Page 136 of Dirty Mafia Torment
I settled into a pool chaise and opened the first link. Security footage from the Naples warehouse attack showed several shadowy figures moving in and out of frame, working quickly and efficientlyas they spread gasoline around the perimeter. Job done, they climbed into a waiting vehicle off in the distance while the last man, dressed entirely in black from boots to ski mask, struck a match, tossed it, and sent our warehouse and a Beneventi associate up in flames.
The second feed is drone surveillance from a Grassi warehouse hit a week ago—the first real surveillance job my team had been handed while chaos erupted around us.
Six men. Gasoline. Same fucking scenario. Massimo’s holding is torched, but this time two men are inside: a Grassi soldier and a Beneventi associate. Like we’re amateurs who’d leave a man behind at a crime scene. Like we’d leave proof we were behind it. No wonder Massimo is convinced we’re the enemy. Honestly, I’m disappointed in him. He’s sharp enough to command armies and run families, and yet he didn’t recognize this bullshit for what it is.
Whoever set this up has balls, I give him that. But his arrogance is laughable. He thinks pitting our families against each other means no one will connect the dots. He sure as hell didn’t expect me to catch him on camera at an enemy site. I text the kid.
How many Grassi holdings are we positioned at in Sicily?
I wait as he types his response.
Seven. And we have feed from one more attack from three days ago.
Keep a man at each, night and day, and immediately send whatever you have.
On it.
Yeah, and I need to get moving. I toss my cell aside. Now that I have confirmation, there’s no time to waste. I have to get to Sicily and reach Massimo before my father does.
Somewhere in the distance, doors slam. More soldiers arriving. All hands on deck.
I consider looping Sandro in, then dismiss the thought. He’s like my father, and has zero interest in talking to Massimo, who sealed his fate the moment he kidnapped Dante.
If I find out he’s laid a hand on Dante, I’ll bury my old friend alive.
And yet, if he believes we killed his father, I can understand the fury driving him.
Fina will have to run interference while I vanish into the shadows, buying me the time I need before the Beneventi soldiers move into position.
I stand and, bathing trunks barely dry, make my way to Sandro’s office, earning the curious stares of suit after suit. The box is exactly where I suspected, unopened in the closet. Hooking it beneath an arm, I retrace my steps to the pool, where I remove the preassembled drone from the packaging. I had a kid fine-tune it a few weeks ago before shipping it to Sandro. Typically, custom builds like this can take days to assemble, testing my brother’s patience.
This particular drone’s flight controller resembles a video game stick so the learning curve is easy. It not only has a high-tech camera for photography and video, but a special gimbal that holds the camera in place while the drone moves in different directions, making aerial shots commercial-grade quality.
From the top of the stairs, I send it soaring. My target glides through the sea below, beautifully unaware.
I ease it lower and lower, then forward, until I’m hovering over the spot where Fina vanished beneath the surface.
A moment later, she breaks through, hair slicked back, droplets tracing her cheekbones, long lashes blinking away water. She could be a fucking swimsuit model, her natural beauty outshining everyone else.
It takes her several minutes to notice the drone.
When she does, she paddles in a slow circle, tilting her chintoward it, well-aware who’s operating it. Then, with a grin that could cut glass, she curls her finger at the camera.
I ease the drone forward, pulse kicking hard in my throat.
Her eyes glimmer with mischief as she traces her hands down her body. Without warning, she whips off her top, arching back into the water.
My grip on the controller tightens, heat surging through me as every muscle locks. The sunlight catches on her skin, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
I fucking better have this on video.
Suddenly, my afternoon just got more interesting.
Ten minutes later, she and Riley return from their excursion at the beach.
Our eyes lock, and I contemplate dragging her into the casita and giving her some competition in who can be naughtier.
“Can you show us how it works?” she eagerly asks, as she and Riley pull two pool chairs beside my own.
