behind it.

The minute Tom gets out of the car, he removes the cigarette from behind his ear and takes a lighter out of his pocket before lighting up. Another man is waiting for us, and no one speaks as we all climb out and follow him into the building.

The heavy metal door clicks behind us, but lights in the warehouse give a warm glow as we walk down a narrow hallway. The white walls have recently been painted, and I can smell the undercurrent of the fresh coat.

Arturo and my two other guards walk behind me while Tom goes in front. A cloud of smoke billows from his mouth.

We stop at a door, and Tom crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his heavy boot before we enter the room.

There are several people seated around a table, but the one person who makes me stall is Evie O’Hanlon, sitting next to Cassidy O’Rourke.

“What is this?” I ask. I don’t sit.

“Take a seat.” Kristo Ahmeti, head of the Albanians, waves a hand at a chair. I don’t move, and neither do my men. Evie shifts uncomfortably in her seat as I stare at her. The table is half-full of leaders from different families.

“It’s only fair that we let both sides have their say,” he continues, pushing through a note of uncertainty.

Tom is waiting for my order, and after a brief nod of my head, he sits. I glance back at Arturo, and he leaves the room with my two guards. They will wait outside until this meeting is over. I sit beside Tom, directly across from Evie and Cassidy. I’m the Don of the Scarpetta family, so having them here to have their say doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t play well with others, and I didn’t have any indication I’d be sharing the fucking sandbox.

I nod for the meeting to start.

There is another man sitting beside Cassidy, looking woefully out of place. I’d peg him more as an accountant than a made man. I don’t ask who he is, but wait to see if he has anything of value to say.

“I wanted to talk about the Roje.” Cassidy starts. I fold my hands on the table in front of me and lean back slightly in my chair. I know their leader is here to my left, but I don’t acknowledge him. I keep my focus on Cassidy.

“Go ahead.” Inwardly I offer up thanks to Ivan for giving me the heads-up on this.

Evie flashes me a warning look that I ignore. She must not like my tone.

That’s fine. I don’t like her presence.

“It’s my understanding they have paid their debt to the Scarpettas and should be free to choose their employers.” Cassidy keeps his gaze steady.

I hide a vicious grin. “They should be grateful that we allow them to play in our backyard,” I spit back. The Roje, who are essentially the Albanian mafia, tried to establish themselves in New York City. They failed miserably. We took out most of them and the ones who remained we allowed to stay and even vouched for with the Marzano family, who was the head of the Five at the time. But only those under our—i.e., my father’s—employment and protection at the time.

Just because he was dead didn’t mean their debt died with him.

“As long as they have a presence here, they are under Scarpetta protection,” I add.

“Since you are now the Don, they are technically under new protection. They might as well have their pick of a new leader,” Evie challenges me. I sit back in my seat, wondering what’s in it for her, or perhaps more accurately, for Cassidy?

Although perhaps that’s sexist of me.

“The dock you managed in Limerick is considerably smaller than Port Elizabeth,” I fire at Cassidy.

Cassidy waves a hand. “A trifle.”

“Limerick handles less than 8 million tons of cargo a year, while Port Elizabeth handles nearly 124 million tons of cargo,” Tom says. This is why he is here. He knows his numbers.

“If I may.” The man sitting beside Cassidy speaks up. He looks sweaty and unaccustomed to meetings like this, but he pushes his glasses up his nose before he speaks. “Sneaking things into a smaller port is actually much more difficult than sneaking them into a large port; Cassidy and Evie could handle more risky endeavors quite easily.”

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