Giordano’s POV At A Dropsite For Gunshipment
“Load the crates. Don’t f*****g drop anything,” I barked, lighting a cigarette as the men hoisted the boxes into the black van.
Guns. Armor. Illegal s**t worth millions.
A man approached, sweaty and trembling. “Mr. Giordano, the buyer wants to see the—”
Tell that bastard if he wants double, he can suck my”
The phone buzzed in my jacket. Again.
“Who the f**k is calling me now?”
I was mid-deal. Crates open, guns gleaming under the warehouse lights. Men standing stiff with nerves, waiting for my word to close the deal or shoot everyone dead.
Then I saw the caller ID. Not just anyone. The hospital.
My jaw locked. My voice dropped. “Handle it,” I told my men. “Any of them twitch, shoot.”
Then I walked off, boots echoing on concrete.
“Sp
