Page 111 of Mob Star

It’s a web search results alert. This explains so damn much. The more I’ve thought about the hospital messaging system, the more I became convinced it was an inside job. It’s also why I didn’t think Joaquin did it. But someone did, and it wasn’t for their own shits and giggles. So, I did a little digging into the background of the fuck nut she was dating when I met her at McGinty’s.

Tony isn’t short for Anthony. It’s short for Antonio. I said nothing to anyone when I met Thea because Tony disappeared from her life. But I wanted to keep an eye on him just in case. I found out his last name and did a background check on him. That’s usually Sean’s job, but any of us can do it. Some drunken disorderly showed up, which came as no surprise. But nothing more significant triggered the DOJ or FBI.

“It was the nurse Thea dated. Tony De Luca. His family were Maldanodos.”

That draws everyone’s attention. Brandon’s super pissed.

“She was friends with him for a long time before they dated. She hung out with him outside of work, and I met him at a baseball game. Bastard.”

After the fucked-up messages came to Thea’s beeper, I dug some more. Thank you Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and their meticulous ancestry records. Still less noticeable to hack their system than the commercial ancestry databases. Tony De Luca— forgive me for not guessing that a douchebag with the most Guido sounding name might not be mostly Italian American.

Oh, no. He’s only like a third Italian. He’s a jumble of other shite, too, but out of that jumble one part of his ancestry stands out. His mother’s grandfather was a Maldonado. Sounds Italian to some, but it’s a Spanish last name. Not just Spanish, but fucking Colombian in his case.

I catch myself before I run my hand over my face in frustration. I didn’t dig deep enough. I let my immediate fear for Thea’s safety distract me from finding the fuller explanation. I’m slipping up, and it’s going to cost us if I don’t get my shite together. Thea’s not the distraction. It’s not knowing what to do with all these feelings that are new to me. It’s too much time thinking about the future and not enough time paying attention to the present.

This is my fucking fault. Or at least part of it.

Brandon leans close enough, so only I hear him. “This is not your fault. It’s that fucker’s. I know what you’re thinking because I’m thinking it about myself, too. But we didn’t do this. He did.”

I nod, but I don’t feel any better even if he is right.

I scroll the full results to make sure I miss nothing. I have time because Pablo’s here with his henchmen, but Corey hasn’t shown up, and neither have the Albanians. Fucking way past fashionably late. But the Albanians want the Colombians to wait for them, thinking it makes their balls bigger than they are. Corey probably doesn’t want to step foot here since I’m certain he went for Brandon and couldn’t find him. But he’ll show. He just doesn’t want to be alone with the Trenton mob, the Cartel, or the Albanian syndicates. The moment he isn’t useful, they’ll kill him. The goal is to get Corey away from either side while we run the bust, so we can deal with him.

I lean forward on my elbows to see Dillan. “His family’s been around since the Cabreras.”

Looks like the Maldonados married into the Cabrera family. Enrique’s father, Josue, was still in Colombia back then. He killed the Cabrera jefe and took control. From the dates, Enrique was still super young. Like preschool young. It was Enrique’s uncle who moved to the U.S. and took out the Cabreras up here to become the New York jefe. Enrique arrived in America to attend boarding school when he was twelve.

From this point, I know the story clearly. His uncle went down for racketeering in the U.S. He had a shite ton of crimes in Colombia, so the U.S. government let Colombia extradite him because they wanted him out of America. The feds figured the Colombians would kill him faster than they could. He lived and is the jefe down there because rivals murdered Enrique’s father twenty-five years ago. It’s questionable as fuck whether it was fratricide. In the meantime, Enrique stepped into his position as the NYC jefe when they dumped his uncle’s arse back in the Amazon.

Shane keeps his head down, but I hear him on the other side of Brandon. “How?”

“Tony’s Maldonado family bent the knee and kissed the ring when Enrique’s uncle assassinated the Cabrera jefe. By then, they were lesser Cabreras. It’s Tony’s maternal side that wound him up as a De Luca and growing up in Trenton. She never married his father, so he got her last name. From what I can tell, both sides of Tony’s family have been out of organized crime for two generations. That begs the question, how the fuck did he wind up working for Pablo?”

It does explain why he knew the families when I named them at McGinty’s before I called Enrique, Salvatore, and Maks.

One thing I looked at along with his DOJ and FBI records was his bank account. Nothing raised an alarm. I could account for where all his money went. He wasn’t a cash guy, so the records show where he blew his paychecks, and it was all on entertainment. None of the places belong to the Diazes. Most were ours until I banned him. A few were bratva owned. After I called the other families, there were no transactions at any establishment the Four Families own. Just chain restaurants or liquor stores.

Fucking-a.

“It was when Margherita was in the hospital. Tony’s an oncology nurse. He must have met Pablo when his mom nearly died. She got out of the hospital a few days before those pages came in. She’s still recovering at home. Our moms just sent a ton of meals over there like three days ago.”

That takes some huevos. Pablo accepts food for his barely alive mother from my mother while using my girlfriend to fuck us over. I can’t fucking kill him, but I can make him wish he was dead.

Sean elbows me and jerks his chin in Brandon and Shane’s direction. I watch Gareth jump from the loading dock and run to his car. Its engine has been running the entire time. He’s driving away the moment his door closes.

Cars flick off their headlights about a hundred yards away and roll into the loading docks with rifle muzzles sticking out windows. Then there’s Corey. His fucking bike is a goddamn homing beacon. I see Pablo step forward and say something to Corey right before the bike goes silent. We keep watching in silence as Pablo talks to Corey and the Albanians’ newest leader. We aren’t moving in yet because we’re waiting for a few more people to show up to the party.

It's another five minutes, but Ewan O’Malley joins what should have been a tête-à-tête between Ewan and the head of the Albanians, their kyre. Instead, Corey looks like a fucking Ping-Pong ball between Pablo and the Albanians. Ewan’s ignoring Corey entirely. That means they already consider Corey disposable. Fuck. One of them’s going to kill Corey before Brandon or I get to.

If I were five, I’d stomp my foot and hold my breath because it’s fucking unfair. But I’m not. I signal all of us to move forward. My family and Brandon lead the way with thirty of our men coming out of the trees surrounding the warehouse in north Jersey. They call it the Garden State for a reason. Perfect hiding places. Everyone has their NVGs on since we’re in the pitch black to make our arrival more of a surprise.

I’m not interested in anyone but Pablo, Ewan, and Corey. Even the Kurti fucker can die for all I care. Our men know to leave Ewan and Corey alive, and it goes without saying they can’t kill Pablo.

On my signal, still in the darkness cast from the trees, my men do their job. One Colombian, Albanian, and Boston Irish drop after another. Faster than any of them can return fire. Our men know how to line themselves up with their targets to make sure they waste no bullets, and no one’s left standing.

Once friendly fire won’t hit us, Dillan and I step forward. I have my rifle raised and my goggles still down. So does Dillan. Pablo knows one of us is Dillan, but he can’t be sure who I am. Ewan takes a step to the left, and I shoot between his feet.

“I didn’t miss, buachaill leanbh.” Baby boy.

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