The Under Boss's Ballerina [18+]

39

"I'm taking guards. Ricardo will be with us. If only you can't reach neither Roman or me." I add with a nod.

"Sí, signore." He nods standing behind me.

The McLaren was parked at the driveway of our home, getting inside the dark interior of my car, I fired up the engine, backing away from the driveway and turning into the dark road.

The path, only illuminated by the high raised street lights, casting a warm glow over the roads that lead deeper into the dark night.

"Boss?" I ask over the Bluetooth speaker, a tiny bud snug in my ear pings, as soon as the call from the other end receives.

"Angelo." Roman's voice drift from the other end.

"Behind you." I say falling into drive with the crimson red Chiron, that housed Roman.

"Grand." He says. "I'll meet you in interrogation. The dock."

"Sí, boss." I said ending the call, taking a sharp turn toward the marina, the pebbly road under the tires of car, making the vehicle slightly unbalanced.

Jesus fuck. I thought killing the engine of the car, with a safe distance from the venue where the drama was staged for the night.

"Boss?" I hear Ricardo's voice standing a step behind me, his range rover parked as well.

"Ricardo." I acknowledge.

"I'm to back you up." He says as I lit a cigarette, blowing a puff of thick nicotine smoke into the air.

"I don't need back up." I say moving forward to see the act unfold before my eyes.

Rows and columns of colorful cargo containers lined the way, stacked on top of the other, appearing dark from the lack of light.

I moved toward the opening of the port where a cargo ship was parked, stacks of wooden crates being taken out of it's storage placed on the road as a man counted cash, circled by a number of men, dressed in suits.

Fucking Salvatore. I think crushing the last of my cigarette with my shoe, as the sequence of the night's outcome already plays in my head.

Rechargeable bulky torches in their hand pooling the smuggling scene with enough light.

"Now now, boys." I say loud enough for the scums to hear me over the silence.

"What do we have here?" With my hand tucked in the pockets of my slacks I moved forward, ready to shoot on spot, as I saw the bastards scamper breaking their circle.

"Ambrose." I identified our dealer from Russia. "I suppose these crates belong to the family."

"Boss-"

I raise an eyebrow taking two more steps toward the circle, the cash in Ambrose's hand still out.

Fucking son of a bastard.

"I thought we get our opium next week." I add. "Surprising, how the Don didn't get a phone call that he was supposed to-"

"And so what?" A voice spoke up. "Your whiny boss sends his pet dog to do the job for him-"