“Damn right we are,” I agree. “We’ll get revenge in the name of every man who was slaughtered.”
Not only did the motherfuckers ambush our guys, they also stole our entire shipment. It’s a big blow, but we can afford to lose millions. The lives of our men, though, are irreplaceable.
“Got any info on the cameras that were wiped?” I ask Lucky, feeling helpless as Rocco hits the highway.
His eyes are glued to the screen, fingers flying over the keys. “Still working on it. Whoever hacked into the system knew what he was doing. I haven’t been able to detect how they got in, and I also can’t seem to retrieve anything from the cloud.”
“Fuck.” Saint snaps his burner in two and throws the pieces on the floor.
There’s only one person I know who is sophisticated enough to perform an operation like that.
“I have a feeling I know who’s behind this,” I say.
Priest’s eyes swing to me. “Sidorov?”
I nod, not surprised he’s suspicious of my new brothers-in-law. “Dmitri has the capability to hack and wipe the cameras and tap into the cloud. I don’t know of anyone in the other families who’s that tech savvy. This is high-level shit.”
“But he was at the wedding reception when it went down,” Saint points out. “So was Pakhan and at least a dozen of their top guys. Last I checked, it’s still impossible to be in two places at once.”
He’s not wrong, but I start turning that around in my mind. The reception was filled with guests, and it was overwhelming in more ways than one. I’m not sure where Dmitri was before or after our meeting in the gazebo when he issued me a warning that seems to have new meaning in the ugly light of day, given what happened overnight.
“I didn’t have my eyes on them every second,” I point out. “Did you?”
“No,” Saint admits. “Lucky, check the security logs. We should have a full account of when everyone arrived and left the reception.”
“Already on it,” Lucky reports, fingers clicking away.
“Cazzo.” Priest runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “Are the surveillance cameras on my property compromised too, or just the ones at the drop location?”
Lucky taps away for a few seconds before answering. “From what I can see, they’re all good. Clear footage, starting in the morning and still running live now. It’s also backed up to the cloud. I have the security log open, and Mikhail and Dmitri Sidorov didn’t leave the reception until after the ambush went down.”
“That may have been intentional,” I point out. “An alibi.”
Knowing Dmitri as I do, I have no doubt that he could easily hack into the cameras and cloud from his phone. All he would have had to do was find a quiet spot where he wouldn’t be interrupted. A bathroom, likely. But Priest’s security footage should show us where he was every second of the reception.
“I’ll start reviewing the footage from last night,” I volunteer, knowing Lucky has his hands full with trying to restore the surveillance cam footage that was wiped from the cloud and the cameras themselves.
Priest’s phone rings again. It’s another capo, and he has to take it. Word is spreading fast about what went down overnight. Everyone rightfully wants answers. If they have targets on their backs, they deserve to know.
I pull up the surveillance system from his estate and start wading through hours of video, one camera at a time. By the time we reach the city, my gut is unsettled from staring at the video while Rocco gives every race car driver a run for his money. It doesn’t help that, now that we’re in the metropolis labyrinth, Roc is taking us on the scenic route in case we have a tail.
We’re headed to the underground club I run. It’s the safest bet on short notice because of the tight security. As we roll into the guarded underground parking, I’m one more traffic light stop-and-go away from vomiting all over the fucking interior of the Navigator.
Roc pulls it into park, and I spill out the side door, needing to plant my feet on concrete and take a deep breath, even if it does stink like oil, exhaust, must, and desperation. Rocco shoots out of the driver’s seat and is guarding me in a heartbeat, even though there’s no need. The security here is tighter than tight, and no one comes in or out without my permission. There’s no chance we have a sniper lying in wait.
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket and offers it to me wordlessly. I don’t like showing any weakness, but Roc is like another brother to us, and he already knows I suffer from motion sickness. He also knows the easy cure.
“Thanks.” I take it and tap out a single burner, then stuff it between my lips.
Roc lights it for me, and I puff, grateful for the distraction and hit of nicotine. Anything to settle my stomach. My brothers unload from the car next, Priest still on his phone, Saint scowling, Lucky with his laptop under his arm.
“Bad fucking habit,fratello mio,” Saint snarks.
I make a point of blowing smoke in his direction to be a dick. “Fuck off.”
“Stronzo,” he hisses, waving at the wisps curling around him to disperse them.
I finish my cigarette on the way into the club, finding an ashtray just before the secret entrance. Once we’re inside, we get down to business. Hours pass by as we review footage and question our men. By late evening, we’re running on caffeine and greasy burgers from the club’s kitchen, but the pieces of the puzzle have started to fall into place.