Sons of War 3: Sinners

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Mariana snorted. “So you’re the guinea queen?”

  Before Antonio could stop her, Lucia walked inside, her eyes slits.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Mariana didn’t respond.

  “I asked you a question,” Lucia hissed.

  Antonio raised a brow, interested to see how this would play out.

  “Is this the sister of the Vega brothers?” Lucia asked Antonio.

  “More like a mistress,” Antonio replied.

  Lucia stepped up to his side to study Mariana. “Want to tell me why we are keeping a whore in our kitchen freezer?”

  “The same reason we had Isao Yamazaki in a hospital bed. Mariana is a means to an end.”

  “Cowards, both of you,” Mariana said. “You will never win this war, because you don’t have the heart or the guts to fight your battles.”

  “And Miguel does?” Antonio said, laughing. “He’s been hiding like a worm in the mud for months.”

  Another voice echoed through the kitchen. Christopher came scrambling through the maze of tables.

  “Brother, I need to talk to you,” he said.

  “Not now,” Antonio said. “I’m . . . we’re busy.”

  “You’re both going to want to hear this,” Christopher said, panting. “It’s Marco. He went to the city.”

  Lucia whirled. “What?”

  “What do you mean, he went to the city?” Antonio practically shouted. “How did he get out of the compound?”

  “He jumped on a Ducati and sped off,” Christopher replied. “I sent Vinny after him.”

  “You got to be fucking kidding me,” Antonio said. “Do you know how dangerous it is out there? Get a fucking crew together and go after them!”

  “I have. We’re ready to go.”

  Antonio shut the door to the freezer, locking Mariana back inside. Then he followed his wife and Christopher back upstairs.

  When they got to the lobby, a group of armed men was gathering outside.

  “Bring me my gear and a rifle,” Antonio said.

  “You should stay here,” Christopher said. “It’s not safe out there with the Vegas on the attack. I’ll bring them home. I’m leaving Yellowtail and Lino here to protect you and Lucia.”

  Antonio hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to run out there and grab his son, but leaving the compound now would put him at risk like never before. And it could also leave Lucia exposed to an attack.

  In a single act, Marco had jeopardized not only his own life, but the entire organization as well.

  He turned to his wife, who was glaring at him with bloodshot eyes.

  “I told you I didn’t want this life for him,” Lucia said. “I told you he wasn’t ready!”

  The other men paused at this outburst.

  But she was right, of course. She was always right.

  He swallowed hard, considering the implications. He never got played, but this time, he had played himself by giving Marco a chance for a seat at the table.

  Antonio had tried to force him to be a man in the desert, but that had only made things worse.

  It seemed you couldn’t force someone to become a man.

  Christopher reached up as he was tossed a submachine gun. They circled around Antonio, awaiting orders.

  “Get the word out as fast as possible to Miguel and Esteban,” Antonio said. “We have Mariana López, and if Vinny or Marco is harmed, we will send her back to Miguel—in boxes.”

  “Go and find our son,” Lucia said to the soldiers.

  The men hurried away. As she watched them go, Antonio reached out to her, but she pulled away from him.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “You better pray nothing has happened to our son, or . . .”

  She left the thought hanging and hurried away. But Antonio knew what she had left unsaid. If Marco died, their love would die. And he couldn’t blame his wife for that.

  -25-

  Vinny cranked the throttle of his black Ducati Diavel, the red glow of the speedometer ticking over a hundred miles an hour.

  You got a death wish, cuz.

  Marco was flying on his bright-red Ducati Panigale. Boasting 290 horsepower and 11,000 rpm, the sport bike lived up to the term “crotch rocket.”

  If Marco crashed the Panigale, there wouldn’t be much of him left to scrape off the pavement. He weaved in and out of the sporadic traffic en route to west Los Angeles. Vinny was right—he knew exactly where his cousin was going: the Goldilocks Zone.

  Over the past twenty minutes, Vinny had closed the gap, but Marco was pulling ahead again now that he saw he had a tail.

  The chances of him making it to the bars in one piece were getting worse by the second. Driving 110 miles an hour while drunk and angry was about the dumbest thing he could be doing.

  Especially on these shitty roads.

  The Diavel’s wider tire jolted, and Vinny gritted his teeth. His bike handled better, but it was still dicey at these speeds.

  “Marco, you dumb, dumb fuck,” he said.

  Grit and dust pecked at his visor.

  Vinny passed a pickup truck with a bed made of boards. Next came an old school bus with drapes covering the windows. Several cars blocked the road ahead, and someone was poking along in the left lane. He eased off the throttle.

  “Move over!” he yelled.

  The beam from Marco’s bike continued to speed away, and if he didn’t get past this road hog, he was going to lose any chance of catching up with the faster Panigale.

  “Come on, you asshole,” Vinny said, pulling behind the car in the fast lane. The lights from his bike hit the face of a kid in the back seat looking out the window.

  The driver finally merged right, and Vinny gunned the engine, passing at a cool eighty miles an hour. The boy in the back seat moved to the left window for a glance at him, but Vinny kept his eyes forward, reading the view in his headlights as fast as his brain could process the changing terrain.

  Another crack snaked across the road, but he was moving so fast, he didn’t have time to do more than hold the bike steady. The tires thumped over the depression and found purchase on the road again.

  Vinny about swallowed his heart when he hit a pothole a moment later.

  The bike caught several inches of air, or so it felt. The tires hit the asphalt, and his cell phone and a magazine for his Glock flew out of his suit jacket.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  Vinny considered backing off and returning home.

  Why should he die for his stupid cousin?

  Because you made your uncle and aunt a promise.

  While debating the question, he maneuvered around a semi hauling a trailer of cattle, then gunned the bike over parallel cracks in the road.

  Thump-thump, thump-thump.

  Vinny still had his cousin in sight. They were nearing the off-ramp for the Goldilocks Zone, and Marco appeared to be picking up speed again.

  He checked the speedometer for a split second: 105 miles per hour.

  He gave the bike a final push, gaining ground on Marco over the next mile. Vinny navigated the final stretch by carefully weaving in and out of the light traffic. A pickup traveling under the speed limit on the right lane flashed by, and the workers in the back all screamed and waved their arms.

  As Vinny crested the hill, he saw his cousin’s taillight in the distance, but he also saw a second slow pickup, moving over into the right lane.

  Now he understood the urgency in the workers’ waving and yelling—they were warning him.

  He had only a split second to steer the bike gently to the left.

  Vinny had always heard that when his life flashed before his mind’s eye, he would see the ones he loved most. But for some reason, all he saw were the faces of the men he had killed.

  The images vanished as he passed the truck. His right handlebar came so close, if the truck had had a regulation mirror on the left side, it would have been the end of Vinny Moretti.

  He managed t
o keep the bike steady down the hill, feeling the engine’s vibration right through his bones. The flashing lights of his destination came into focus, the neon glow giving color to a drab, gray city. He thought of Adriana, who was probably serving cocktails at the Golden Oyster. The casino dazzled in the distance, tempting the lucky few who had money to drop.

  Not far ahead, the prince of the Moretti family had already driven off the exit ramp. Marco had miraculously made it through the gauntlet alive, but he was about to get a serious ass-kicking.

  Vinny eased off the gas and drove toward the lights of the main strip. He had caught his breath, but his heart continued to pound as he searched for the Bling Factory, one of the only places here he had never been before.

  Vettes and Lamborghinis and Porsches were parked outside the clubs. The wealthy often flocked here, and tonight it was bumping, which made Vinny even more nervous for himself and his cousin.

  Don Antonio’s orders had been clear: stay in the compound until they figured out what the LAPD was going to do, if anything, and until the Vegas were weak.

  Aside from Vito, who had been given permission to watch his son fight at the Diamond Arena, the only Moretti men on the streets were dealers and lookouts. The boss couldn’t afford to lose any more soldiers or captains after losing Frankie and Rush. Of course, Marco was the biggest target besides his dad. Plenty of gangsters would love nothing more than a chance to take out the heir to the Moretti empire.

  Vinny passed a row of crotch rockets. Some of the owners stood on the sidewalk, drinking beers and smoking joints. These weren’t your average gangbangers.

  Vega sicarios.

  One of the men had a bandage on his right arm, with fresh blood soaking through. It looked as if they had come straight from a fight. If they were out tonight, it meant they were here to celebrate a victory.

  Vinny suddenly felt naked. If these were Miguel’s men, they might see a golden opportunity to take out a Moretti, and if they were Esteban’s, they still might try something—he didn’t trust that narco bastard.

  Marco wasn’t the only target tonight. Vinny now had crosshairs on his back too, and he had only his Glock and one spare magazine to defend himself. That wouldn’t do much if these guys made him and decided to take him out.

  He kept his helmet forward, hoping the tinted glass would hide his features, although not many people in the city owned high-end Ducatis. He wished he had Doberman with him.

  Several of the sicarios watched him from the curb as he passed. He finally saw the glaring green and orange neon for the Bling Factory around the next corner. Vinny rode the bike around the block. Once he was clear, he glanced over his shoulder for any sign that the Vegas had made him. Seeing none, he put down the kickstand.

  He had to make this quick, but he would have to show his face to get in the club. He considered waiting for reinforcements.

  Don Antonio would have a small army en route now that they knew Marco wasn’t just out for a joy ride. The question was whether they would get to Marco before he got into trouble or maybe even killed.

  Vinny decided there wasn’t time to wait. He left his helmet on the bike and ran toward the line outside the door, where he pushed his way to the front. Right through the entitled rich pricks just like Marco.

  “Hey, wait your turn,” a tall towheaded guy snapped.

  Vinny ignored him.

  Someone grabbed his shoulder, but he shrugged loose, knocking a girl aside. The two bouncers stopped him at the rope.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” the big man on the right said.

  The other guy held up a hand. “Oh shit, you’re . . .”

  “Vinny Moretti,” he replied.

  The first guy blanched. “Sorry, bro, go on in.”

  “Hey, why does he get to go?” someone else said.

  Vinny turned to see Towhead again. He was about to tell the guy to fuck off when he saw three Vegas rounding the corner.

  He turned and hurried through the open rope, then into the club. The place was jam-packed with bodies. Vinny sidled his way through, scanning faces in the flashing lights.

  The place certainly lived up to its name. Prism chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a million little rainbows around the room. Even the bar was blinged out with mirrors, crystal lamps, and silver trim.

  But he didn’t see his cousin anywhere. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Vegas arguing with the bouncers out front. They would be able to hold them back for only a few seconds or risk a bullet.

  Vinny had to find his cousin fast.

  He continued past several leather-upholstered booths and glass tables with crystal lamps, heading toward the VIP lounge. At the bar, a familiar face caught his attention.

  Jenny, the skinny blonde Marco had been chasing, was sipping a martini on a stool. And Marco was leaning against the bar right beside her.

  Several of his friends were crowded around. Nick, Giovanni, and the twins Alex and Pietro. None of these guys could fight, and unlike Vinny, Marco didn’t have a Doberman watching his six.

  Shit, I’m Marco’s Doberman.

  In his haste, Vinny slammed into a girl, knocking her to the floor.

  “Hey!” shouted her boyfriend, who was a foot taller than Vinny.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.”

  The hulking guy wasn’t ready to let it go.

  By the time the guy reached out to put hands on him, Vinny had a gun muzzle pressed underneath his jaw.

  “Back the fuck off, shithead, and help your lady up, or I’ll blow your fucking throat out,” Vinny snapped.

  The guy let go of Vinny’s collar and bent down to help up his lady friend.

  “Sorry,” Vinny repeated to her.

  He beelined for Marco.

  “Hey, it’s Vinny!” Alex yelled.

  “Vin!” Nick shouted, smiling and raising a beer.

  Vinny ignored them and grabbed Marco.

  “We need to leave, now,” he said.

  Marco pulled away from his grip and gave Vinny the once-over.

  “Dude, fuck off,” Marco said.

  “You dumb motherfucker, I should knock you out,” Vinny said through clenched teeth. “But we don’t have time for that.”

  “You better watch it,” Marco whined. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  Vinny scanned the crowd. “The Vegas are here, asshole,” he said. “They saw me on the way in. We have to get out of here now!”

  Marco’s gaze flitted to the entrance. “So what? Esteban has a deal with my dad. They can’t touch—”

  Any supposed deal went up in smoke as bullets pounded the bar. Nick dropped his beer and gripped his chest, where a neat round hole was squirting blood.

  “Nick!” Marco yelled.

  He reached out to his friend, but Vinny grabbed him and pulled him to the floor. Bullets shattered mirrors and racks of bottles, showering glass all over the seats. Chandeliers rained broken prisms on frightened patrons.

  Screams and shouts rang out, and people trampled one another in their panic to escape.

  Vinny pointed his Glock at a target, but a girl ran in front of him.

  Five Vega sicarios ran into the club, some of them firing submachine guns at the ceiling to clear the room.

  Marco had crawled over to Nick, who was choking on his own blood.

  “Marco, we have to go!” Vinny shouted. He fired off several shots, taking down a Vega moving toward them.

  More gunfire hit the bar.

  “Come on!” Marco yelled. His friends all took off, with Vinny leading them.

  There was nothing they could do for Nick.

  Sirens flashed outside, but the cops wouldn’t deter the Vegas. The bloodthirsty killers had the Moretti heir in their sights, along with the son of the second in command.

  Vinny made a run for the exit, passing people cowering behind leather booths. His shoes slapped through spilled booze mixing with blood.

  Pietro cried out as a bullet hit his leg. H
is twin, Alex, grabbed him, helping him up and into a back hallway where the bathrooms and offices were. Marco was with Jenny now, and Giovanni.

  “You guys hide in the bathroom!” Vinny yelled. “You’re safer without us.”

  Marco, in an apparent moment of clarity, nodded at Giovanni. “Get her somewhere safe.”

  Giovanni and the twins parted ways, taking Jenny down the opposite hall while Vinny and Marco bolted for the back exit.

  Marco stopped halfway down the hall and turned with his gun.

  “Vinny!” he yelled.

  “Go! I’m right behind you!”

  Vinny moved his finger to the trigger and pulled it twice as soon as a man with a dagger tattoo on his neck came around the corner. The rounds hit him in the shoulder and right above the ruby in the dagger’s hilt.

  Vinny had just killed a soldier. Maybe even the Vega equivalent of a captain.

  He took off running for the exit, where Marco was waiting with the door open. They moved into a parking lot, looking around for the best escape.

  Cars were racing away.

  Vinny pointed his gun at one. “Get out!”

  But the driver had other ideas and squealed past, nearly running over his foot.

  “What do we do?” Marco asked, his voice shaking. He had a revolver in his hand and fear in his eyes. He wasn’t just drunk; he was terrified.

  “Follow me,” Vinny said. He ran across the parking lot, looking for a car they could jack. But there wasn’t time.

  Bullets punched into the truck next to Vinny. He hunched down as the windows shattered.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  The return fire hurt Vinny’s ears, because it was coming from right beside him. Marco stood, closed one eye, and fired at two sicarios in the parking lot. Both men dropped on the pavement.

  Marco lowered the smoking revolver. “I got ’em!” he said. “I fucking got ’em!”

  Vinny grabbed his cousin, yanking him away. He eyed the slums in the distance, a thought crossing his mind.

  No, you can’t put her at risk.

  But they had no other good option.

  “Come on,” Vinny said. “I know a place we can hide.”

  -26-

  Two hours after fleeing the basketball courts at Long Beach with Sammy, Dom arrived at the Diamond Arena, where the Dodgers once played.