Betrayals And Deliveries

Dimitri's POV

Romero drove us into the warehouse and pulled the car to a halt, in front of the truck.

The warehouse was an abandoned building, with a truck in front to keep trespassers away — it was mainly used for transactions and never permanent storage.

I climbed out of the car, crunching gravel under my boots. Luca and Cesare alighted from the second car, hands alertly resting on their holsters at their hips, they gave me a slight nod, before I turned and advanced on the warehouse, gathering phlegm in my throat and spitting it out on the way.

 I drew out my gun from under my vest and marched on.

Father didn't normally send us to get the deliveries — but this case was different. 

Father suspected the Russians were going to double-cross us, and I didn't trust them either. 

We filed out in a straight line in to the warehouse, which stank terribly of dust and decay, gunpowder and rot. 

From where we were we could see the outline of a bright fire crackling away in the fireplace, bits of small conversations flew to our ears, from inside the warehouse.

Cesare and Romero flanked to my left and right, guns raised waiting alertly in case, the delivery was a trap 

I walked out onto the open room and my eyes fell on a man seated on an armchair at the center of the room, lazily sipping Scotch straight out of the bottle.

He groaned when we approached and stood up, throwing his head back and shaking off his long strands of Jheri curl hair from his face so he could get a clearer view of us. 

The man was Rodriguez, the top middle man in the Bratva, a sly, cunning and mischievous character. 

He had four men in the room alongside himself — that made five.

I lowered my gun and dipped my head in greeting.

"Hey, Rodriguez."

He nodded at me. My men fanned out over the room, tugging their guns away, but their hands still rested casually on the holster, ready to pull them out at the slightest notice.

"I didn't expect to see you, Dimitri." Rodriguez said thoughtfully, taking another swig straight out of the bottle.

"I heard today was your wedding."

I nodded, taking in his disheveled look. "Yes. But this is business — I had to come in person."

I looked sideways. "Where are the goods?"

"They're just over there." He pointed at a corner, but his eyes were still eyeing my men suspiciously.

"But your men are looking too energetic, don't you think?"

I waved it off. "Don't worry, this is just a safety precaution."

"And that's what I'm worried about."

"Look, just bring the goods alright?" I was getting irritated already.

He took another swig off the bottle, emptying it entirely.

"Tell your men to stand down." He said, flinging the bottle to the ground. It hit the floor and broke off into several pieces.

I gave Matteo a wink, and he pretended to let his guard down. The rest followed suit. 

Business like this was always a risk — you didn't know if the other party was sincere or if they just wanted to rob you; you had to be on your toes every fucking time.

"Now get us the fucking goods, Rodriguez." I sneered.

His hands twitched an inch toward the holster around his waist. We all saw it. I released the catch on mine — if he wanted to play dirty, I was all fucking in too.

He cleared his throat instead, waved at one of his men, and a heavy casket was dragged into the room on a trolley.

I walked closer. "This is it?"

He nodded.

"Take off the lid, then."

He signalled at the same man that had dragged the trolley in. He tugged off the lid, baring his teeth and puffing roughly

I dipped a hand into the casket, pushing off the chaffs. My hands brushed cold metal. I pulled it out: a semi-automatic. 

Nice weight there!

I slipped my own gun back into my waistband and slapped a palm on the gun in my hand, drawing the catch back. 

Something about Rodriguez's expression unsettled me and put me on alert. 

He tried to keep his expression arrogant and self-confident, but it all looked like a farce.

I turned to Matteo. "Empty the casket."

Rodriguez gasped. My eyes shot to him.

 "Any problem?"

"No," he shook his head.

But as Matteo approached the casket, he began.

"We've been doing business for years. What do you think? Do you think I'd suddenly decide to turn against the don?"

My eyes darkened. Radar went off that instant.

I signalled to Matteo. "Go ahead and empty the casket."

One of Rodriguez's men darted his eyes to Rodriguez — this was it.

My hands shot to my holster. Rodriguez was slower. Two bullets burst out of my gun, one hitting Rodriguez in the arm, and the other dropping the Bratva man by his side.

Matteo and Cesare opened fire, dropping two more men. Romero and Luca held the last man at gunpoint. I walked over to Rodriguez, who was bleeding out on the floor, and pointed my gun at his skull. 

Everything had happened too quickly. Just under a minute.

Rodriguez glared at me, eyeing the gun with distaste.

"Matteo, empty the casket." I ordered, meeting Rodriguez's eyes dead on.

Matteo jumped to action, pulling out the guns from the casket. Each weapon landed with a clatter.

Two Uzis, three automatics, four semi-automatics.

He reached into the casket again and looked up holding nothing. "That's all."

My gaze hardened on Rodriguez. "What did you do?"

Rodriguez didn't deny it. "I sold 'em out. Damn prices went up for weapons and your father wouldn't pay the current rate, so I gave the best to a better dealer."

I dug a knee into his spine, knocking him so hard he doubled over. One of his arms twisted back.

He struggled and cursed, but I held him fast, gripping his wrist firmly. I pressed my gun straight at his thigh and released the first bullet. 

His scream rang in my ears, reverberating through the entire warehouse. I stomped another foot on the wound in the thigh — he screamed again, his face pale.

His breath was ragged.

"Who did you sell my fucking goods to?" I whispered fiercely, grinding my leg in the wound.

He groaned, biting his lip to mask the pain.

"Oh, fuck — damn you, Dimitri." He swore.

“That's not the answer I want." I growled, stomping into his thigh again. His bone cracked loudly.

He whimpered like a child. "Fuck, Dimitri, the Bratva wouldn't forgive you for this. They wouldn't —"

"I don't care." I said firmly, cutting him off immediately.

I lowered the gun at the other thigh.

"You have three minutes before I cripple you totally."

He stopped struggling. "It's Malthius —" he cried out.

"What did you say?"

"Malthius, from the outpost." He repeated, his voice broken and cracked.

My expression darkened. "You gave our goods to Malthius?"

He nodded fiercely.

"Fuck you!" I cursed, flinging him to the floor.

Matteo and Luca looked at me, equally alarmed.

I pushed my gun back into my holster and walked away from the ware

house — leaving the damage I'd caused behind.

Malthius had made his move. And something told me before this was over, Elena would be right in the middle of it.