Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“So basically, be a vineyard worker.”
“My wine is as important to me as my drugs and arms,” he said seriously.
“When you said the bottom, you weren’t kidding.”
“Like I said, I don’t trust you.”
“If I have nefarious intentions, it doesn’t matter whether I’m loading crates onto a truck, I’ll still cause havoc. So you may as well utilize me—”
“Those are my terms.” He raised his voice slightly, his eyes flashing with a hint of rage, like his patience had officially expired. “Take it or seek employment elsewhere.”
I knew my worth, and moving boxes from the warehouse and loading them onto trucks and whatever bullshit manual labor he had in mind for me was far beneath me. If it were a different family or organization, I would just move on to something else. But I knew Cosa Nostra hated Vincenzo Mancini—so there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
And if I moved on to something else…I’d never see Frankie Mancini again.
And that would be a goddamn shame.
I would show my value and prove my worth in no time, so the worker-bee jobs would be temporary. “When can I start?”
I arrived at the vineyard first thing in the morning and got to work in the warehouse. There were lots of crates with the vineyard logo on the side, but the second I picked up the first crate, I knew it wasn’t full of wine.
Definitely guns.
“The boxes with the red tag are going onto the truck,” the vineyard supervisor told me. It was clear he’d been instructed to keep me in the dark as much as possible. But crime was in my blood—and I wasn’t a fucking idiot.
But I shut my mouth and did what I was told. Moved crates onto the truck. Used the forklift to shift the pallets where they needed to go. Just shut my mouth and did my job. I was certain I hadn’t been assigned this work to determine my integrity—but to see how much I actually wanted the job.
On the third day, Salvatore stopped by. “How’s it going?”
I grabbed a crate that weighed fifty pounds and gave him a cold stare before I moved it into place for it to be packed later. This was a large warehouse with lots of barrels of wine and a fair number of less-legal items. They had to have fifty million euro in contraband in the place. They hadn’t received anything since I’d started there, everything being exported at the moment. Once they got their first shipment, I’d be able to figure out their supplier based on the timing.
“At least you can skip the workout.”
“I lift a lot heavier than this.”
“But you don’t lift all day.”
“Then it looks like I’ll get bigger. That’ll definitely impress Frankie.” I waggled my eyebrows.
“You only want her because you can’t have her.”
“There’s no woman I can’t have,” I said with a chuckle. “But that’s not why.”
“Then why?”
I chose not to answer the question. “How long do you think I’ll have to do this before I can move on?”
“I dunno,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Never seen him do this before.”
“Wow, I feel special.” I grabbed another crate and moved it.
“Well, you’re Cosa Nostra…”
“I was Cosa Nostra.”
“You turned your back on your own family.”
“Only because they left me no choice.”
“What did they do?” he asked.
I set the crate down and shook my head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
Salvatore continued to watch me work and didn’t offer a helping hand. “Don Mancini is hosting a dinner on Friday night for everyone. I think you’re invited.”
“You think?”
“It’s for all the workers, so I think that applies to you. It’s good food and all the wine you can drink.”
I continued to work, to lift one crate and move it before I retrieved another. “Can’t say no to that.”
“He hosts them pretty often. Every other week or so.”
“Count me in—whether I’m invited or not.”
He smirked. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Once the shipment is ready, we’re doing a drop-off.”
“So, nothing?” I asked. “Then stop being a deadbeat and give me a hand.”
“Walked right into that, didn’t I?” He rolled up his sleeves and got to work, lifting a crate and carrying it to the back of the truck. We worked together for a while, and when we were back in the warehouse, I heard a loud crash behind me, as if glass had shattered everywhere.
I whipped back around and found the crate had smashed on the ground, wine bottles cracked and the Nero d’Avola splashed everywhere—and he had a massive shard of glass sticking out of his arm.
“What the fuck did you do?” I snapped. “Those aren’t even the right crates.”
He eyed the glass as he rotated his arm left and right. “Shit, that looks bad.”
“Yeah, you’ll definitely need stitches,” I said as I came closer. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” I would have to haul ass to get there in a timely manner because it was clear on the other side of the island. Maybe there was an urgent care nearby.