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“Get the hell out of my way, asshole!” the man in the car from behind me yells as he zooms off.
I take the wheel in a firm grip, focusing on the road as I step on the gas and make a quick turn to get to Brooklyn, where Father left Beppe in charge.
The sound of my phone’s ringtone causes a sharp hiss to fall from my lips. I curse under my breath as I ignore my phone ringing on the other seat.
I can’t think clearly anymore. My chest heaves in anger as I make my way to the warehouse.
The trails of dark, thick smoke are in the clouds as I get closer. This is really happening.
Fuck. Everything.
I stop in front of the burning building with my eyes staring at the fire in disbelief.
The wooden rooftop is in flames, with parts missing from their place.
Some men are running out of the building frantically.
I angrily open the car door and slam it shut as I stand to witness the building go down in flames.
Beppe is standing beside two dead men. Gunshot wounds are visible in their chest as they lay in their blood.
He kneels to shut their eyes, his head slightly moving from side to side.
“Beppe! Beppe!” I yell angrily.
He turns to look at me as I approach him with heavy steps.
He has a pistol in his hand. His blue shirt is stained with dark ash.
“How the hell did this happen?”
“The fucking bastard!” He points to the ground near the entrance of the building.
“Gustavos,” he says with contempt through gritted teeth. I throw a fist into the air furiously.
Beppe stares into my eyes, startled, as I grip the collar of his shirt unexpectedly.
He is shorter than I am. I force his head up as he struggles to keep my gaze.
“Find them. All of them!”
He wobbles on his feet as I release his shirt with force, shaking his balance.
I hear the sound of sirens draw closer to the burning building as I walk to my car. Without hesitating, I hop into my car and drive to meet Daniel at East Harlem.
An infuriating pulse echoes through my veins with every power to stay calm. I’ve just fucking lost a shit ton of money. And coke.
“Merda (Shit)!” I hit the wheel, enraged. The car’s horn goes off with a sharp sound.
Daniel is waiting by his car with a cigar in his mouth as I settle to park my car beside his.
The breeze has the collar of his gray shirt flying in different directions. His shirt is well tucked in his black trousers, with his feet crossed. He has his back resting on his white Porsche. His brown hair is packed in a low bun.
“It’s all gone, Daniel,” I say as I walk to him. “All of L’Uomo’s coke stash and money.”
Daniel releases a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth as he drops the used cigar to the ground and kills the light with his feet.
“What are you talking about, Ale?”
