Page 128 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

forty-five

GIOVANNI

The night airbit at my skin as I stood in the shadows near the west entrance. I’d left my jacket in the car, thinking I wouldn’t need it, but the cold had settled deep into my bones. Didn’t matter. The discomfort kept me alert, focused.

Where the fuck was Monahan, our arms dealer? We didn’t have time for him to be fashionably late. I glanced at my watch, its face glowing a sickly green in the dark. He was ten minutes behind schedule, which for him was practically early, but it still put me on edge.

The docks had a way of amplifying sounds. The creak of the ship’s hull, the distant clatter of crates, even the low murmur of voices all seemed to blend together into an acoustic soup. I listened for anything out of the ordinary, any note of danger in the mix. So far, nothing—but my instincts told me we weren’t alone.

The shadows shifted, and a prickle of awareness raised the hair on the back of my neck. I put a hand to my holster, fingersbrushing the grip of my gun. The Valentinos had to be here somewhere. This shipment was too big for them to ignore, and Rocco wasn’t the type to let us encroach on their turf. Running guns was a huge part of his business model, and he wouldn’t stand for us stepping on his toes without a fight.

They’re here. I can feel it.

Headlights cut through the night, blinding me for a moment as a car rounded the corner. I squinted, hand tightening on my gun until recognition set in. Monahan’s sports car was an obnoxious piece of machinery, all sharp angles and speed, with a gaudy, bright yellow paint job. It stuck out like a sore thumb against the grunge of the docks—hell; it stuck out anywhere—but that was Monahan, flashy to the point of foolishness.

The car screeched to a halt, and the arms dealer stepped out with his usual swagger. He wore a tailored, extremely expensive suit, looking every bit the apex predator he believed himself to be.

“Monahan,” I said, stepping from my perch along the side of the building. He grinned and extended a hand, which I shook before slapping him on the back. “Thought you’d decided to blow us off.”

“Me? Never.” His grin widened, flashing straight, white teeth he’d no doubt paid for. The man was richer than God, and he flaunted that fact often. “You know I’m always happy to do business with the Cristenellos.”

“The feeling is mutual. Come on,” I said, leading him toward the warehouse. “Let me show you the merchandise.”

Both of us played our parts flawlessly, keeping this shit as realistic as possible for appearance’s sake.

“Nice setup you’ve got here,” he commented absently, trying to make small talk. “Looks like everything’s running smoothly.”

“For now,” I murmured, the nuance layered, knowing he’d read between the lines. “We’ll see how it holds up.”

We reached the warehouse, and I held the door open for him. Inside, the operation was a hive of activity—men following orders, forklifts whirring as they stacked crates of ‘goods.’ The entire scene crackled with frenetic energy.

I spotted Dimitri up on the platform, his eyes sweeping the room like a fucking hawk. He gave a small nod when he saw me, and I beckoned Monahan to follow as I headed toward the center of the warehouse, passing Marco on the way.

We weaved through stacks of crates, each one labeled in code to disguise its contents. Or lack thereof.

Monahan glided a finger across a box, then examined it as though he expected to find gold dust. “So, this is the big play, huh? Going all in on the hardware.”

“It’s a necessary investment,” I fibbed, playing along. “Times are changing.”

He smirked. “Glad to see you finally came to your senses. This is where therealmoney is.”

We reached the center of the room where I’d left a laptop open on a crate, using it as a makeshift desk. “Take a look,” I said, nodding to the screen. “The inventory’s all there, and I think you’ll find the terms more than favorable.”

Monahan scanned the deal, taking stock of all we were ‘selling.’

“And as a measure of good faith, here’s a little sample.” I grabbed a crowbar and pried the top off one of the crates we’d staged for just this purpose. Lying inside were actual weapons, ones we’d purchased legally, not that anyone else needed to know that.

This deal had to look legit, and we’d done everything we could think of to keep things authentic.

Two more crates were opened, and Monahan inspected the contents of each one.

“I’ve got to warn you, if you’re fuckin’ me over, Cristenello—” His voice dipped, low and dangerous, adding a nice touch to our little playact.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. “It’s legit. You know we wouldn’t play you like that.” When he hesitated, looking torn, I jutted my chin toward another crate that was still nailed shut. And lacking weapons of any kind. “You want to crack open another one? Hell, open ‘em all and inspect ‘em for yourself.” Crossing my arms, I cocked my head, pretending to play hardball. “Or maybe I should call Noll,” I suggested, rattling off the name of a different arms dealer. One I had on good authority that Monahan disliked. Immensely.

My friend narrowed his eyes, and I could almost hear him calling me a fucker in his mind.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright. I’m in.” Reaching past his lapel, he pulled out a pen and a business card, scribbling something on it before handing it to me.

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