BOOKSDRAMA Chapter 259
Chapter 259: Failed
Rafe Luciano paced the length of the dingy apartment like a caged wolf, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw throbbed. Plumes of
smoke from his smoldering cigarette trailed in his wake, the harsh scent of tobacco and desperation hanging thick in the air.
"Someone wanna run that by me again?" His gravel-toned growl cut through the uneasy silence blanketing the room.
Beside the squalid kitchenette, two of his most trusted Wolf Gang lieutenants shifted uncomfortably under their boss's laser-
focused glare. It was Gino who spoke up, the wiry man unable to meet Rafe's eyes.
"It's like Paulie said, boss. That hit went sideways 'cause the civilian turned out to be the new...wife of Mathew Shaw himself."
The words hung in the air like a damning pandemic, each of Rafe's men seeming to shrink a few inches where they sat or leaned
against the peeling wallpaper. A vein began to pound menacingly at the Wolf's temple as he processed that disastrous
information. "La famiglia..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "We went after la fuckin' famiglia without knowin' it?"
Bone-cracking footfalls carried him across the cramped living room in two strides. Paulie barely had a chance to flinch before
Rafe's oxen-thick hands locked onto his wrist. A sickening snap echoed like a gunshot in the tense quiet, accompanied by an
anguished wail as the man's arm buckled into an unmistakable compound fracture.
The rest of the Wolf Gang remained deathly still, no one daring to so much as breathe too loudly as their capo loomed over
Paulie's whimpering form. Eyes glittering like flint, Rafe straightened, idly flicking spent ash from his cigarette across the luckless
scout's body. "That...was for not doin' your homework, caporegime. Next time I gotta hear about endangerin' every other made
man in this family, somebody's gettin' deaned out."
Stalking back toward the battered pleather sofa, Rafe collapsed into the creaky cushions and tore an angry drag from his smoke.
"This changes everything. The Shaws got our scent now, know we been sniffin' around their operations. No way they let that kind
of insult slide, not even with an apology."
The wheels of his tactical mind spun furiously as the reality set in. They were lambs among wolves now, separated from their
customary allies and unable to hide from the vengeful glare of one of the most powerful organized crime syndicates on American
soil. A muscle ticked rapidly in Rafe's densecorded neck as he lifted one meaty hand to massage the tension from his brow. His
reputation, his men's very lives now hung by a thread courtesy of one idiotic fumbled assignment.
The shrill chirp of his burner cell sliced through the dead air. Rafe held up a single calloused finger to his men as he unfolded the
disposable flip phone. Even before bringing it to his ear, he knew it would bring nothing but further suffering on its end. "Tell me
you got some good news for once, Gino," he growled into the mouthpiece.
The response sent ice water flushing through his veins. A laugh of pure disbelief, devoid of all humor, wrenched itself free from
Rafe's chest.
"You wanna run that by me again, truck stop?" His voice dripped venom, the serpentine undulations of a predator silently coiling.
An uneasy silence stretched for several agonizing beats before Gino expelled a quivering exhale.
"It's just like I said, boss. Word just hit the streets from Gambino's people - their asshole boss done went and called out the Shaw
family dogs on our asses. Wants to collect on that open insult contract, make an example..."
The mouthpiece cracked alarmingly in Rafe's grip. "That scambistro cockroach sold us out to the family?" He was on his feet
again in an instant, stalking with scarcely controlled fury toward the rusting fire escape windows. "Boss, if they knew where we're
holed up, they'd already be-"
Gino's feeble attempt at
reassurance was drowned out by
the deafening percussion of high caliber weapons fire. Glass and plaster erupted in through the shoddy windows as Rafe threw
his hulking frame down behind the tattered sofa. His hands moved by sheer muscle memory, sliding the clips home into his twin
semi-auto handguns as the air filled with
choking smoke and zipping lead.
"Talk to me, what's the situation!" He bellowed over the cacophony as his men scrambled to return fire across the living room.
Through the swirling fog, he glimpsed the lifeboats silhouettes of spec-ops stylized soldiers storming in through the shattered
windows. Paulie hit the floor beside him, clutching a gushing wound to his shoulder and howling. "It's the Dimigor brothers, boss!
And at least another two fire teams worth of Casilleros' hotshots!"
Fear churned in Rafe's gut like an icy pit even as he fed hot lead over the sofa's riddled backrest, trying to gain a few scant
seconds of advantage.
The infamous Dimigor twins were utter beasts - psychopathic mercenary enforcers so ruthless and unflinching that even the
most violent South American cartels had taken to avoiding the brothers rather than risking retribution. To find them among the
Shaw family's hired guns spoke volumes to the level of wrath raining down upon the Wolf Gang's heads.
Half his crew had already fallen to the blazing salvo, collapsed into pooling incriminati with limbs splayed at improbable angles.
Rafe gnashed his teeth, tunneling his visionas a red mist of hatred began
to cloud his vision. If this
to be
his fast stand, he would die with
both pistols blazing, taking out as
many of these caavavangeli
scumsas he could before -
A concussive blast rocked the entire structure as something detonated beyond the thin drywall of the apartment's exterior wall.
Rafe and the handful of his crew still breathing were picked up and flung like ragdolls, crashes and groans mingling with twisting
steel and billowing clouds of acrid smoke.
blinked, struggling against the rapidly creeping edges of
unconsciousness to take stock of their situation. The floor where he
lay was tilted at an impossible
broken plumbing and support.ngle,
timbers jutting through the pitted drywall in a hellish melange of jagged motion. Shouts and
commands too muffled to discern
cut in and out as shadows advanced
steadily through the ruined
structure.
Rafe clutched at the pavement, groping in blind desperation for either of his fallen sidearms. But it was no use, he realized with
gut-wrenching certainty as his digits brushed across the inert metal. His fingers had been completely severed by the blast, what
little remained of his hands rendered to shredded flesh and bone.
A leather oxfords filled his fading vision as a shadow loomed over him, the acrid fog of spent accelerants and gunpowder
stinging his eyes. Rafe Luciano barely had the strength to lift his gaze before the cold regard of one of the Dimigor brothers
ground any final defiance to dust.
"Next time, lupo...take the contract before you steal from la famiglia. The Shaws send their regards."
The executioner's pistol barked, mercifully sending Rafe spiraling into oblivion before his body ever hit the floor.
In the opulent study of the Fabio family's sprawling Long Island estate, the heavy oak doors swung open to admit Eric Fabio, the
current head of the powerful crime syndicate. His expression was stony, a muscle twitching in his granite jawline as he strode
across the room toward his younger sister Liliana.
Liliana glanced up from where she had been poring over a leather-bound ledger, her cool gaze sweeping over Eric's tense form.
Without a word needing to be spoken, she knew something major had transpired - her elder brother's anger rolled off him in
barely restrained waves. "You're going to want to hear this, principessa," Eric bit out at last, sinking into one of the oxblood
leather sofas with a mirthless huff. He tugged at the knot of his silk tie, already appearing disheveled despite the early hour.
Liliana carefully set aside her work and crossed the study, almond-shaped eyes studying Eric intently. It wasn't often his
unflappable composure became so thoroughly ruffled, especially unprompted.
"I'm listening, fratello," she replied evenly, delicately taking a seat on the sofa's opposite end and crossing her legs. Her
Louboutin stilettos glinted in the morning sunlight filtering through the french doors.
Eric exhaled a plume of smoke from the hand-rolled cigarette already smoldering between his fingers. "I've just gotten word back
about the situation with that hotshot Wolf Pack crew Gambino's idiots tried to hire out from under us. Seems our illustrious
business rivals chose the wrong family to test."
Liliana's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction at that, but she remained otherwise impassive. Every made man in the Five
Families had known of the borderline suicidal manuevering Gambino's splinter syndicate had attempted lately. Still, to hear Eric
invoke such ominous tones...
"Let me guess," she ventured, plucking a crystal tumbler of amaro from the beveled tray beside them and bringing it to her full
lips. "Antonio Gambino decided to test the wolves by siccing them on the Shaw family operations."