Sons of War 3: Sinners

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The Chef grinned. He picked up his machete as Ray grabbed his knife. They ran at each other while Namid squirmed on the ground, bleeding from his neck. He was trying to speak, but Ray could make out only a few words. Something about saving his family.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but also lightning fast.

  Ray ducked as the Chef swiped the air with the machete. Lunging, he thrust his knife in the center of the butcher apron, pulled it out, and then jammed it into his chest, where he left it.

  The Chef fell to his knees, holding the knife’s hilt. Ray crouched next to Namid. He was still alive, blood pooling around him.

  There was too much of it.

  Ray put his hand on his neck.

  “It’s okay, man,” Ray said. He had said the same thing to Tommy not long before he died.

  Namid tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling noise.

  Ray closed his eyes for a fleeting second. When he opened them again, Namid was gone.

  He pulled his hand away, then fell to his butt when something hot slammed into his side and knocked him over.

  The echo from the gunshot lingered as Ray crawled for cover.

  Two more shots followed, one of them pinging off the ground next to him. He scrambled for cover behind his car again and pulled a fresh magazine.

  Reaching down, he felt his side, right below the vest.

  Blood came away on his fingers.

  The same raspy breathing from before sounded over the silence.

  He forced himself up to look over the side of the car. Across the garage, Mikey held up a pistol, raking it back and forth in the darkness.

  The fucking trash man was still alive.

  “You got more lives than a mutant cat,” Ray said.

  He aimed the P320 at Mikey’s wrist. The bullet ripped through bone, gristle, and muscle. The screams that followed were music to his ears. Ray moved around the car, kicked the gun away, and holstered his pistol.

  “You cocksucker,” Mikey grumbled.

  Ray went to retrieve his knife, then saw the bloody machete. It was time to give Mikey a taste of his own medicine.

  Time to do what the Saints had failed to do at the port.

  He brought the blade up in the dim lamplight and watched Mikey’s eyes widen.

  “No,” he wailed. “NO!”

  “You sound like a little girl,” Ray said, echoing the words they had used on him the night they killed Tommy. He swung the blade down on the edges of Mikey’s bulletproof vest, cutting into blubber and flesh.

  For the next few minutes, he went to work on the demon, methodically hacking him to pieces. By the time he was done, Ray was drenched in the blood of a man who had terrorized the city for too long.

  But it wasn’t just Mikey’s blood. The flow from Ray’s gut was bad, and cutting Mikey up hadn’t helped. And it wouldn’t make up for his sins. He looked over at the still-warm body of the Saint he had gotten killed.

  First Tommy, now Namid.

  Namid was right about Ray. He was no better than the gangsters. In some ways, he was worse.

  With no more outs, there was only one thing left for Ray Clarke to do—only one way for a dirty cop to make up for a dark past.

  -28-

  Camilla got back to the safe house an hour after Dom killed Vito at the Diamond Arena. Her heart was still pounding at the chaotic scene that followed, and she still didn’t know exactly what had happened in that bathroom—only that Dom had more blood on him than a trauma surgeon.

  For the past hour, she had been with Bettis and Tooth, busy making final preparations at the safe house. Loading gear and guns and getting the Tahoe ready to roll.

  The team was now listening to the police-band radio on the card table while Dom spent time in the office. Camilla worried about what he had planned.

  She was no coward, but after the attack on the Morettis and after killing Vito, it was time to lie low or to flee, and she was leaning toward the latter.

  If she knew Dom, he wasn’t going anywhere, especially after Sammy told them about a new shipment coming in for the Morettis. He saw it as the Saints’ next chance to hurt their operation.

  She saw it as a suicide pact.

  “Any deal the Vegas had with the Morettis is off now,” Bettis said.

  “It’s all-out war,” Rocky said. “I can’t believe this . . .”

  Camilla couldn’t believe it, either.

  “Honestly,” said Tooth, “I’m surprised Vinny and Marco were dumb enough to be outside their fortress.”

  “Either way, shit’s about to fly,” Pork Chop said.

  “At least, we aren’t the main targets anymore,” Tooth said. “Not after tonight. Antonio is going to shit grenades and throw them at every Vega-controlled corner.”

  Rocky threw an uppercut into the air as if this were a victory. But the youngster had no idea what any of this meant. Camilla did, and so did Pork Chop, Bettis, Moose, Tooth, and their leader.

  Dom stood in the open door of the garage, Cayenne at his side.

  “Where’s Namid?” he asked.

  “I thought he was still at home,” Pork Chop said.

  Dom went to the table, still deep in thought. He had changed out of his bloody clothes but still had a carmine smear on his cheek.

  The other Saints gathered around, waiting to hear his next orders.

  “Most of the Nevskys and most of the Bloods were wiped out, leaving just the Vegas and the Morettis,” he said. “What happens next will determine the fate of the city and the people who call this place home.”

  He held up his cell phone. “I got a text from Lieutenant Marks. He wants to meet, and I’m going to arrange a sit-down with him tomorrow.”

  Rocky shook his head. “That sounds like a bad idea, boss. How do we know if—”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Dom said. “I’ll go alone if I have to.”

  “No way,” Moose said. “We’re coming.”

  “Yup,” Tooth said.

  Bettis nodded.

  Camilla wasn’t sure what to say. She knew that Dom was close to Marks, but what if this was a trap?

  “That’s all I have to say,” Dom said. “Now, get some rest.” He grabbed his gear and walked out of the room, heading toward the roof with Cayenne.

  Camilla followed them into the hallway. “Want some company?”

  He turned, and the glow of a lantern flickered across his handsome features.

  “I really need some time to think.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned to go back into the garage.

  “On second thought, I do want to talk to you,” Dom said.

  They went up to the roof, with Cayenne hopping up the stairs after them.

  A dazzling sky filled with stars greeted them there. On another occasion, it would have been romantic if not for the blue and red lights flashing in the distance—a reminder of the war still raging in the heart of the city.

  The door clicked shut behind them, and Dom walked to the center of the roof and set his gear down. For a moment, he looked out over the city. Then he turned to face her.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Now’s the time to strike the Morettis again,” Dom said. “They’re weak. So are the Vegas. We are no longer their main targets.”

  Camilla let out a discreet sigh.

  “What?” Dom asked.

  She looked him in the eye, wondering whether he was high on speed again. The man she had fought beside all these years—a man she loved—was changing.

  “I’m really worried about you, Dominic,” she said. “Moose is too, and . . .”

  Dom shook his head. “And I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself and have been pulling some crazy shit.”

  “I’m fine. I admit I took a bit of a risk the other night, but I swear, this wasn’t my fault.” She pointed at the cut on her freckled nose. “Some guys jumped me at the Pig’s Ear.”

  “Jumped you?” Dom
raised a brow.

  “I lost my temper with some assholes, and they jumped me . . . or tried to.”

  Dom looked back toward the city. “Maybe you should talk to Bettis.”

  And maybe you should talk to someone about the uppers you’ve been popping like jelly beans.

  “I talked to him the other day,” Dom said. “Nothing wrong with asking for help. Bettis gave me some good advice.”

  “Oh.” Camilla suddenly felt bad.

  Dom scratched his five o’clock shadow. “We’re the same, you know. We both harbor anger from the loss of a sibling. And it motivates us to keep fighting. It also has resulted in some risks that we shouldn’t have taken.”

  He was right, and Camilla realized now more than ever that they both were acting a little crazy these past few weeks. Taking one step closer to the edge in an effort to get revenge and soothe the pain inside them.

  “I think of Monica every day,” Dom said. “I think about the men who took her, and the domino effect that followed. My mom going crazy, my dad going out to look for my sis and never coming back.”

  He closed his eyes, took in a breath, and opened them to meet her gaze. The sadness there pricked her broken heart. They had more in common than the loss of their siblings and parents.

  “But tonight, I killed one of the bastards responsible,” Dom said. “With Vito Moretti and Max Sammartino dead, I can now focus on the snake, Don Antonio.”

  Camilla narrowed her eyes. “Vito and Max took your sister?”

  He bowed his head, but Camilla knew he wasn’t praying. He was remembering some awful event.

  “Marks was the one that led me to Max, and Max led me to Vito,” Dom said. “I didn’t want the team to know, because of all the other stuff going on.”

  She moved over and brushed her hand against his.

  “I’m so sorry, Dom,” she said. “I had no idea.”

  “The weird thing is, I don’t feel much better. Marks warned me about this. He told me that by embracing evil, we become evil. Maybe this is what happened to my father out there.”

  Camilla had thought about how she might feel when she killed the Vega brothers. Would it relieve any of her pain?

  “Revenge works only if we don’t become evil in the process,” she said. “And that part’s tricky.”

  Dom didn’t reply right away.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He was having a hard time meeting her gaze.

  “I killed Vito in front of his kid,” Dom said. “Gutted him like a fish while his son watched.”

  Camilla held in a breath. Now she knew what had happened in that bathroom and why Moose seemed so disturbed.

  Dom reached out and wrapped his arms around Camilla as Cayenne looked up at them, tail wagging.

  At his callused touch, everything came crashing down. All the emotions she had been holding in came rushing out. Dom also seemed to soften and his walls seemed to come down in her embrace. Cayenne’s tail whipped faster, and she nudged up between them.

  Dom chuckled, and so did Camilla.

  “Jealous,” Dom said.

  “I guess so.”

  Camilla gave Cayenne a kiss on the head and got a juicy face lick back.

  Dom stopped smiling and drew in a deep breath.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” Camilla said.

  “I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can’t . . .” He gave his head a weary shake. “I’ve sinned. I’ve embraced evil in the pursuit of revenge.”

  “We all have,” Cam replied. She hugged him again and kissed him on his cheek as she pulled away. “You have to stay strong. You can’t let this poison your heart more.”

  “I’ve numbed my mind and heart with alcohol and used speed to keep me going when I needed to step back and rest.” Dom ran a hand through his hair. “This is what happened to my dad in some ways, in his search to find Mon. It’s exactly the thing Marks warned me about.”

  “It’s going to be okay, though,” she said. “You’re a good man, Dom. Kick the speed, stop drinking, and focus. I’ll be here at your side.”

  Dom lowered his hand and nodded. “Thank you for sticking with me, Cam.”

  “Always.”

  He looked out over the city.

  “I once heard that evil arrives faster than it departs,” he said. “This war is only going to get worse.”

  “I know.”

  Dom coughed and turned away, wheezing.

  The door swung open, and Moose stepped out. He panted, as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Camilla asked.

  Moose tried to speak. His lips quivered in the moonlight. Camilla had never seen the big guy like this before.

  “Andre, what’s wrong?” Dom asked.

  “It’s my brother,” Moose finally managed to say. “He . . . he did something terrible.”

  * * *

  “You can’t tell your dad or Carmen about her,” Vinny said in a whisper.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Marco said. He had slumped in a tattered armchair with his forehead in his hands.

  “Nick’s dead, and it’s because of me, isn’t it, Vin?” He looked up as if hoping for some sort of absolution, or at least reassurance.

  Vinny didn’t want to give either, but his cousin looked like shit and was an emotional mess. He sat on the edge of the couch and sighed.

  “Nick is dead because of the Vegas,” Vinny said.

  He glanced into the kitchen, making sure Adriana couldn’t hear them. She stood in front of the coffeepot, waiting for it to finish brewing.

  Outside, the sirens continued to wail, along with a half-dozen dogs.

  “I fucked up,” Marco said. “God, I really did it this time. My dad’s going to hang my balls in his office, isn’t he?”

  Vinny couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nah, probably just put ’em under a bell jar on the mantel.”

  “Real funny, Vin,” Marco moaned. “I don’t understand how this could have happened. The Goldilocks Zone is supposed to be neutral territory, and Dad has a truce with Esteban Vega.”

  “It could have been Miguel’s guys, or Esteban could have broken his promise after we took out the Nevskys.”

  Marco groaned and slouched in the chair, bumping the suit coat draped over the edge. Specks of Nick’s blood had spattered the front of the metallic-colored fabric.

  “Drink that water,” Vinny said.

  Marco picked up a bottle and sipped it. He had sobered up, and with sobriety came anxiety.

  “Are you sure Nick was dead when we ran?” Marco asked.

  Vinny wasn’t sure whether the question was rhetorical, but he nodded anyway. “He’s gone, man, but this isn’t your fault. You got that?” He reached out and put a hand on Marco’s shoulder, but Marco reared back like a frightened dog.

  “Calm down, man. It’s okay. We’re safe, and we’ll go home as soon as things calm down. And then, when they do, we’ll strike back hard. Harder than they hit us.”

  Adriana walked into the room holding two steaming mugs of coffee.

  “Hope you like honey,” she said.

  He stood and took the mug from his girlfriend. She couldn’t even afford decent coffee beans, but despite the hardships, she seemed content and happy. Unlike his wife, who was never either.

  Adriana sat next to Vinny on the couch, and he put his hand on her leg.

  She seemed unfazed by the evening’s events, but he hadn’t told her everything. If she knew that the Vegas were hunting them . . .

  “Thanks,” Marco said, taking a sip. “This is pretty good.”

  She watched him drink, then whispered into Vinny’s ear when Marco moved over to the window. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Marco reached for the drapes, and Vinny shot up. “Don’t touch those.”

  After a slight hesitation, Marco pulled his hand away.

  At least we don’t have to worry about the Nevskys or the Bloods anymore, Vinny mused.

  He put an arm around Ad
riana, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly.

  Marco turned around, raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.

  It was nearly two in the morning, and the kid looked like hammered shit. He needed water and sleep, not coffee.

  “Marco, why don’t you come sit down,” Vinny said.

  “I want to go home, Vin. Can’t we just try calling your dad?”

  “With what phone? I lost mine on the bike, and you lost yours in the club.”

  Marco started to pace, eyes on the floor, deep in thought.

  “Dude, sit down and relax,” Vinny said.

  “You’re not my fucking boss.”

  Vinny took his hand off Adriana and stood. “I get you’re upset about Nick and your other friends,” he said, “but I risked my ass for you tonight.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that.” Marco ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “And you must be forgetting it was you, not me, that led the Vegas to the Bling Factory. It was you that got Nick killed.”

  Dumb little shit . . .

  “Vegas?” Adriana asked.

  Vinny felt her hand on his forearm, but he pulled it away as he walked toward Marco, stopping directly in front of his slightly shorter cousin.

  “You’re testing my patience,” Vinny said. He was close enough to smell the coffee and vodka on Marco’s breath.

  They locked eyes.

  Even though they had the same Moretti blood in their veins, their hearts and minds couldn’t have been further apart.

  “You’re always showing me up, Vin. Have been since I was a kid. You know how that feels?”

  Vinny listened, struggling against the urge to slap the smell of booze out of his young cousin’s mouth.

  “Do you know how it feels to always be walking four steps behind my older cousin when I’m supposed to be strong and smart like my dad?”

  “You’ve made your own choices, Marco, and if you keep acting like this, I’m done trying to help you.”

  For a fleeting moment, he thought his cousin might do something else he would regret. But Marco finally backed down and walked over to the chair, where he sat down and held the coffee mug in both hands.

  “Don’t worry, Vin, I won’t tell anyone about you and your lady friend here,” Marco said with a condescending snort. “When I get home, I’m going to work. I’m going to focus on finding and killing the Vegas and the Saints.”