Into the Fire (New York Syndicate Book 2)

by Michelle St. James

  Into the Fire

  New York Syndicate Book Two

  Michelle St. James

  Blackthorn Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Links

  Also by Michelle St. James

  by Michelle St. James This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017 by Michelle St. James aka Michelle Zink

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Isabel Robalo

  ISBN 978-0-9982838-9-0

  Prologue

  Farrell Black watched Damian Cavallo walk through the door and knew they were in trouble. The other man stalked into the room wearing his anger like a massive boulder on his shoulders, his body coiled so tight Farrell half expected Damian to unleash his fury on Farrell and the other men in the room.

  “Damian, thank you for coming,” Nico said.

  “No need to thank me,” Damian said, his voice short and flat.

  Nico nodded and gestured to one of the empty seats at the conference table. Farrell was grateful for Nico’s calm head. Farrell’s instinct with any man carrying a chip on his shoulder was to knock it off.

  It’s not that Farrell didn’t understand. He knew more than anyone how a woman could get under your skin.

  Hell, they all did.

  He let his gaze scan the men around the table. Nico had sacrificed an empire for his wife, Angel. Christophe had sacrificed his brother for Charlotte Duval — although the argument could be made that Christophe’s brother, Bruno, sacrificed him first. Luca had almost been killed by a Columbian drug lord to save Isabel and her little sister.

  And Farrell… well, he had sacrificed his pride, had opened his heart to Jenna and their daughter, Lily. Until them, there was nothing he valued more than his independence, his utter dismissal of anyone who might try to know him.

  It was fucking terrifying — even now — to love someone so much.

  The point was, he understood Damian’s feelings, even though he usually thought feelings were bullshit. He knew that Damian probably couldn’t sleep at night for his worry over Aria since her kidnapping in Italy. Knew that the other man probably drank himself into a stupor to avoid thinking about what could be happening to her.

  It didn't matter that Aria was the sister of Primo Fiore, the man Damian had been hired to take down in an effort to bring the New York territory under control of the new Syndicate.

  Farrell could see that the other man was too far gone to care.

  Still, Farrell knew firsthand that emotion could get you — and everyone around you — killed. He would need to keep his eye on Cavallo. Assuming Damian could bring the New York territory back under their control, Farrell was glad he’d agreed to join them.

  But that didn’t give him a free pass to endanger the rest of them.

  “Let’s get started,” Nico said, taking a seat at the head of the table.

  All of the men at the table — minus Damian — were equals in the new Syndicate, partners in the organization that had risen from the ashes of the one run by Raneiro Donati before Nico put a bullet in his head.

  Even so, Farrell, Christophe, and Luca were usually more than happy to let Nico act as their figurehead. Violence was still Farrell’s preferred method for solving problems, Christophe was sometimes too cool for his own good, and Luca had always preferred being in the background.

  Nico was born to be a leader, even if it wasn’t technically his title. There was a kind of poetry to it; after all, the long and winding story that had brought them together in the sleek offices towering over Manhattan had started with Nico.

  Farrell took a seat to Nico’s right and let his eyes travel again over his partners at the table. They’d become more than his friends.

  They were his brothers.

  He would take a bullet for any of them and he rested secure in the knowledge that they would do the same for him.

  Damian was another matter. A wild card. Still.

  “Can I get you anything?” Nico asked Damian. “Coffee? Water? Whiskey?”

  “Let’s just figure this out,” Damian said.

  Nico nodded, picked up the iPad in front of him. They all had one at their place around the table. They would all be wiped clean after the meeting.

  “The documentation about the raid has been sent to each of you,” Nico said. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

  Farrell reached for his tablet as the other men did the same. He opened the files that had been sent to them through the combined efforts of Christophe’s cyberlab in Paris and Damian’s in New York.

  Farrell didn’t give a shit about cyber anything — technology was always second to brute force — but he was getting used to Nico’s modern, high-tech vision for the organized crime empire known as the Syndicate. It was a good vision, one Farrell knew he would have to embrace if he wanted to keep his organization relevant in London.

  “You can see that the apartment is in Omonoia,” Nico began as Farrell stared at a photograph of a narrow, gritty street. Aging buildings rose high on either side, blocking out most of the daylight.

  “Fucking-A,” Luca muttered.

  Damian glared at him. “Is that a problem?”

  “Omonoia is the urban headquarters of the Anastos family,” Luca said.

  “They own everything, right down to the police force,” Damian said flatly. “Your point?”

  “It’s true that the neighborhood is bought and paid for by Anastos,” Nico continued, obviously trying to head off an argument. “But it won’t be the first time we’ve launched an operation in unfriendly territory.”

  There was no neighborhood, no country, no family the Syndicate couldn’t take down. They’d taken down Raneiro Donati, had toppled an international empire to rebuild it in an image that suited them. It had taken time — years — but they’d done it.

  They could have recaptured the New York territory without Damian, could have taken the Cavallo family out along the way. They’d chosen to work through Damian — with him — only because once the territory was recaptured it would need a leader.

  The other Syndicate leaders already had territories. That had meant bringing in someone new to run the city that had been the jewel in the crown of every criminal organization in modern history — New York.

  It had meant bringing in Damian Cavallo — and sticking with him — even with the baggage of Aria Fiore.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision. In fact, it had been hotly contested. While Damian was in the hospital recovering from the gunshot he’d sustained during Aria’s kidnapping, Farrell and the others had spent hours around the confe
rence table hashing out the pros and cons of standing by him.

  Pros: they were already invested in Cavallo and he was still the strongest candidate to lead New York. By pooling his resources and the Syndicate’s, they were reasonably certain they could get Aria Fiore out of Athens quickly and get back to the business of retaking the territory.

  Cons: Any effort to retake New York would be put on hold until Aria Fiore was rescued. In the meantime, the fact that Anastos’s people had Aria Fiore — the estranged sister of Primo Fiore — meant that Primo and his calculating underboss, Malcolm Gatti, were now working with the Greeks.

  And the Greeks were not to be taken lightly.

  Stefano Anastos had been Raneiro Donati’s man in Athens before Donati’s death. It wasn’t an overly powerful territory — but it was a violent one, and Anastos had always been an enthusiastic match to the kindling. The economic unrest in Greece had made for fertile soil, allowing Anastos to pay off both low-level police officers and high-level politicians to look the other way while he used every means imaginable to capitalize on the chaos.

  “The upside to fighting a monster like Anastos is that it’s easier to find rats willing to talk,” Farrell said. “With the right incentive.”

  Nico was dangerous, but he was also thoughtful. Every maneuver took place on a chess board in Nico’s mind. He didn’t resort to violence unless he thought it was the most effective option. He would use cash as an incentive for Anastos’s low-level snitches in Athens, or perhaps the promise of asylum when the Syndicate retook Athens in the future.

  Farrell would be just as happy using his fists if that’s what it came to — he and Damian were alike that way — but long-term the goal was to remove every leader who had been loyal to Raneiro Donati or anyone who had taken advantage of the leadership vacuum in a way that wasn’t in keeping with the new Syndicate’s vision. That meant the low-level guys would be looking to align themselves with the eventual leaders of the territory.

  “I’ve already got a couple guys on that angle,” Damian said. “Have a mole inside the police department too.”

  Farrell tried not to show he was impressed. Damian might be one of them now, but he’d caused them a shitload of trouble with the Fiore girl.

  “Good,” Nico said. “See if we can get them to detain any of Anastos’s men in the area once we arrive.”

  “How long will we need?” Damian asked.

  “Half hour would be ideal, but that’s not going to happen,” Nico said. “Let’s aim for twenty minutes. Make sure they’re well paid.”

  Across the table, Christophe swiped through the images on his iPad. “Twenty minutes? Aria Fiore is being held on the building’s fourth floor.”

  Nico nodded. “That’s right.”

  Farrell tried to see it in his mind’s eye — the narrow street, Anastos’s men planted in various neighborhood businesses, phone calls alerting them that trouble was coming, the fourth floor walk-up.

  Not a lot of room — or time — for finesse.

  “I take it our plan is brute force?” Farrell said.

  “It’s all we have,” Nico said.

  Fuck it. Farrell preferred brute force to finesse anyway.

  He looked at the map of the greater Athens area. “So we land in Tanagra.”

  It was an hour outside Athens, but there was less of a chance that Anastos would have paid snitches at a small, regional airport. Still no guarantee, but better than Athens which was almost certain to be locked down by Anastos’s men.

  “That’s right,” Nico said. “We land after nightfall, caravan in to Athens, get in and get out.”

  “What about weapons?” Christophe asked.

  “They’ll meet us on the ground,” Nico said.

  “Only six men on-site,” Luca murmured.

  “I like those odds,” Farrell said, reviewing the security footage that had been downloaded onto the iPads. There was nothing remarkable about the men entering and leaving the building. That was the thing about thugs — they all looked the same.

  “So some of us take the front door, the rest enter through the service entrance in the alley,” Christophe said. “We move up the stairs as quickly as possible, get the girl, get out in under twenty minutes, before Damian’s snitches cut Anastos’s men loose.”

  “That’s the extent of it,” Nico said. “You’ll see that the security cameras are marked on the map, but they’re irrelevant. We won’t have time to circumvent them. This is a raid, not a heist.”

  “How do we know…” Luca started to speak, then glanced at Damian.

  “How do we know she’s alive?” Damian asked.

  Luca nodded.

  “She’s alive,” Damian said.

  Farrell didn’t question it. His heart was intertwined with Jenna’s. He knew when she was scared or sad, felt her happiness seep through him like warm sunshine when she was joyful. He would know if she wasn’t in the world anymore. Who was he to say it wasn’t the same for Damian?

  Besides, the security cameras had picked up some of the men bringing in supplies — including women’s clothing and toiletries.

  “Anastos’s men are buying supplies in the area,” Nico said. “Food, clothing, women’s shampoo…”

  Luca nodded.

  “What about Fiore and Gatti?” Christophe asked.

  “Haven’t had a single sighting of Fiore,” Nico said. “Gatti’s been there a handful of times, never stays longer than a couple hours.”

  Damian’s hands tightened into fists on the table at the mention of Primo Fiore’s underboss. Farrell didn’t blame him. Primo Fiore was unbalanced, but Malcolm Gatti was his puppeteer, and Gatti was a stone cold psychopath.

  “Think the brother knows?” Christophe asked Nico.

  “He knows,” Damian said. “My guys uncovered correspondence between him and Gatti discussing the kidnapping.”

  Christophe swore in French.

  “A little more than kin, and less than kind…” Nico muttered.

  Only Nico would quote fucking Shakespeare while they talked about Primo Fiore’s betrayal of his sister. Then again, of the four men in charge of the Syndicate, Nico and Christophe were in the best position to understand the dynamic between Aria and Primo; Angel Rossi had been the daughter of Nico’s enemy Carlo, and Christophe’s brother, Bruno, had sold him out to align himself with Raneiro before his death.

  Both Carlo and Bruno were now dead.

  “I take it we’ve clocked more than one route out of Omonoia?” Farrell asked.

  The streets there were narrow and clogged with traffic. Getting Aria out of the apartment was only half the battle. They would still need to get out of Anastos’s home turf and back to the airport in Tanagra.

  “Two roads away from the apartment — front and back — and a few variations to Tanagra once we get out of the immediate vicinity,” Nico said.

  Farrell set the iPad down on the table. “Let’s have one of Damian’s guys disable Anastos’s vehicles in the area.”

  Nico nodded and tapped a note on the iPad. “Any questions?” he asked. “Concerns?”

  Farrell stifled a yawn. “When do we leave?”

  1

  Damian spun on the balls of his feet, kicking the heavy bag as he worked the knife in his hand against an imaginary opponent. He dodged the bag as it swung from the kick, imagining it was one of Anastos’s men standing between him and Aria. He threw the knife from one hand to the other and spun it, burying it into the bag without thinking.

  It was no longer an inanimate object, not a heavy bag hanging from a hook but a living, breathing man who might have hurt Aria, who was trying to keep her from Damian.

  He slid the knife into it again and again, seeing a wash of red behind his eyelids, needing only the release of fists and feet and weapons sinking into flesh.

  Even pretend flesh would do.

  By the time he was done, sand was pouring onto the floor under the bag, seeping from the cuts Damian had delivered as he worked against the moves
of the opponent in his head.

  He watched the bag swing, the sand marking the floor of the gym as it swung slower and slower on its hook. Finally, it stopped and he crossed the gym to a table lined with weapons.

  He let his gaze scan the knives and throwing stars, the nunchucks and claws. His tastes had grown more exotic in the month since he’d checked himself out of the hospital. He’d always liked fighting. Had always found release in the physical exertion required to hurt an opponent, in the satisfaction of knowing he had prevailed, but in the past he’d relied on garden-variety methodology: MMA, boxing, an assortment of knives, guns when required.

  His fixation on exotic weapons had become an obsession, yet another way to imagine himself destroying the men who had taken Aria from him.

  Who had kept her for nearly two months.

  And Primo Fiore was at the top of his list.

  Damian had to resist the urge to return to the heavy bag as he thought about Aria’s brother. He sheathed the knife instead. It was too late. He was due at the Westchester Airport in under two hours to board the private jet to Tanagra, Greece.

  To get Aria.

  He would store his rage instead, save it for the men who held Aria captive.

  Sweat was dripping from his bare torso, and he reached for a towel on his way out of the gym, hit the lights, and started up the stairs to the main floor.

  His thoughts returned to Primo. At first, he hadn’t been sure Aria’s brother had known about the plan to kidnap her. Primo was well known to be unstable, gossip that had been backed up by Aria once Damian had come to know her. Primo built the second most powerful organization in New York on the back of his madness — he was unpredictable and therefore dangerous — and in the vacuum of leadership by the Syndicate after Raneiro Donati’s death.