17
1092 Words
LEOANDRO'S POV
The warehouse smelled like metal, gasoline, and blood money.
It was a scent I had known since I was fifteen years old, when my father first dragged me into one of our shipping docks in Greece and told me a man from the Drakos Syndicate either ruled the darkness or got swallowed by it.
Now the darkness belonged to me.
And now, Esmeralda was standing right in the middle of it.
I glanced sideways at her as we stepped through the massive warehouse doors. The cold Chicago air disappeared behind us, replaced by the hum of machinery, the screech of forklifts, and the distant echo of men shouting in Italian.
The overhead lights cast sharp white beams across endless rows of cargo crates stamped with fake company labels. Auto parts. Construction supplies. Medical equipment.
Lies.
Every crate in this building held enough firepower and narcotics to start a small war.
Esmeralda’s Air Force stumped softly against the concrete floor as she walked beside me, her eyes moving everywhere at once. Curious. Alert. Completely unafraid.
That alone made her dangerous.
Most women looked terrified the first time they entered one of my warehouses.
Esmeralda looked interested.
Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves, and she wore one of those oversized jacket under the top and really shot skirt under that made her look smaller than she actually was. But there was nothing small about the way she carried herself.
She walked beside me like she belonged there.
Like she belonged beside me.
“Madonna…” one of the soldiers muttered under his breath as we passed.
I shot him a look.
He immediately lowered his eyes.
Esmeralda either didn’t hear him or chose not to react.
Probably the second.
“Stay close to me,” I told her quietly.
Her green eyes flickered toward me. “Are you scared someone’s going to kidnap me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m scared someone’s going to annoy me.”
That made her laugh softly.
Christ.
That laugh did something violent to my chest.
Before I could say anything else, a tall man in a black suit approached us with quick strides.
“Boss.”
Giovanni Romano.
My third in command.
Dark hair slicked back, scar across his jaw, expression permanently carved into something cold and unreadable. Giovanni had been with me for nearly ten years. Loyal. Efficient. Brutal when necessary.
His eyes briefly moved to Esmeralda.
Respectful.
Curious.
Then back to me.
“The shipment came in thirty minutes ago,” he said in Italian. “Everything cleared the docks without problems.”
“Any tails?”
“None.”
He handed me a tablet containing the inventory list.
“Three hundred M16 rifles,” Giovanni continued. “Two hundred AK-49s. Glock shipments came in separately. Ammunition is complete. Sniper rifles arrived damaged but repairable.”
Esmeralda blinked beside me.
“You people really talk about guns casually.”
Giovanni looked mildly amused.
I winked at her and continued scanning the shipment details.
“Explosives?”
“In the south wing.”
“And the Colombians?”
“Coming tomorrow night.”
I nodded once.
“Good.”
Esmeralda leaned slightly toward the tablet. “What’s an M-16?”
Several nearby soldiers went silent.
One actually coughed to hide a laugh.
Giovanni’s eyebrow twitched.
I slowly looked at her.
“You’re asking me about assault rifles?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you just listed them like grocery items.”
A few men snorted.
I shot them a deadly glare and silence immediately returned.
Then Esmeralda said the last thing I expected.
“Can I see one?”
The warehouse froze.
I turned toward her fully.
“You want to see the guns.”
“Yes.”
Giovanni looked genuinely entertained now.
“You’re amused,” Esmeralda accused him.
“A little,” Giovanni admitted.
“Well, excuse me for being curious.”
“You’re not scared?” Giovanni asked.
Esmeralda shrugged. “Should I be?”
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just that damn curiosity again.
Something dark and possessive curled inside me.
God help anyone who ever underestimated her.
I sighed heavily and started walking again.
“Come.”
Her face brightened immediately as she hurried beside me.
Behind us, I heard Giovanni mutter in Italian, “She’s insane.”
I answered without looking back.
“That makes two of us.”
—
The weapons section occupied the far end of the warehouse behind reinforced steel doors.
Two guards opened them the second they saw me approaching.
Inside were rows upon rows of wooden crates stacked nearly to the ceiling.
The smell of oil and gunpowder filled the air.
Esmeralda slowed beside me.
For the first time since stepping in, she actually looked slightly overwhelmed.
“Holy s**t…”
Giovanni motioned toward one of the crates.
“Open it.”
Two men immediately pried it apart.
Inside rested black rifles wrapped carefully in protective plastic.
Esmeralda stepped closer.
“M16s,” Giovanni explained. “Military-grade.”
One of the soldiers lifted a rifle carefully and handed it to me.
I checked the chamber automatically before turning toward Esmeralda.
“Here.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re actually giving it to me?”
“Do you want to hold it or not?”
She nodded quickly.
I handed it over carefully, watching her grip tighten beneath the weapon’s weight.
“It’s heavier than I expected,” she muttered.
“You expected it to weigh nothing?”
She ignored me entirely, examining the rifle with fascination.
Every man in the room was staring at her now.
Because Esmeralda didn’t look like someone standing in a mafia weapons warehouse holding an assault rifle.
She looked too soft.
Too beautiful.
Too innocent.
And yet she held the gun like she was trying to understand it instead of fear it.
“What does this thing even do?” she asked.
Giovanni blinked.
“It kills people.”
She gave him a dry look. “Thank you, Giovanni. Very educational.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then another voice echoed through the warehouse.
“Well now… who’s this?”
I didn’t even have to turn around.
Adrian Knight.
My best friend.
My greatest headache.
The bastard walked toward us wearing a dark coat with his hands shoved casually into his pockets, silver rings flashing beneath the lights. His dark blond hair was messy as usual, and the grin on his face already promised trouble.
His gaze landed on Esmeralda.
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