Shadow Storm (Shadow Riders 6)

Quintu immediately cleared the register, but then went into the back office to the safe. He dropped down on his knees on the plush red-and-gold carpet and began to work on the combination lock. Valentino’s men crowded behind Val and Dario as they started toward the wine cellar.

“Everyone in place?” Val asked, using the wire in his ear.

“Back door has been breached. We’re in,” Romeo Vitale answered. “Sir, this room is filled with money. Stacks of it. We’ve got about twenty sinners.”

“Anyone that is a significant player?”

“I don’t think so,” Romeo said, but there was a question in his voice.

“Tore Vitale? You have an opinion?” Val had to rely on those there.

A small silence followed the question. “There is one man both of us are considering. He’s sweating like a pig and keeps looking down the stairs toward the wine cellar like he thinks someone is going to save him,” Tore said. “But none of them are giving much away.”

“Kill everyone but him.” Val gave the order.

He wasn’t going to wait for one of the Ferraro family to second-guess his men. He had to be able to rely on them. Stefano and the others couldn’t always be with him. His crew needed to be discerning. Romeo didn’t trust his own judgment, but he felt the same way Tore did. Tore laid it out there. Neither man had a lot to go on, but at least they made a decision. Val was looking for leadership in his capos. Both Tore and Romeo were young, but he saw good qualities in them.

He started down the staircase, avoiding the narrow one that led to the wine cellar. This one led to the offices and the storehouse where all the walk-in refrigerators were, the giant shelves for breads and pastas and whatever else Miceli wanted stored. Behind the pantry doors was his real operation, the counting and bundling of his money.

Dario opened the pantry doors and went through to the back room first. Dead bodies lay on the floor in a river of blood. It should have bothered Val, but it didn’t. These men knew where that money came from and they didn’t care. As long as they got their cut, they were happy and kept their mouths shut. He glanced around the room. There were seven long rows of tables that went across the room, a chair every two feet for these men to sit and count the money, stack and band it for Miceli.

The money went into a floor-to-ceiling vault behind an iron gate, both of which were open. The vault was already neatly crammed with banded bills.

“Holy fuck,” whispered Luca. “This is going to hit Miceli hard.” He grinned at Valentino. “Really hard.”

“Start filling those sacks.” Val indicated the deep white canvas bags stacked to the right of the vault, clearly used to transport the money to other places. “Move fast. We’re running out of time here. Get as much as you can. I’m going downstairs to greet our good citizens. If there’s anyone of interest, we’ll nab them up and take them to the room; otherwise, we’ll just kill everyone and burn this place to the ground. You’ll only have about five to seven minutes so work fast or the money goes up with Miceli’s restaurant.”

“You got it,” Tore said. “Move, boys, you heard Don Saldi. Clean out the vault and everything off the tables. Put the sweaty pig in the car. Make sure you gag him. He seems to like ball gags. He’s got three of them in his pocket. Use one of them.”

Val was careful as he picked his way through the war zone, not wanting to get blood on his shoes. “Coming down, Stefano. You have them covered?”

“Yes.” Stefano’s voice was clipped.

Yeah. He’d seen the fucking bets being placed and what the filthy, vile creatures were betting on. Stefano was like him. He just wanted to end them.

“Did you keep Emmanuelle out of there?” He hoped her brother had done a better job of controlling her than he had.

“Unfortunately, she was running point. She saw the closed circuits before I did. In a way, Val, it was a good thing. She needs to know what you’re fighting. There’s going to be some things that you, me or Dario have to do that she may object to, and seeing those sick images will help her be understanding.”

“I don’t want her understanding if it means she has nightmares. Would you allow Francesca to see that shit?”

“I can assure you, Emme is not Francesca.”

Val made his way down the narrow stairs toward Miceli’s patrons, the wealthy men who were so bored they liked to be as depraved as possible, feeling as if they were entitled to do anything they chose simply by virtue of their bank accounts.

“No, Emme isn’t Francesca, but she still could use a little protection. A little care. Her mother fucked her up royally. Did you know that? She doesn’t believe in herself. Doesn’t see herself. That woman painted such an ugly picture of Emmanuelle, that Emme sees herself through those eyes, so much so I can barely get her to believe I love her. I can barely get her to believe anyone could love her. She might be capable of being a badass assassin, Stefano, but she’s my woman, and I want to treasure her the way you treasure your woman.”