Soldiers by Smith Nicholas Sansbury

Author:Smith, Nicholas Sansbury [Smith, Nicholas Sansbury]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798212225663
Amazon: B0C26ZBFNL
Goodreads: 128648806
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2023-09-12T07:00:00+00:00

-19-

Antonio followed his trusted captain along the hallway of the vast underground complex that ran beneath the Moretti compound. The tunnels had once served as a way for the casino to move its money without risk of robbery on the streets of the City of Commerce.

The rooms that once housed wealth now served as storage for a massive cache of weapons and what had been the single most valuable thing in the Morettis’ possession. This was where Lino led him.

“Don Antonio,” he said, “are you sure you want to do this?”

The question surprised Antonio. Lino was not one to question his intentions. But as with his own brother, his nephew, and other long-trusted soldiers within the Moretti organization, Antonio began to believe that even Lino was turning on him. He took a deep breath of the heavily recycled and purified subterranean air and clenched his fists.

“I am sure.”

Lino nodded and didn’t ask any more questions. He strode a half step ahead along the wide, squat corridor. The heels of the gangsters’ Italian leather shoes clicked on the hard floor and echoed against the concrete walls.

When they reached it, Lino retrieved a set of keys from his pocket, found the right key on the cluttered ring, and slid it into a manual lock. He glanced over his shoulder at Antonio. Antonio nodded his permission, and the thunk of a dead bolt opening echoed in the hall. Leaving the key in the lock, Lino stepped to one side of the door and pressed his face to an optical scanner, which hummed and beeped before a second lock clicked. A mechanical buzz signaled that the door was unlocked.

Lino adjusted his tie and hiked his trousers. “Want me to go in with you?”

Antonio shook his head. “Stay here. Lock me inside. When I’m ready, I will knock.”

Lino frowned, but he pulled open the heavy door. Antonio crossed the threshold into the room, and Lino locked it behind him. The space smelled of sweat and urine.

From the small of his back, he withdrew a gold-plated revolver. Italian made with an ornate finish, it was as much a conversation piece as a lethal weapon. Antonio swung open the revolver’s cylinder and fished from his pocket a half dozen .22-caliber rounds, which he jingled in his hand like spare change as he whistled.

Across the room, a weak feminine voice called out to him. Antonio did not lift his eyes to the woman as she spoke. Instead, he slid the first round into one of the cylinder’s six chambers. He relished the satisfying click as it moved into place.

“I don’t recognize the tune,” the voice said. “Is it Vivaldi?”

Antonio loaded the second round, still whistling, still not acknowledging his prisoner. He took a small breath through his mouth to avoid the nauseating odor that permeated the cell.

Mariana López sat up on the bench that was the lone piece of furniture in her cell. She winced as she steadied herself upright and leaned back against the concrete wall.

“On second thought, I don’t think it’s Vivaldi,” she said.

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