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Marco broke a litany of traffic laws on the way to the meeting point. It was off a long stretch of deserted highway linking Phoenix to Mitchum to Rattlesnake and beyond. De Luca looked out of the window from behind a pair of dark sunglasses. He loaded his pistol and holstered it inside his jacket. He thought of how many bodies he'd buried out there in the desert. All as a younger man, of course. A hard charger rising up through the ranks. Taking any dirty job that came his way. Carving out a name for himself in the flesh of his boss's enemies.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
So did the meteoric early days, when the boss had his throat cut over a cartel deal and he assumed command.
Yet De Luca's organisation had hit a plateau over recent years. The alliance with Welch and Mainline Oil
