Sempre (Sempre 1)

Vincent shook his head as Corrado pulled the car behind a vacant building, partially concealing it beside a Dumpster. “I never imagined you’d be the one to give me a pep talk about this.”

“Well, you heard my wife,” he said as he cut the engine. “She told me to come home, and I need you to have a level head for that to be possible.”

They climbed out and walked alongside the building, staying out of sight. Corrado stopped when he reached the corner, and Vincent spotted a black Mercedes parked among some trees.

“Squint’s car,” Corrado said, reaching into his coat for one of his guns. “I’m going to check it out. Cover me.”

Vincent pulled out a gun and flicked off the safety as Corrado jogged across the road. He peered into the car and tried the doors as Vincent watched for signs of movement. Corrado looked around, glancing into the windows of an old business, before returning. “It’s empty.”

Vincent started to speak when a loud noise rang out behind them, startling him into silence. He swung around, aiming his weapon, but Corrado pulled him around the corner instead. Multiple rushed voices blurred together, cutting through the night as they hid alongside the vacant building Corrado had checked out moments earlier.

Three men stepped out from a warehouse and paused in the spot Vincent and Corrado had been standing moments ago. Vincent recognized Squint, a guy with shaggy blond hair nonchalantly clutching an AK-47 beside him. It was one of Volkov’s guys, one who had been in the pizzeria. The third man was vaguely familiar, but Vincent couldn’t place him in the dark.

“Brazen,” Corrado said. “Brave and careless. It’s a dangerous combination.”

“Demented is what they are,” Vincent said as Squint pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to the third guy. He and the man with the AK-47 disappeared inside.

“Unlocked,” Corrado observed. “I suppose we can add stupid to the list of adjectives.”

The third guy sprinted across the street toward Squint’s car as Corrado slipped around to the back of the building. Vincent took a few steps around to the front, remaining in the shadows. He reached the corner just as Corrado warded off the guy, pointing his gun at his head.

The guy threw up his hands as he dropped the keys. “Corrado.”

The voice struck Vincent as familiar. His stomach sank. “Tarullo?”

The guy turned, fear flashing across his face. Dean Tarullo, the youngest son of the man who had saved Carmine’s life.

“Uh, Vincent, sir,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Before Vincent could respond, Corrado threw the boy against the side of the building, patting him down. Pressing his gun into the boy’s throat, his finger lightly touched the trigger. “You know why we’re here. How many people are inside?”

“Five or six, I think. Maybe more.”

“Not a good enough answer. Think harder.”

“I saw six.”

“Better,” Corrado said. “Are they all armed?”

“The ones I saw were.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“You better figure it out,” Corrado said, “before I kill you.”

“Shit! Okay! Nunzio’s the only one I know. He talked me into this. I didn’t realize what he was doing. I didn’t know he was—”

His rambling was cut off when Corrado slammed his gun into the side of his head. “I’m only interested in names.”

“Nunzio . . . that girl, the nurse.”

Vincent’s anger festered, seeping into his taut muscles. “Jen?”

“Yeah, her. There are some others I don’t know, but an older man’s in charge. Ivan, I think.”

“And what about the girl?” Corrado asked. “Haven?”