Big Shoes to Phil

Tommaso

The next day, I climbed into the car and drove out to Tony’s warehouse. If Riccardo knew I was at the raid, my only safe bet was to assume everyone did. But a late-night meeting with Stan after Riccardo hung up resulted in a plan to turn that in our favor. I put the word out to a couple of the guys I’d inherited from other operations that Carp didn’t trust me. I said that I’d be taking over the warehouse, claiming it with survivor’s rights. It shored up the story that I was dipping my toes into sex trafficking and kept anyone from nosing around the warehouse and finding anything out of place we might’ve missed.

Of course, nothing in this life was ever that fucking easy, so a couple of the suppliers Tony worked for got their feathers ruffled. Constant calls to the few numbers I’d publicized adjacent to me had Lyle bogged down with messages for days. Through the noise, there seemed to be one ringleader—or at least, one motherfucker louder than any of the others. I’d had Lyle set