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We all stand near the plane when three SUVs come driving toward us before stopping with screeching tires.
Damiano climbs out, muttering something under his breath while looking like he’s about to rip someone's head off.
“It’s a good day,” I say. “We know where Miguel is. Why aren’t you happy?”
“I am.”
“Sure as fuck doesn’t look like it.”
“Dario, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. Let’s get this over with so I can take some time off to deal with–”
He stops talking which has all of us raising eyebrows at him.
“Get in the fucking plane,” he shouts.
Curious as fuck, I bite my tongue and board the private jet.
As the pilots prepare for take-off, I grab a seat next to Renzo while Angelo takes the one beside Damiano. The rest of the men take their seats and wisely keep the noise level down, seeing as Damiano is in one hell of a mood.
“Franco’s babies are sick,” I tell our boss. “They all have the shits.”
“Christ, poor man,” Angelo mutters. “I’d rather go to war than deal with three babies who all have diarrhea.”
“Can we not talk about shit,” Damiano growls.
“Seriously, who pissed you off?” Angelo asks him.
“Just focus on the mission,” he snaps.
As soon as we’re in the air, I get up and retrieve the bag of weapons we keep on board from the compartment.
I check my rifle and scope while the others do the same with their weapons. When I’m satisfied that the rifle is ready, I place it back in the shoulder bag.
Settling back in my seat, I pull out my phone and go into my app so I can check whether Miguel’s been spotted anywhere else.
An hour later, I let out a sigh because there’s been no other sightings of the man.
“What?” Renzo asks.
“Miguel hasn’t been spotted again.”
“Where was he last seen?” Damiano asks, his eyes trained on the oval window beside him.
“A traffic light near one of his clubs,” I answer.
“He’ll probably be there until late,” Renzo mutters. “Which means we’ll have to wait him out.”
“Or we go in.” Damiano turns his gaze to us. “I want this done as quickly as possible. We’ve wasted enough time on this fucker.”
I agree.
“How do you want to do this, Damiano?” Angelo asks.
He thinks for a moment, then says, “We’ll all go in. Our men, as well.” Pausing, he rubs his fingers over the scruff on his jaw. “We’ll walk up to the fucker as a family, and I’ll kill him in front of everyone. It will send a message not to fuck with us.”
“And the witnesses?” Renzo asks.
“Let them talk.”
