“Why not take him out?”
“I’ve thought about it. Not sure it’s the best decision.”
I growled. “He doesn’t deserve to live, Andy.”
“Don’t worry, Chiquita. He’ll get what he deserves, I promise.”
13
El Jefe
Leaving Silvia at the clubhouse wasn’t easy. If I could have gotten out of taking the shipment up to Canada, I would’ve. But Ferrari wasn’t an understanding man. He refused to deal with anyone else. It was me and only me or we would lose our contract and millions of dollars.
I called her every time we stopped for gas. I didn’t let my crew linger like the other times. We were going up and back as fast as possible.
A run like this would normally take us four days.
I demanded we do it in two.
We were exhausted as we arrived at the Ferrari warehouse, situated at a private shipping dock in West Vancouver. While my crew unloaded the drugs and weapons, I met with Pietro and Fabio inside. This was all standard protocol. We’d exchange a few pleasantries. They’d pay the agreed dollar amount, then we’d make our way home.
I stalked toward the office, stiffly. My groin felt raw after riding straight through. Not to mention, I had thoroughly satisfied Silvia last night. She probably couldn’t walk right either.
“Jefe,” Fabio greeted me at the door.
“How’s it going?”
“Good. You made excellent time.” He always tracked us on an app. It was fine. I wouldn’t let his micromanaging offend me. It was just his and his father’s way to ensure there were no hiccups for their business.
“I understand you didn’t stop for your usual activities,” Pietro said from behind his desk. He never called out ouractivitiesby what they were: strip clubs and lots of sex.
“No time for it this trip.” I reached across the mahogany desk and shook his hand, then sat down.
Fabio handed me a glass of bourbon. “We’re well aware of what’s been going on in your territory.” Of course, they were. The Ferraris were well informed about anything connected to them.
“Yes. Glad GQ is okay. He’s a good man.” Pietro nodded. “We look forward to working with him in the future.”
“He’ll be back. You can count on it.” I took a drink, eyeing both men. Something told me this wasn’t going to be our normal talk.
“We put a little extra in.” Fabio handed me a black leather bag of cash.
“For GQ’s medical expenses and suffering.” Pietro smiled and tapped the tips of his fingers together on the desk. Now, I knew something wasn’t right. Ferrari didn’t give money to anyone unless they did a job for them or there were strings attached.
“That’s not necessary. We’ve got him covered.” I sat forward and handed the bag back to Fabio.
He raised his hand. “Take it. No strings. We owe you.”
“Come again. Why?”
“Leo Costa is trying to disrupt our arrangement,” Fabio said, sitting in the chair next to me. “He wants to steal our business and thought taking out your road captain would help.”
I clenched my teeth and rubbed my jaw and counted to five to control the rage building inside me. One, two, three, four, five. “You’re telling me GQ was targeted by one of your competitors?”
“Yes,” Fabio said directly.
“Fuck! They could have killed him.”
“That was the plan,” Pietro replied. “But they didn’t succeed. Leo’s furious his man failed.”
