Page 30 of Primo DeLuca

Chapter Twelve

Primo

The roar of my motorcycle idled when I turned onto the service road that led to a private quay sitting on the Mississippi River. We drove along an alley next to a line of warehouses sitting off the pier.

The Vittorios had purchased the warehouse a few years ago, thinking they were being sneaky. They were unaware that we were the ones who sold them the place. It was located in neutral territory but gave us insight into the Vittorios’ activities.

The tin that covered the outside of the warehouse was speckled with rust, the remaining paint flaking off the building like dead patches of skin. A large section of the roof was missing too, giving the building the appearance of being abandoned.

I followed Brizio inside through a large opening in the side wall that appeared to have been ripped open by an angry DeLuca. A metal fence rolled to a squeaky close behind us, securing the opening. We drove deep into the building until we reached a large portion rebuilt for the illegal gambling operation the crew often ran from this location.

We parked, and a few of our guys gave a wave before assisting Brizio with transporting our captives. The muted cries of the two men echoed through the dusty and drafty space. Brizio carted them through the building like they were slabs of slaughtered livestock.

“Capo,” Bartolo called out, and judging by the way he’d said my title, he wanted a word.

He greeted me with a head nod and accepted mine in return. The way our men were running around the warehouse, you’d have thought it was still ours.

Bartolo leaned closer to me when I stepped in front of him. “Aurelio caught the two who thought they were following you here. He said they put up a fight and lost the battle before he could extract any useful information.”

“Okay, appreciate the update,” I said before stepping off. Someone wanted me dead and was willing to lose a lot of men attempting to accomplish the mission.

The doors to the offices on either side of the long and wide hallway in the back of the warehouse were left wide open. Brizio had beaten me to the office and was standing outside the door. Distressed voices emanated from within. His twisted smile was one I knew well. It had that savage twinge to it that let me know he was down for whatever evil deeds sprouted from my brain.

I stepped into the office, noticing the furniture inside was shoved against the wall to my left. To my right was an old metal desk missing one of its skinny legs and shoved against the other wall.

Four men from Creto’s ten-man protection detail were lined up against the far wall directly in front of me. They were being guarded by my cousins Angelo and Lucca, each with automatic weapons aimed and primed to shed blood. Machetes rested against their backs, anchored in place by thick black straps.

They were two of our newest to become made. At twenty-two and twenty-three, they had put in the work and proven their loyalty enough that I was keeping an eye on them for a few special projects I had in store for the future.

It didn’t take but a glance at our prisoners for my brows to shoot up in recognition. Two were higher-ranking members of the Vittorio family. Creto’s cousin, Prevlo, who was next in line for Capo of Kansas City, and his Uncle Genovio were also among the crew. This was too much family power to be Creto’s protection. What the fuck were these Vittorios up to?

Brizio abruptly stepped out of the office, pulling all of the attention. He returned, wheeling in Creto and the agent so that the four sets of swollen and bloodshot eyes watching could see that whatever Creto and the agent had been up to in St. Louis had failed.

The human cargo was parked in the center of the room. The scent of blood, sweat, and fear permeated the air, an odor I was used to breathing. I stood next to the bound men, staring down the line of the ones against the wall and finding two brave enough to meet my eyes. Silently, I assessed and stalked them with my gaze, allowing them time to get their lies in order.

“Anyone mind telling me who was stupid enough to stir up the fires of hell and try to take out a DeLuca in his own territory?”

Brizio took a seat on the wobbly desk, facing the men with his feet dangling over the side. He’d withdrawn a pack of peanuts from his pocket and was casually popping them into his mouth like he was watching a movie.

“No one has anything to say. Well, let’s see if I can get you guys talking.”

I drew my weapon, aimed it around the room, and stopped on Creto before I pulled the trigger. Cries of protest on Creto’s behalf sounded.

Creto’s groans, though muffled, still managed to ring with enough anguish to fill the thick air with more tension and send a vibrating tingle through me. I loved the sound of the damned.

“I aimed for his leg the first time, but I promise you, the next bullet will be in his fucking head if you don’t tell me something. Are you willing to stand there in your silence and let me start a war, one that you all can’t, and won’t win? Why the fuck are so many of you in St. Louis? Did you come to make sure I was dead? Who hired the team of hitmen to take me out?”

Wide eyes, a few open mouths, and faces masked in seriousness, stared. It was only a matter of time before one cracked.

“An answer to each question would be nice.”

Eyes traveled back and forth between me and the shivering Creto. Tears dripped from his one visible eye while he muttered unintelligible words.

“Bit of advice. If each one of you gives me a partial answer to each question, it doesn’t count as snitching.”

Two sets of brows lifted, considering my proposal.

“We were assigned to protect Creto,” the first one stated and received accusing eyes from the rest. However, when I placed the barrel of my pistol to the back of Creto’s head, another began to mutter a few words.

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