Page 6 of City Of Thieves
As usual, it’s all smoke and mirrors.
The floor creaks beneath my feet as I slowly make my way up the aisle. The closer I get, the harder it is to move. Quicksand impedes my steps, and by the time I reach Nero’s casket, I’m wading waist deep in it.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since they removed his body from that hotel room. He looks peaceful. His hands are folded at his waist, and he’s dressed in his favorite suit and blue tie. Even that unruly strand of dark hair that always fell in his eye is finally styled in place.
But it’s all a lie. He’s not peaceful. He’s swimming in a river in hell, cursing my name. He wants vengeance. I can almost see his lips moving, speaking the last words he said to me before I left him in Atlantic City:
“There’s something going on that’s bigger than all this bullshit rivalry between us. I need someone I can trust with me, and blood is stronger than any oath. Me and you, Renzo, we’re brothers. We’re in this together ‘till the end.”
“Till the end,” I reiterate, gritting my teeth. Only neither of us realized how quickly it would come.
Gripping the edge of the casket, I fold my hand over his. “I promise you, Nero… I’ll find thesuga cazziwho did this to you. And I’ll make every member of his family speak your name before I cut their hearts out. Whatever it takes, and whoever I have to hurt to make it happen.Te lo prometto.”
I promise you.
Chapter Two
Renzo
Present Day…
The night ismy only companion as I stand in the shadows, watching a procession of men in expensive three-piece suits ascend the front steps of a lavish, heavily secured building—superiority trailing behind them like toxic smoke.
Yamais the top tier of every social pyramid: a scarlet, black, and crystal-coated gentlemen’s club located in the heart of Desolation, New York, catering to the highest echelon of excess and privilege. But at its base lies a darker foundation where the only scarlet and black comes from blood and bruises.
Zipping my black leather jacket, I round the building toward a different set of stairs. While the Marchesi name ranks at the top of the elite, my soul craves the depravity of the windowless walls beneath their feet: a basement where status means nothing and light is the enemy.
With a clenched fist, I deliver two impatient knocks to an unmarked wooden door, and a red light beeps on the square box beside the doorframe.
“Password,” rumbles a thick Russian accent. It’s not a question as much as a challenge. This isn’t fucking date night at Applebee’s. If you have the balls to show up atYama’s back door, you’d better know the answer.
“Chistilishche.” Purgatory.
The red light flickers and turns green, and a subtle click grants my access.
Stay in control, I remind myself. Easier said than done. I’ve spent the last month tracking down leads only to spin in fucking circles. Tonight is the closest I’ve come to finding the man who choreographed my brother’s murder.
Swinging the door open, I make my way down the two flights of splintered wooden stairs to what used to be my sanctuary.The Pit.
As I enter the darkened arena, an oversized gatekeeper steps in front of me. “Jacket check,comrade.”
Gritting my teeth, I give him a half-assed flash of my open jacket to prove I’m not stupid enough to bring a gun to a Bratva-owned fight club.
At least not again.
Shoving past him, I keep my stride steady as I cross the stained concrete floor. Within seconds, the smell of copper and sweat hits me like a shot of adrenaline.On my left, a wet, garbled grunt fills my ears seconds before a body slams into the cage’s unforgiving metal. I don’t stop to look. Judging by the primal roar of the crowd, this fight is almost over.
Rest in peace, motherfucker.
Blocking out the match, I scan the perimeter, my gaze settling on the back wall where a man with a platinum buzz cut tosses a bright red apple in the air while soaking in the massacre.
Vasily Belov.
Yama’s fight manager, and the reason for my exile.
I’m less than two feet away when he turns that icy stare my way. “Look what thekotdragged in,” he drawls. “It has been a long time, Renzo.”
Yeah, three months too long.
