Do It Right
If he found Salvatore Valdez before the police, he vowed to put a bullet through the man’s skull. The blisters on Angelo de Luca’s hands burst, and his flesh squelched against the iron rung before he lost his grip. A howl of frustration escaped before the breath ripped from Angelo’s lungs, and his back spasmed.
Provided he survived, he would hunt down the assistant manager and Angelo’s confidant. Death would be a mercy by the time he finished with Sal, but the pain that rippled through the crown of Angelo’s skull made him lie low. Tentative fingers skirted the gash where his head struck the dumpster’s metal lid.
He survived the fall. He didn’t know how, given that every muscle in his body contracted when he attempted to sit upright. Angelo flexed his fingers. They weren’t broken, but they hurt like hell. When he had hoisted himself onto the fire escape, Sal ground the soles of his loafers into Angelo’s hands. Gritting his teeth, he tried to tighten his grasp.
His hip smashed into the ladder, and Angelo swore at his partner’s retreating form.
“No hard feelings,” he said. “You got mixed up in something you shouldn’t have, that’s all.”
Blood matted Angelo’s hair to his scalp. The street lights winked in and out of focus. A siren cut through the brisk, nighttime air, but Angelo’s ears rang, and a wave of nausea made him curl in on himself.
He didn’t want them involved. Even the officers on his father’s payroll were less than trustworthy. If a man’s loyalty could be bought, then Angelo assumed that their allegiances changed depending on who offered him the most money.
Vincenzo suspected Salvatore of skimming products before they reached the furniture store. He had been careful to cover his tracks, describing shipments lost or items damaged in transit. When he first suspected the man of theft, he revoked the Valdez family’s protection and ordered Angelo to lk into it.
He scrambled to clean up Sal’s mess without drawing too much attention to himself, but he had been a fool to underestimate Vincenzo. He wouldn’t have voiced his suspicions unless he had proof.
He hoped for Sal’s sake that the police found him before the de Luca family did because a long line of people had a bone to pick with him, Angelo included.
Shaking out his fist, Angelo breathed through his nose to try to dispel the sour aroma that wafted from garbage bags whose contents spilled into the dumpster. He hoped there were no witnesses to connect him to the scene. He had enough on his plate without getting law enforcement involved.
Angelo lowered himself to the gravel. His leg buckled, and he had to cling to the dumpster for support. A series of swears followed. His pants were damp, but he couldn’t lift the hem with his swollen ankle. Luck hadn’t been on his side tonight.
He limped through the deserted alley toward the parking meters, hissing out a breath each time his foot struck the pavement. He didn’t want to have to report to his father that things had fallen to the wayside. Especially since he couldn’t account for Sal’s whereabouts; he never should’ve allowed that bastard to get the better of him, but it hadn’t been his idea to take a swan dive toward the sidewalk.
His father wouldn’t forgive his incompetence. Angelo patted his pocket for his keys, cursing under his breath, and vowing to prolong the torture if he had to make a return trip to the dumpster. He collapsed onto the driver’s seat and snatched a flip phone from the glove compartment.
“We have a problem.”
“Where are you?” his father asked.
He couldn’t give Angelo the satisfaction of thinking he gave a damn. No matter how urgent the situation, Vincenzo had more important matters to attend to.
“I don’t know. Downtown somewhere.”
He hadn’t wanted to raise the buyers’ suspicions, so he found a parking meter several streets over.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll send you an address of where you can find me.”
He should’ve swept through the neighborhood, checked for patrol cars, or tried to suss out the potential buye. But Angelo’s head throbbed, and his thoughts were like wading through sludge.
He didn’t know how he summoned the energy to drive across town.
Angelo lay his head against the steering wheel and counted to ten. He had to learn to choose his battles over the years. With everything that happened, he couldn’t afford to question his father’s choice in venue.
He had chosen a bar in an upscale location. A woman in a little black dress draped an arm across Vincenzo’s neck. He murmured something into her ear. The sly grin she repaid him with faltered when her eyes cut to Angelo’s blood-spattered shirt.
Her cherry-scented perfume made his throat tickle as he slid onto one of the leather barstools. No doubt Myriam would smell it on her husband later, but Angelo couldn’t afford to think about that.
The wooden paneling and low lights were meant to give the room a more rustic atmosphere, but the drinks menu came with a price tag that didn’t reflect that. Angelo hated midwestern minimalism.
“That must’ve been one hell of a fight,” Vincenzo said. “Hopefully, you didn’t make it too easy for him.”
Angelo eyed his dad’s drink. He needed something to dull the pain and repair his shattered nerves, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
“I couldn’t finish the job.”
“Why is it that whenever I trust you with an important task, you always let me down? If I wanted to be disappointed, I would’ve asked your brother to take care of it.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
If he defended himself, Vincenzo would accuse Angelo of defying his authority. He didn’t tolerate excuses any more than he did failure. He squirmed in his seat.
“That doesn’t change the outcome, does it? What’s your next move going to be?”
He wanted to take a shower and sleep for a week.
“Have a drink,” his father told him. “It’s been a long day, and those to come won’t be any shorter.”
As much as he wanted to decline, the tick in Vincenzo’s jaw told Angelo that he didn’t mean it as a suggestion. The bourbon burned his nostrils, but the pins and needles lost their intensity.
“You’re going to finish what you started, and you’re going to report back to me with good news.”
“That’s it?”
Angelo lurched to his feet. He had a bottle awaiting him at home that he couldn’t wait to tuck into. When he reached the door, the woman from before had returned.
“Boy.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t need to remind you that you’re skating on thin ice. Do the job and do it right.”
