Chapter twelve
358 Words
Get me the Sicilians,” he said to Gennaro, referring to two ancient, ruthless brothers who handled “wet work” with papal discretion. “And get me a line to Sokolov. A direct line.”
The next twenty-four hours were a masterpiece of brutal choreography. While Marco’s crew, fuelled by bravado and resentment, scrambled to set up their poorly-planned ambush, Vittorio worked in the shadows.
He called Sokolov. The conversation was short, in Russian, a language Vittorio knew well.
“Your boy broke the peace,” Sokolov sneered.
“My boy is a problem,” Vittorio replied, his voice like gravel. “For both of us. I will remove the problem. The product shipment proceeds. At a 15% premium to me for my… internal troubles.”
A long silence. Then Sokolov, the businessman, saw the opportunity. “20%. And his head in a box.”
“The head is mine to dispose of. But you will have your confirmation. The war ends tonight. My way.”
He then set his trap for Marco. Using a trusted, neutral party as a cut-out, he fed Marco false information: Sokolov, enraged and reckless, would be personally inspecting a dockside shipment at midnight, lightly guarded. A perfect target.
Marco, desperate for a victory to legitimize his coup, took the bait.
The night was cold, the air at the docks smelling of salt, oil, and decay. Vittorio watched from the darkened wheelhouse of a derelict freighter, a high-powered rifle with a night scope on the ledge before him. He was alone. This was his burden. His sin. His final lesson.
Below, Marco and six of his men moved like ghosts between containers. They approached the designated spot, where a dim light illuminated a figure in a long coat, back turned.
It was a setup. Sokolov’s men, forewarned and invisible, were positioned in a perfect kill zone. So were the Sicilian brothers, on Vittorio’s orders, with their own instructions.
Marco gave the signal.
Chaos erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the night like strobes. Marco’s men were cut down in a crossfire. Marco himself, realizing the trap, fired wildly, his figure one of pure, panicked
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