Dark Heir by Faye Pierce
Chapter Four
Leo
“What happened?” Angelo wouldn’t interrupt me for nothing, certainly not the particular sort of activity that I was engaged in. Whatever this is, it is serious.
I need to stop thinking about the way Midnight felt on my fingers. I need to stop thinking about the red handprint on her pert ass. I need to focus. She’s a means to an end, no more, no less. It doesn’t matter that I want her. I can have my fun and then whatever happens will happen. I don’t want to hurt her, but she’s the only option. Nobody else in Caspian’s miserable life means as much to him as her. Nobody else can get me what I want.
“There’s been a development, Sir,” Angelo starts as we make our way down the hallway. “It appears that Mr. Knight has made his first move against us.”
“Get to the point.”
“The guns deal that was to take place on Armitage Street?”
“Yes, what of it?” I’m being shorter with him than I should be. He’s only doing his job. Angelo is good to me; he’s always been good to me and my family and loyal to the father I never even got a chance to know. Even if he wasn’t my cousin, he’s the sort of man that I would want to have by my side.
“It appears that Mr. Knight sent over a few vans of highly motivated people to ensure that things went as wrong as possible, and he confiscated all of our product.”
I nod. “Things are going to have to move a little more quickly then, I suppose.” I rake my hands through my hair, pushing it back into place, and accept the suit jacket my hired man is holding for me, sliding the expensive cut of material onto my shoulders, buttoning it in front of me. “I didn’t think he would find my invitation so quickly.” To say I underestimated him wouldn’t be quite right; I expected him to be just as stupid as I’ve seen him be in private all of the time.
I wonder what Caspian would do if he knew that my fingers were just inside his sister, that she was melting into a Midnight-shaped puddle in front of me.
“The gun deal was made under the name DePonte,” I confess to Angelo. “I wish I could have seen the look of shock on that smug bastard's face when he saw that gun roster.”
“Sir, you’re not worried about the guns?”
“What guns?”
Angelo pauses beside me, looking at me with a curious expression.
I grin. “Those gun crates are weighted, but empty. I’ve had a long time to plan this. I wouldn’t be so stupid as to lose that much ammunition and put weapons into my enemy’s hands simply because he found a shipping order. I am curious to see if he attempts to ransom those carts for his sister, which would be stupid.”
I’ll admit that I thought that he might take a little longer before making the connection. Caspian can only assume both myself and Midnight were kidnapped. I just thought that he might think that a little longer. I personally hope he freaked out, had himself a little fit of rage before going into planning mode. I was there when Midnight was shot. I remember having to pull him back together, or at least I pretended to. I might have pushed him into his vices more than I should have, but I liked seeing him spiral. It is the least he deserves.
“He knows that the DePonte deal was made by you, Sir.”
“I know. That’s the whole point.”
I’m not bothered by the idea of Caspian coming for me. Time’s up for one of us. I’m done waiting.
My car is waiting by the time we reach the steps to the car pass. The door opens for me, and I ease myself inside. “Don’t worry Angelo, all is going according to plan.”
* * *
My warehouse is in shambles.
I can already tell from outside that Caspian’s rage has torn through the place in a hailstorm of bullets. I can tell my men didn’t give up their payload easily. It’s too quiet, the only sounds to interrupt the silence as men are loaded into cars the occasional ragged breath, and the slow-moving tires passing over gravel and bullet casings as those cars transport their precious cargo off to the private doctors I keep on staff for exactly this reason.
I don’t take pleasure in my people getting hurt.
From everything I’ve learned about my father, he was the sort of man to play fast and loose with a good deal of his men. Only the inner circle was ever really protected. In so many ways the story of my father is a legend. To me, it’s riddled with weaknesses I can improve upon, and I plan to. This particular little debacle was a necessary evil.
I leave the car and head into the warehouse. Just as I suspected, the crates are open, and there are scuff marks on the floor where Caspian’s men dragged the crates out of here. They are all marked with the DePonte emblem, of course.
“Giovanni.” I get the attention of the warehouse. He turns to me. Other than a black eye he appears fine. I shake his hand, “We managed to salvage three of the crates there in the back it looks like? Good man, good man.” I clap him on the back and start toward those crates as if going to check those too.
“It looks like they got the shipment from today though, boss. I’m not sure how they knew it was happening. I swear we been careful, boss.”
“I know you have. I don’t know how they knew either, but I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Where are we on moving the remaining inventory?”
“Got a truck arriving in thirty to clear out the warehouse; cleaners arrive about an hour after that. Good ones too, it’ll be like we were never even here by sundown.”
I nod. “Good, that’s what I’m paying them for.”
Giovanni doesn’t know that the guns weren’t in there; he’s still doing the best he can. He’s a good man to have working for me.
But knowing that any of the crates remain gives me a sense of unease tightening in my stomach. The further I head back into the warehouse, the worse it looks. Machines and packing materials are strewn about the place. The amount of blood is thicker here.
But why? Why concentrate their efforts here unless they believed that the really good stuff was back here? If that is the case, then why leave it?
The dots connect a moment too slowly, and I hear the screech of tires just outside the open loading bay doors. Shouting and shuffling feet come second.
One thing I made sure to learn over the course of my time with Caspian is all of his battle formations, for lack of a better term. Caspian might be newer to this world we live in, but he is a fighter through and through, scrappy, with an eye for tactics, unlike anything I’ve seen before. I can see why he did so well for himself so quickly, and I fully intend to do even better. I’ve learned from both his mistakes and my father’s.
What to do.
What not to do.
Like not allowing myself to be surprised in my own damned warehouse.
Either Caspian’s men knew there are no guns in those crates and the whole thing was all a ruse, part of my power play, or they’ve come back for what was missed the first round.
Unluckily for them, they aren’t going to be returning to an abandoned warehouse like they expect. I’m ready for them. I’m not going to allow this one surprise to ruin so many years of careful planning.
I signal to my men, and they move into position easily. In quiet, quickened movements they draw their weapons and wait for Caspian’s men to enter.
There’s more of them than I expect. They ambush us quickly.
This is what I’m best at, if I’m really honest with myself. This is what I was born for. I’ve always had an attraction to violence that I can’t explain.
Perhaps I’m an adrenaline junkie. I like the smell of gunpowder in the air. I like the feel of my fist colliding with just about anything really. It’s not that I have a temper. I keep solid control of myself when I need to. When the opportunity presents itself though, I can’t help it.
My feet move on their own accord. The boxing and hand-to-hand training that I’ve participated in since my childhood makes weaving through the bodies second nature to me. Giovanni tosses a gun in my direction, which I catch easily before I throw myself into the fray. I should stay back, being the leader and all, but I never could understand those generals who would hide behind and plan whenever their front line gets to see action.
This day is turning out better than I predicted.
It’s apparent to me that Caspian isn’t taking this threat lightly. These men that he’s sent to finish the job, they are not the B squad. These are people that he knows will get shit done. At least that’s an ego boost.
I work my way through them, one opponent at a time, and my next punch is deflected by the exact same move I would use to block. This man and I carry on in this dance until it becomes obvious who I’m sparring with. He’s the only man I’ve ever been evenly matched in a fight with, a man that I trained myself: Antonio Vargas.
Ammunition exhausted, we fight knuckle to knuckle, neither one of us willing to give up ground. I hit his jaw, and he responds with a jab in my kidney. He’s younger, but I’m stronger, faster, and I need to win.
So I do.
The fighting dies down around me, and I can hear our win in my men, victorious but not boastful. Soon, it’s only me and Antonio left locked in battle. I have him on his knees, my fist cocked back, victory only a moment away.
Recognition took Antonio longer than it did me. He’s lost. His men are defeated. He knows that he’s looking his death in the eye, swollen eye, busted lip and all.
Still, I hesitate.
Something I absolutely should not, cannot do under any circumstances. I’ve seen what happens to men who show weakness in times like this. I’ve seen the consequences when exceptions are made. I know that it always, always comes back to bite you in the ass.
Still, I trained Antonio. I was there with him at three in the morning when his night terrors wouldn’t allow him to sleep and he needed to hit something. I was there to teach him how to harness his anger. I put him in Caspian’s hands, and now…
My fist lowers.
He’s going to run back to Caspian and tell him everything. How can he not? Letting him would mean showing my hand more than I would like. I shouldn’t care if this man lives or dies. Then again, if I recklessly throw away life...what am I doing this for?
Am I any better than Caspian if I murder everybody who gets in my way?
“I know you’re going to go running to Caspian with your tail tucked between your legs.” I’m speaking mainly to myself. I pick my words carefully, making sure this mercy sounds like confidence, not weakness. “You go ahead and tell him that DePonte is coming for everything he stole. You tell him that’s a promise.”
I drop him and stagger backward. I wipe the back of my hand against my lip, not that it helps to clear the copper tang from my mouth. Antonio coughs his own blood onto the ground. I’m sure he will relay my message. I can see the way he wraps an arm around his torso. He's likely got a cracked rib. Even with the vest he’s wearing.
Vest.
Why is he wearing body armor to return to a place that they thought was cleared?
“Boss?” The voice is Angelo’s. He wants to know why Antonio isn’t dead, and what comes next.
“How many dead?” I ask instead of answering.
“Sixteen, Sir.”
I spin, looking over the bodies. “They were too armed to just be collecting what they missed,” I say to myself under my breath. My fingers dance over the carnage, ticking off the bodies in a mental count. All of them are wearing those same vests. Ever since Midnight, Caspian insisted that they all wear the things unless they know it’s a cleared building. Like they should have thought this one was.
“Why now? Why send so many for just a couple crates?” I say, louder this time, so Angelo can hear me. My eyes gloss over my own men, a sinking feeling returning. Were those crates left intentionally?
“What are you getting at, boss?”
“Why come in armored cars...vests...to pick up guns?” My eyes narrow as my voice lowers, “Somebody tipped them off.”