The Hit (Team Zulu 1)

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’m struggling to comprehend how the guy from the pizza commercials is some all-powerful crime boss I need to go on the run from.” It was like trying to believe Betty White was an evil drug lord.

Shep sipped his coffee before answering. “Franky Russo was the youngest child in a large Italian family. They were poor, so he grew up tough. As a six-year-old, he witnessed the brutal murder of his father and eldest brother. Many years later, he avenged them. And ten years ago, his only son was gunned down by one of the rival families. His ruthlessness has always been legendary, but I reckon it was his son’s death that shifted his brutality up a gear.

“Franky is hardworking, intelligent, and singularly focused on achieving his goals. He has the ability to wear any number of masks given the situation. He’s a legitimate business owner whose lucrative nationwide chain of restaurants donates unused food to homeless shelters. That same business is a front for his illegal operations. Money laundering, drug distribution, and human trafficking.”

My eyes narrowed on Shep. “How do you know all this stuff?” The identities of the Wolf Street Mafia’s upper tier had always remained secret.

“I have an associate who’s an intelligence specialist. And I’m always of the mind to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer. So, I can assure you, it would be unwise to underestimate Franky Russo.”

A shiver rippled through me. “Since he’s definitely not my friend, what else should I know about him?”

Shep leaned his hip against the counter and topped up our coffees. “He’s a billionaire, yet he lives in a modest home in an upper-middle-class suburb. He might invite his neighbors over for a civilized dinner and later the same evening broker a deal to send a shipment of meth to the west coast. One day he’ll attend a fundraiser for the Helping Hand Youth Foundation he established, the next he’ll make a call to import a bunch of illegals, forcing them to work in one of his drug labs.

“Above all else, he demands obedience and respect. And when he doesn’t get it, the real Franky comes out to play. The one who trapped four snitches in a car and set it on fire, burning them alive. The one who caught a drug mule sampling the product and forced him to overdose. The one who buried an undercover cop neck deep in a field, slashed his face and waited for the coyotes to smell the blood. Trust me, you never want to meetthatFranky. And if he finds out what I’ve done, that’s exactly who’ll come for us.”

Shep’s pointed stare did nothing to ease my anxiety. The room remained quiet while I thought on his words, the only sound the crackling of the fire. The food I’d eaten curdled in my gut. “Jesus. So, you’re serious about me moving to another county?”

Shep nodded.

I sipped coffee to relieve the dryness in my mouth. “Where, then?”

“Australia,” he said, while scooping up the last of his eggs with a piece of toast. Good to know all this talk of torture and murder hadn’t affected his appetite.

“Of course.” A nervous laugh escaped me. “To the other side of the damn planet.”

“The choices were limited. The guy creating your new identity only has stolen passports from Australia or Russia available at short notice. I picked the more sensible option on your behalf.” He moved his empty plate to the side, then took a sip of coffee. “Believe me, I’ve considered every scenario, and this is the only one where you have a chance of being safe. And by safe, I mean still breathing. There are risks involved, but this is your best shot.”

My shoulders slumped. Shep acted as if we were chatting about my weekend plans, not escaping the Mafia and starting a new life.

“That reminds me, I have to call it in.” He walked to the dining room and pulled a cell from a backpack.

“Call what in?”

“I have to tell Franky you’re dead. That the contract is complete.” Shep thumbed the keys on the rudimentary cell and sent the message, then threw it into the glowing embers of the fire. The acrid stench of melting plastic stung my nose.

“Eat up, Cameron. Your food’s going cold.”

It wasn’t the only thing turning icy. I tried to suppress the tremor that ran through my bones at the prospect of being dead to the world.

When Franky Russo read that text, he’d believe Shep had murdered me, and I was only safe for as long as that lie was maintained. Shep had freaked me out with his warnings about the Wolf Street boss. It blew my mind, but I was starting to believe his plans weren’t so crazy.

What about Justin? How he’d outrun the Mob so far was a mystery to me, but it was only a matter of time before they tracked him down. I wanted to help him, but I had no idea where he was. Hell, I didn’t even know whereIwas. Leaving to search for my brother was a fool’s mission.

Jesus, was I choosing to stay in this cabin with Shep and go along with his plans? Sharing space with the hitman filled me with unease. And moving to Australia? That was too much to consider.

My head ached thinking of the unknowns that lay ahead. There was only one certainty.

Life as I knew it was over.