Page 96 of Refrain

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ESPI

Jose’s warehouseis on the south side, near the river. Arno doesn’t take any chances, placing at least a dozen men around the perimeter while we wait in the shadows.

Three hours pass before he realizes it’s asetup,when none of the Cartel show.

“Fucking Jose,” he snarls before forming a fist and slamming it against the wall of the alley. The thud resonates likea gunshot, but if any men are lying in wait for an ambush, they seem to be deaf as well as invisible. “Where is that motherfucker?”

He doesn’t have to wonder long. Sirens wail in the distance. Fire trucks. I cock my head, pinpointing the sound as coming from the west end of the city.Apparently,the party got started without us.

“Shit.” Arno reaches into his pocket for a cell phone and snarls into the receiver the moment someone answers the other end. “You fucking son of a bitch—”

“Relax,amigo,” Jose says, his voice drifting from the speaker. “Our deal is still good. Your piece-of-shitbar will stand another day. I just needed you out of the way…”

Arno glances at me, his jaw clenched. “For what?”

“The fireworks,” Jose replies. “Thanks for babysitting, but I’ll let you in on the secret.”

Arno hisses between clenched teeth. “Son of a bitch. You gave me the wrong spot.”

“For insurance,” Jose says. “I know you run with the Russians, but something tells me that you won’t be too sad to learn that one oftheirstrongholds was hit instead of mine.”

“By who?” Arno demands. “You fucking owe me that much.”

“Do I?” Jose chuckles. “Relax,Papi. I think you’re well aware of who’s behind this little bonfire. I’ll give you a hint. He looks a bit like littleEspisido.Adiós.”

“The fuck?” Arno tosses the phone against the pavement when Jose hangs up. “That goddamn son of a bitch—”

“The Russians,” I echo. Namely the Petrovs. “I need to go.”

“Espi? What the hell?”

I’m already halfway down an alley before Arno catches up.

“Slow the fuck down!” He tugs on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “The first fucking thing we need to do is make sure that Dante…”

It’s like flipping a switch.Dante.If Jose gave Arno the wrong location, then his “ambush” might be lying in wait somewhere else. If Dante really is behind all of this shit, then he’ll be caught in the crossfire.

“I know where the Russians had their main headquarters,” Arno says, jerking his chin toward that very direction, I assume. “A hoteldowntown. We need to go.”

I follow him without asking questions. We take one of his trucks while the others head back to the club in case Jose decides not to keep his promise.

I don’t know what to feel as Arno cuts through alleys, running through several stoplights, in order to reach the part of town where the Petrovs reign with an iron fist.

In the span of just a few hours, someone set their kingdom on fire.

“Holy shit.” Arno has to park at least ten blocks back from the building that I assume is the hotel. What used to be one, anyway. A plume of flames paints the sky orange, streaked with hints of red and splotches of yellow.

It’s more than the typical blaze. It’s a fucking calling card.

First, Moe’s.Now,this. Someone’s starting a goddamn war.

“You take the left,” Arno tells me. “I’ll take the right. Find out what you can. We meet up in the center.”

There isn’t much to find. The cops barricaded the area closest to the hotel, fishing outstragglerswho manage to escape the flames. There aren’t many.

Someone wanted revenge—that much is fucking clear. There are no signs of sabotage, and something tells me that any money, drugs, or other shit Piotr had tucked away inside the place has been lost to the blaze. This wasn’t about dominating.

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