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I’d just returned from the ruins that Voltex was left in. This second fire did so much more damage than the first and called for a forceful and excessive retaliation. But we need to put our house in order before engaging the Mob, which is why it’s time to reel in Orlando De Luca.
I pull up to Sal’s condo, my tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Sal’s door opens before I can knock. “You look like shit, fratello,” he greets me, a smirk playing on his lips.
I brush past him, my eyes scanning the apartment, and instantly note that something is off. The usual clutter is gone, replaced by an almost clinical neatness.
“Going somewhere?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Then I see the book on the coffee table, its cover embossed with raised dots. Braille. My gaze snaps back to Sal, who’s watching me warily.
“What the fuck, Salvatore?” I growl, taking a step toward him.
Sal holds up his hands, palms out. “It’s not what you think, Dante. I’m just learning to read Braille.”
I freeze, my eyes darting around the room. Now that I’m looking, I see other changes—tactile markers on light switches and labels on kitchen cabinets. My chest tightens as understanding dawns.
“Kira,” I breathe, the name both a question and an accusation.
Sal nods, his expression a mix of defiance and apprehension. I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. When I open them, I fix Sal with a hard stare.
“If you hurt her, Salvatore, I will tear your heart out. I’m dead serious.”
“It’s nothing serious. We’re friends, that’s all.”
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the past few days. “I just hope Kira knows what she’s getting into.”
“I should be the one being asked that,” Sal mutters under his breath
“You’re on your own there, prick. Anyway, get dressed,” I snap. “We’re going to Orlando’s.”
Sal’s eyebrows shoot up. “De Luca? Why?”
“We need him back in the fold yesterday. All our ranks need to be tight as shit.”
I pace the room, tension making it impossible to stand still. “I’ve just returned from Detroit. A source tells me Boston is getting ready to strike a deal with a big syndicate.”
Sal slumps against the counter and sighs. “You heard right, fratello. It’s the Shadow Gang in Philadelphia. They’re about five hundred strong.”
I pause, surprised by this.
The Philadelphia Shadow Gang. Hired fighters, barbarians who’ve gotten rich by contracting themselves out to fight mob wars. They’re a force to be reckoned with, but not an insurmountable threat to the Outfit.
“Sure, they have the numbers, but they’re disorganized. They’re mercenaries, not strategists. They fight for the highest bidder, not for loyalty.”
Sal puts up his index finger. “That may be true, but they more than make up for it in brutality. Dante, these fuckers would carve up their pregnant grandmother if she crossed them.”
“Which only shows how weak and desperate the Mob is to descend to that level.”
“They mean to win this time by any means necessary. On the other hand, we should rethink this non-engagement rule and take decisive action against the Mob ASAP. Dante, watching them contract a five hundred-man army to fight us is like watching gangrene spread.”
The weight of Sal’s words sinks in. It’s true, but Addy needs to know what this means for Benjamin O’Shea. It’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to, but it needs to happen today.
“Agreed,” I muse aloud. “We should act before they do more damage. I’ll speak to Nico today.”
“Fuck yes!” Sal does a subtle fist pump and then heads to his bedroom to change. His voice drifts back to the living room. “Though I do feel bad for the Mob. To have the Italians murder Naomi eighteen years ago and now lure and do the same to her daughter? That’s cause for war in any book.”
I snort. “Someone needs to tell them we might be fucked up, but we generally never carry a grudge for that long.”
Sal emerges, buttoning up a fresh shirt. “I know. They’re actually the ones that behave like pussies. No offense to Addy.”
