Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

19:47 Alessandro Zanetti:Hand?

I can’t help but smile. It’s so like him. I touch the tip of my finger to his message. It’s just one tiny word, but warmth spreads inside my chest from simply looking at it. Judging by the glares I usually get from him, he hates me for some reason. Still. Except when he thinks I’m cold, or hungry, and now when I’m hurt. He cares enough to ask.

I type a quick response, then hit send.

19:52 Ravenna:Fine.

I stare at the screen for ten minutes, wondering if he’ll send something else, but the phone stays silent. I should probably delete the conversation. As benign as it is, if Rocco sees it, he will be furious. He may even hurt Alessandro because of it. I bite my bottom lip, type another message, then quickly delete the whole exchange.

The structure of the abandoned factory that was picked as the meeting point still has its walls and roof pretty much intact, but it’s freezing inside because most of the windows are broken.

Rocco has his arms crossed over his chest as he stands and watches two SUVs rolling through the facility’s back entrance. Until Arturo returns, Don Ajello has split the responsibilities of handling the drug business between two capos—Cosimo and Rocco. Both are in charge of construction and real estate deals for the don, but now also bear the brunt of extra work. Based on the irritated look on Rocco’s face, he is not happy having to get his hands dirty. There’s a huge difference between negotiating property contracts in an upscale restaurant over a bottle of expensive cognac, and standing in the dead of night at a cold, rundown factory in the middle of nowhere.

I take the phone out of my pocket and quickly glance again at the message Ravenna sent me earlier. It’s the fourth time I’ve done that so far.

20:02 Ravenna:Be careful tonight.

The thuds of the shutting car doors come from the direction I’m facing, so I put my phone away and assess the newcomers.

There are several criminal organizations and gangs in New York. Those who mind their own business or cooperate with Cosa Nostra are allowed to flourish. Others cease to exist in very short order. The group of men who have just exited the vehicles belong to the set that has been allowed to conduct their operations in this territory. That allowance, so far, has been lucrative for both sides.

Cosa Nostra began doing business with the Serbian syndicate several years ago, after Ajello took over as Don. I’m not certain about the extent of Cosa Nostra’s business dealings with the Serbs, but from what I’ve heard, they move close to 50 percent of Ajello’s drugs. They also run a club that presents as an entertainment place for high-end clientele, but in truth, it’s a neutral ground where most of the underground transactions are negotiated.

This club happens to be a place where the Serbian boss conducts his main business—dealing in black market precious stones, diamonds mostly. A true jack-of-all-trades, as Ajello alluded, he probably has his fingers and toes dipped in other realms, as well. The don has been trying to plant someone within the Serbs’ organization for a couple of years now, without success.

Drago Popov—the head of the Serbian outfit—approaches, and the expression on his face tells me he’s not happy to see Rocco.

I met Drago recently when I had some personal business to conduct. In a leather jacket and black jeans, he doesn’t look like a typical high-profile criminal. In fact, he seems rather ordinary. The key word here isseems. But I know a killer when I see one, and Drago Popov belongs to that label. Knowing Rocco, he’s going to underestimate the man, believing he wields the upper hand.

“Where is Arturo?” Drago asks in heavily accented English.

“Arturo is not available. I’m here in his place.” Rocco gives him a chin lift. “I want to see the money first.”

The Serbian leader raises an eyebrow, then turns to the blond man standing on his right.“Ko je ovaj idiot?”

“Capo,” the blond guy says.

Dragohmmsand heads back toward his car. “We’ll talk when Arturo is back.”

“Hey!” Rocco yells. “Come back here or you can forget about any further deals.”

I take the opportunity, while Rocco and his men are focused on the retreating group of Serbs, to head over to Rocco’s new sports car. He bought the convertible the day after I burned down his garage, along with all his expensive toys inside. This one, I plan to blow up at some point, too, but not yet. Maybe in a week or so.

Two other vehicles are parked in front of it, blocking me from everyone’s view. I crouch beside it and slide my arm underneath, checking the device I planted last night. It’s a very sophisticated gadget, and it cost me a small fortune, but it will be worth it.

Making bombs was never my strong suit. Sergei Belov ran point on missions that required our unit to blow shit up. He could make a bomb, using only the stuff one might have in the kitchen, in under five minutes. I may not have the skill set to make them, but I damn well know how to use them.

Rocco is still shouting, threatening Drago that he’s going to tank his business. The cocking of guns echoes through the space. Shit is about to hit the fan. Just as I finish arming the bomb, the first gunshot pierces the air. The overhead light fixture explodes, sending shards of glass down around me. I fucking hate it when I’m right.

I switch on the receiver, making sure the signal is live, and take out my gun. A bullet hits one of the windows of the car just ahead. A few of our men have taken cover behind it and are shooting at the Serbian gang members. Gunfire rages all around.

Rocco is squatted on the other side of a low concrete wall, two of his security men flanking him. A bit to the right, another security guy is sprawled on the floor. He caught a bullet to the thigh, but he’s alive.

“Back in the cars!” Rocco yells.

I straighten and aim toward the group of our opponents, covering for Rocco’s men as they get inside their vehicles. After changing the magazine, I glance over the raised roof of the sports car. Two of the Serbian gang members are unharmed and are trying to help the wounded get inside the SUVs. I made sure none of my shots were lethal. From time to time, small brawls between our crews are not uncommon, it’s how illicit business works. As long as no one ends up dead, dealings among us continue.

Rocco rises and sends a bullet to the back of one of Papov’s men. Drago pushes the wounded guy into the rear of the vehicle and turns toward Rocco, aiming at his head. I lift my weapon and fire, hitting the Serbian’s shoulder. The gun falls from his hand, clattering onto the floor.