Page 25

Halfway down, my phone rings.

It’s a number I have not seen in five years, saved under one word. Ruthless.

Jesse Simmons.

For four years the ex-SEAL worked for me as a hitman out of Los Angeles. Had his own code of conduct. He got out of the business by faking his death in Las Vegas five years ago.

“Jesse.”

“I need help to locate and safely extract a woman.”

The cold in my chest climbs a half-inch.

Jesse never asked for help in all the years I have known him.

I keep walking. Push the stairwell door open at the bottom. Step out into the garage. Sal is already in the driver’s seat of the car at the far end of the row, engine running.

“Name?”

“Rosalie Palmer.”

I stop walking.

The cold goes everywhere.

I put my hand on the roof of the car.

“That’s my woman. I’m in the process of tracking her. Tell me what you know,” I manage to bite out.

“Rosalie’s cousin Elsie is my woman. Two years ago, Andrei Zidaru took a fancy to Elsie but when she refused to get involved with him, Zidaru threatened her. Elsie sought refuge in my town while Rosalie stayed in LA and kept Elsie updated on whether Zidaru was still searching for her. Zidaru’s men have kidnapped Rosalie. They called Elsie from Rosalie’s phone, threatening to kill her if Elsie didn’t divulge her address here. They won’t hurt Rosalie yet as they’ll use her to get Elsie to leave with Zidaru.”

“The fucking bastard.”

He is the reason Rosalie misses her family so much. She’s been hiding in my house while protecting Jesse’s woman. And she has never once said a word.

Dio.

The hand on the roof of the car fists. Zidaru won’t live long.

I have had my own men watching him for months, because his operations are creeping into Moretti territory and because the man traffics in women and children, a despicable act I will not permit on my doorstep.

I open the back door of the car.

Get in.

“Vernon,” Sal says. “Industrial park off Alameda. Marco put a face on the man who got her into the SUV ten minutes ago. He’s one of Zidaru’s.”

Of course it’s Vernon. Zidaru’s warehouses are in Vernon. My men have been watching three of them from across the river for the last four months. We have a face on every man who has walked in and out of them. We have the shift pattern of their security. We have the number of weapons they keep on hand.

“I just got a location on Rosalie,” I say into the phone. “I’ll bring her home. Take care of Zidaru and any of his men who show up. I’ll handle everything on this end.”

I end the call.

Sal pulls out of the garage before I have finished pocketing the phone.

I ring my second in command.

“Take out every warehouse, account, ledger, and man on Zidaru’s payroll. By tonight, there is nothing of his operation left in this city for anyone to inherit. Do you understand me?”