Chapter 49

Emiliano

I stopped walking on the sidewalk in the Barrio Logan neighborhood. I was near the location where the raid went down last night. My job was to scout around to find out who was aware of what happened and if anyone saw our crew.

There was something in my wife’s voice. “Isabella, are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

I stepped to the side of the walk and leaned against a brick building. “Did something happen? Where’s Horace?”

“My father just called…” She spoke fast, telling me about their phone call and her concerns.

With each word, I gripped the phone tighter. If that son of a bitch thought he could come and take my wife away from me, to do something to dissolve our marriage… It would be over my dead body. No, make that his dead body.

“Take a breath, beautiful.” I spoke as calmly as I could muster. “What’s Mia’s plan?” I nodded as she told me. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to see them. I’ve missed them.”

I sucked in a breath. This was one of those occasions where I could tell her no. It wouldn’t be without cause. Carmine Luciano could fucking be planning a kidnapping. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“No,” she answered immediately. “I want to be with you.”

That answer helped my rising blood pressure. I checked my GPS on my phone. I could be at the Del in under twenty minutes. “Izzy, I love you. If you want to see your family, go. Please follow Mia’s instructions and ride with Horace and Diego. If you have the slightest bit of trepidation, notify them or call me.”

“You? You need to work, settling dust.”

“Nothing is more important than you.”

I heard a ragged breath.

“If I was there, I’d wrap you in my arms.”

“Papà couldn’t take me away if you were here.”

“He’s not taking you away.”

“I love you.” Isabella disconnected the call.

I turned toward the building and slammed my hand against it.

Fuck.

My next text was a group text to both Horace and Diego.

“Text me when you leave my home. Stay with my wife until she enters their room at the Del. Stay outside the door and text me the room number.”

They both responded.

I had enough time for one more stop. It was a hole-in-the-wall bar down a side street. Barrio Logan or sometimes referred to as Logan Heights was one of the oldest neighborhoods in San Diego. As downtown grew bigger and taller, this neighborhood fell behind. Currently, it was going through gentrification. The plan would push all the longtime residents out, tear down places like the one I was about to enter, and rebuild with construction ten to a hundred times the current inhabitants’ budget. Property this close to the ocean was valuable. Making it more livable was all in the name of progress.

It also stole homes that had been in the same family for generations. When you entered a place like Bud’s, you weren’t there to listen to loud music, dance, or talk stock market. You were with old and young men who knew this neighborhood backward and forward.

Opening the door, I could smell the stale smoke in the air. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust as I scanned the mostly empty room.

Taking a seat at the bar, I spoke in Spanish to the bartender. “Dame una cerveza.”

He nodded and then wiped the bar in front of me with a dirty wet rag. The glass looked clean as he held it under the tap. “Cinco dolares,” he said as he set the pint down in front of me.

I pulled a wad of low-denomination bills from my pocket and peeled off a five and three ones.

“Gracias.”

I sipped the beer and lit a cigarette as the bartender refilled two beers down at the end of the bar. When he returned to check on me, I casually mentioned I heard something happened last night and asked if he knew anything.

It wouldn’t be that easy.

We went back and forth a few times. He was feeling me out, seeing if I could be an undercover cop. It was when I said I’d heard it was near that abandoned old store at Newton and South Twenty-seventh Street that he started to open up.

He corrected me.

It was Boston Avenue and South Twenty-seventh Street. He proceeded to tell me that after news of Volkov’s death, some people think the Detroit bratva was trying to make a move out here. He thinks it was Detroit’s men who took away whatever Volkov had in there. He told me that half his customers were afraid to come out. Before I left, he warned me about asking questions.

“It’s not safe.”

I nodded as I laid another five on the bar. “Thanks for the advice.”

When I slipped into my car two blocks away, I checked my phone. Horace sent the text message.

“Luciano’s man wasn’t happy with the change of plans. Senora Izzy stayed strong. She told him she would only go if she went with us. He finally gave up. From a car behind, it looks like he’s been talking the whole time. I’d guess Carmine Luciano is chewing his ass.”

It would take them longer than me to get to the Del. The timestamp on the text message said they had been en route for nearly ten minutes. We could arrive at the same time. I slowed intentionally. I didn’t want Isabella to think I didn’t trust her. On the contrary, I wanted her to know that I would move heaven and hell to keep her safe.

I sent a text message to Jano, telling him what I’d learned. The locals were blaming the Detroit bratva.

The Del was fucking huge. They could have stayed in a normal five-star hotel, but that wasn’t good enough for Carmine Luciano. The Del had recently reopened the original structure, called the Victorian. There were five differently named sections to this beachfront resort. I parked by Seaforth Marina off Glorietta Bay and waited for Isabella’s location.