Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

I don’t bother looking up from the screen, simply raise my hand and flip him the bird. A thunderous laugh fills the space between us before the door shuts in his wake.

An hour later, I can still hear the roaring in my head.

I step out of the car. “Who started it?”

“Rizzuto,” Aurelio, my main man at the Catania Port, says. “One of the cranes has been out of commission since Friday, causing delays. Rizzuto tried to bribe the freight forwarder to get bumped to the top of the import customs queue and then through the inspections and out the gate. He went ballistic when they wouldn’t do it. Port security got involved, and there was a confrontation. Rizzuto holed up in the admin offices, taking the terminal operators hostage, and is threatening to start shooting unless his cargo is processed and released tonight.”

I look up at the third floor of the building that serves as the port control tower. Rizzuto is one of the biggest alcohol smugglers in Sicily. He brings in high-end French and Spanish wines and pays hefty bribes to have port and customs officials rubber-stamp the necessary clearances. I don’t give a fuck what he’s peddling as long as he keeps up his part of our deal and drops half a million into my bank account annually for letting him use the Catania harbor. Delays are not uncommon, as Rizzuto is well aware of. And he doesn’t have a history of being unreasonable.

“Has anyone checked his containers?” I ask.

“No. They’re still at the stacks.”

“Let’s have a look at them.”

Even at such a late hour, the port is buzzing with life. Shouted orders fill the air as the cargo is loaded and unloaded from the vessels by gantry cranes. Forklifts and terminal tractors move around the storage yard, stacking the containers that then undergo final inspections before being released for dispatch and loaded onto the distribution trucks. I don’t like all that commotion, so only come here when it’s absolutely necessary. Assassinating people is so much easier than working with them.

“Open the first one,” I tell the dockworker standing by the three green containers in the temporary storage area.

The man hurries to unlock the heavy-duty swing doors and then moves out of the way. I take the crowbar from Aurelio and step inside.

Wooden crates bearing the logo of a well-known French winery in Bordeaux are neatly stacked one on top of the other, filling nearly the entire steel container. A faint woody odor permeates the air. I jam the chisel end of the crowbar between the two boards of the closest crate and push. The planks break and splinter. White powder spills from the plastic package that got torn up by the busted edge of the destroyed box frame and drips to the floor next to my shoe. I catch a dribble of the fine particles with my fingers and bring them to my mouth. Cocaine.

Spitting out the bitter traces, I throw the crowbar aside. “Find a suitable place and incinerate the whole load. I want it done by morning, Aurelio.”

“Sure, boss.”

I nod and head back out, while fury rages inside me. There’s only one person on the island who can get his hands on coke this pure.

Guido is lounging by his sports car, chatting with one of the forklift drivers, but when he sees me returning to the control tower, he heads toward me. “Aurelio messaged me. What’s going on?”

“Calogero tried to smuggle his drugs in Rizzuto’s cargo.” I grab the rifle out of the back of my SUV and slam the door shut.

“Fuck. You sure it’s his?”

“Yes.” I cock the rifle and head to the tower’s main entrance. “Go help Aurelio organize the torching of that shit,” I tell my brother over my shoulder.

The bottom level of the building is a vast warehouse, used to store machinery and cargo that’s been held up at port for various reasons. The floors above are filled with administrative offices. My footfalls make hollow sounds as I climb the metal stairs to the top level where the control room and port operator center are located.

“Has he calmed down?” I ask the man standing guard at the door.

“A little. He still won’t let anyone leave the room, but he stopped waving his gun after we told him you’re here.”

I nod and step inside the control room.

Rizzuto is sitting in one of the chairs facing the wall of windows with a view of the container terminal, his gun is casually draped across his thighs. Four operators are gathered in the opposite corner, their eyes frantic.

“Rafael!” Rizzuto smiles. “I’m so glad you could make it. Hopefully, we can resolve this misunderstanding quickly so I can have my cargo processed and on its way as planned.”

His eyes fall to the rifle in my hand, and that smile gets wiped off his face immediately. “Umm . . . I’m sorry if I overreacted, but I’m on a really tight schedule.”

I pull a chair toward me, positioning it across from Rizzuto, and take a seat. “Why the haste?”

“I have a new buyer. Not a very patient fellow that one.” He tries to hide his nervousness behind his casual posture, but I see the beads of sweat along his temple.

“Mm-hmm. Tell me, how much did Calogero pay you to smuggle his cocaine through my port?”

Rizzuto’s face pales.