Page 47 of Inescapable Ties
“Remember, Jorge is the one with the Virgin Mary tattooed on the side of his face,” Ettore said. “If you kill him, I will put a bullet in your femur.”
I had known Ettore long enough to know they were empty threats. He would never harm his own men - well, close friends - but had the tendency to threaten us when he was under pressure.
“I’m pretty sure the Virgin Mary was just getting some on the side,” Felix muttered.
Ettore’s body turned gracefully, his sharp movements like the swift turn of a predator. As he faced Felix, his piercing gaze could cut through steel and make even the boldest of men fall silent. The surrounding air seemed to still as Ettore’s presence demanded respect and silence.
As we rounded a bend, the abandoned warehouse came into view. It wasn’t just any warehouse; it was one of those old ones - built in the early 1900s - that were now strewn across the outskirts of the city like forgotten relics of a bygone era. Time and weather had not been kind to it. Its paint was stripped, revealing the raw, worn wood beneath. The windows were mostly smashed in, with jagged shards sticking out like menacing teeth.
Two men stood on guard at the front doors. Their eyes squinted as they spotted us, and their hands instinctively reached for their guns.
“The van is bulletproof,” I said. “But even that only holds for so long.”
Felix muttered how we should have done a stealth mission, but unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. There were no buildings or shrubbery to hide behind, and from my initial scoping of the area, I found bright flood lights that would come on at night, giving away anyone who may try to hide themselves.
We were out of the van before the men could determine if we were friend or foe. Felix and Rocco took them out in near perfect sync - it was fucking weird; it must be a twin thing. Rocco then quickly scaled the overhang and set up his sniper rifle, aiming it inside the warehouse as we stormed the building.
There was a lot of yelling and cussing in Spanish. From what I could tell, the number of men wasn’t unmanageable, but having to make sure I wasn’t killing the target made it harder. I had the focus on the person before I shot them.
I glanced at one man’s face. No Virgin Mary tattoo, just a shitty mouth full of gold teeth. I shot him through his right eye, and he crumpled to the ground. I found another man, with no Virgin Mary, but three dots tattooed under his eye. He received the same fate.
“Got him,” Vincenzo radioed from the other side of the warehouse.
“Good; stay with him. We’ll take care of the rest of these idiots,” Ettore’s voice crackled back.
The four of us took out the remaining men, the smell of gunpowder in the air as we continued our hunt. The warehouse, once a place of production, had turned into an arena of death. Gunshots echoed in the cavernous space and off the metal structures we were hiding behind.
The deafening gunfire and frantic shouting finally quieted, leaving a peaceful silence. I stood amongst the carnage of the warehouse, looking at the bloodstains and bodies that lay scattered across the floor. We had successfully eliminated every last man inside.
It was as per usual; we completed our mission with precision and skill. I walked to find the rest of my team, surveying the aftermath. As I saw the sheer number of bodies, a sense of accomplishment and relief washed over me, knowing that we had finished and were safe.
“Can’t believe I fucking got shot,” Vincenzo muttered, holding his upper left arm. “What am I, seventeen?”
I cackled at the memory. It had been our first ‘real’ job, and he had gotten shot twice in the arm. He hadn’t made the same mistake again - until now.
“You captured the flag, though,” Felix said.
“Yeah,” Vincenzo said, digging his boot into Jorge’s side.
With Jorge in our hands, it felt like we were inching closer and closer to discovering the mystery of who burned the warehouse and exacting our revenge.
Chapter twenty-four
Emilio
“You’refuckingsick,youknow that?” Ettore said.
“A little bit, probably,” I responded.
We had caught Jorge and now he was bound and confined in the back of our van. Felix wasn’t lying about his carsickness, and, instead of pulling over so he could vomit, I had him aim at our hostage in the back.
“Fucking stinks in here,” Vincenzo muttered.
“Well, we’re almost there, so deal with it,” I said.
Within a few minutes, we had pulled up to our warehouse. Vincenzo hauled Jorge out of the van, grabbing him by his bound wrists and letting his body drag along the floor.
We were all big dudes - over six feet - but there was no doubt Vincenzo was the “scariest” looking one out of the group. He was 6’6, with almost every inch of him covered in tattoos. When he brushed his long hair back, it was like having a monster look at you.
