Page 9 of Enzo
“What is going on, Enzo?” Amadeo demanded. “Why is he talking about blood types? Who’s messaging you this?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, distractedly.
Me: Touch them and I’ll make it my mission to destroy you. And anyone in your life.
Unknown: Go to the docks. Leave your brother in the car.
I gripped the wheel until my knuckles almost combusted, wishing it were the neck of the person behind these messages. I had my suspicions, and if I was right, I intended to kill him the moment he was close enough.
The Bronco zoomed past us, the windows too dirty to get a good look at the driver.
I pushed the gas pedal, and instantly another message flashed across the screen.
Unknown: Don’t tail me.
Or elsehung between the letters, and I promptly let off the pedal.
“That’s him?” Amadeo glared at the quickly vanishing outline of taillights. “Why are you falling behind?”
“I’m not risking Penelope’s life,” I gritted. “And neither will you.”
When we arrived at the dock, the other car was nowhere to be found and neither was a single other human being.
“Stay here,” I instructed as I checked my weapon.
Amadeo scoffed, his hand already on the door handle.
“No fucking way.”
I narrowed my eyes, giving him a wordless warning.
He hesitated for a beat, then slumped back into his seat. “Fine, fine. But only because it might jeopardize the lives of the DiMauro kids.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped out of the car, and a cold breeze hit my face as I stared into the distance, scanning the dock for movement. It was a nightmare from a security standpoint. A warehouse without any windows, one entrance on this side and probably another around the back that led out to the sea. There were shipping containers stacked ten high and blind spots everywhere.
Someone could have a gun pointed at me right now and I wouldn’t be able to tell.
Fuck!
I pulled out my gun, checked the bullets, then began walking toward the warehouse. I passed the containers, staying crouched until I reached the path along the length of the dock.
I was about to enter the building when a low rustling sounded behind me. I spun around, my gun still pointed ahead.
But there was nobody there.
“Put the gun away, Enzo.” The stranger’s voice echoed off the damp wooden planks, bouncing off the containers and the sheet-metal roller doors. “You don’t want to shoot me.”
I let out a sardonic breath as I secured it in my holster. “Actually, I really do.”
His chuckle surrounded me like a fog. “If I die, the world will know what your mother did.”
A man stepped out into the open, wearing a ski mask.
My jaw tightened. “Why hide?”
“Because I’m not a fucking idiot.” He glanced up at the red blinking lights on the security cameras, then shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You made a grave mistake when you contacted Bergman.”
