My phone buzzes with a text from Lorenzo. Caravan otw. ETA 20 mins.
Thanks. I’ll be in touch when it’s over.
“All right, men,” I say, calling everyone to attention. “They’re on the way. Angelo, I don’t want more than a handful of men to take part in the meeting, but I need to be sure Stanley Kent and the Nash brothers are among those men.”
“Got it, Boss,” he replies through the headset. “I’ll check IDs and eliminate the waste.”
“I don’t want it looking like a slaughter. I need these guys to pick up the pieces of their organization, not run and hide,” I say in warning. Angelo can be a bit much at times.
“I’ll make sure the right men make their way to you,” he says, pouting. “A guy can’t have any fun.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” I chuckle darkly. “Matteo, move the SUV to this area in case we need cover. Carlos, grab the extra ammo and let’s get our weapons reloaded. I want this to go smoothly, but we need to be prepared for the worst.”
“Chopper has eyes on three blacked out cars headed our direction,” Angelo says through the headset. “ETA five minutes.”
“Ten-four.”
The next couple minutes pass quietly as I remove the silencer from my gun and replace the empty clip with a full one. Carlos and Matteo both make sure their automatic weapons are loaded and ready, and then we just wait.
Silent and tense.
“Incoming,” Angelo murmurs through the headset.
We remain silent and listen to Angelo’s voice as he demands to see ID from the men in the first car. I’m fucking pleased when he says the names of all three men I’m expecting, along with two other names I’m unfamiliar with.
“Send them this way,” I say lowly. “The other two cars aren’t welcome to the party.”
“I got this, Boss.”
“Follow the drive,” he says, and the activity falls silent as tires crunch against the gravel.
I listen intently, waiting for him to stop the second and third cars, but it never fucking comes. “Angelo,” I growl as the first car comes around a bend in the drive.
“Wait for it …”
As a dark trio, the three cars trail into view one by one. My jaw clenches as I imagine all the ways I’m going to make Angelo suffer for his failure. But then something happens. A grenade sails through the air and expertly drops to the dirt in the space between car one and car two. A small explosion stirs up dust and gravel, causing the second car to slam to a stop just in time for another explosion to send it flipping through the air. Car three explodes in its spot, and metal and glass burst through the air. Cautiously, Angelo and Luca appear as they each approach a different car with their weapons drawn.
Satisfied, I swap my attention to the first car—the one holding the two men who’ll either prove their worth or die alongside everyone else. It’s stopped in the drive, and I reach out my hand to wave them forward in a calm, non-threatening manner. When they don’t immediately take me up on the invitation, my men make quick work of the burning stragglers and urge the car forward in a more forceful manner.
With weapons fucking aimed.
As soon as the car comes to a stop, the passenger door opens and Stanley Kent steps out. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice squeaky and high-pitched.
Stanley is the younger half-brother of Roger Kent, who was shunned for most of Roger’s rule, so why his sons gave Stanley a position of power after Roger’s murder is beyond me. What isn’t beyond me, though, is the notion that I make sure they’re all fucking dead.
Every last Kent in Miami.
I chuckle lightly and shake my head as I approach him, putting on my fakest smile and clapping his shoulder to lead him away from the car. “Just making sure we have a level playing field here.”
“Doesn’t feel that way to me,” he replies, stepping away from my touch like he has some fucking clout or something.
“You’re right.” I smirk and lift my gun, shoving it down his goddamn throat. “It’s my job to take out the fucking Kent garbage, and you’re the final piece of trash on my list.” His eyes widen and he tries to pull away, but I lock my fist in his hair and cut my eyes to the Nash brothers, who’re standing on the other side of the car. “I’m about to give you the opportunity of your fucking lives.”
In the same motion, I release his head and pull the trigger. His body lurches forward as his skull explodes, sending shards of bone and brain splattering through the air. I use the tip of the gun to push his limp form backward. He drops to the dirt like the sorry sack of Kent shit he is.
“Get him inside with the rest of them.” I motion to Angelo as I move around the front of the car and hold out my hand to Peyton Nash. “I’m Dante Simone, and I hope we can come to a mutual agreement so I can get the fuck out of this town.”
He takes it with a hint of leeriness, but he’d be a fool not to be fucking wary. I’m a deadly motherfucker. “I’m not sure exactly where we fit, Mr. Simone, but we’re willing to hear you out.”
“It’s simple,” I say, releasing his hand and motioning for him to follow me toward the building. “I need you to take over this organization.” The footfalls behind me go silent, and I pause, turning. “Look, I know you may still feel some loyalty to the Kents, but it’s misplaced, at best.” I shrug. “And
