The Billionaire's Mistake

Chapter 259: Failed

Rafe Luciano paced the length of the dingy apartment like a caged wolf, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw

throbbed. Plumes of smoke from his smoldering cigarette trailed in his wake, the harsh scent of tobacco and

desperation hanging thick in the air. "Someone wanna run that byagain?" His gravel-toned growl! cut through

the uneasy silence blanketing the room.

Beside the squalid kitchenette, two of his most trusted Wolf Gang lieutenants shifted uncomfortably under their

boss's laser-focused glare. It was Gino who spoke up, the wiry man unable to meet Rafe's eyes.

"It's like Paulie said, boss. That hit went sideways 'cause the civilian turned out to be the new...wife of Mathew

Shaw himself."

The words hung in the air like a damning pandemic, each of Rafe's men seeming to shrink a few inches where

they sat or leaned against the peeling wallpaper. A vein began to pound menacingly at the Wolf's temple as he

processed that disastrous information. "La famiglia..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "We went after la

fuckin' famiglia without knowin" it?"

Bone-cracking footfalls carried him across the cramped living room in two strides. Paulie barely had a chance to

flinch before Rafe's oxen-thick hands locked onto his wrist. A sickening snap echoed like a gunshot in the tense

quiet, accompanied by an anguished wail as the man's arm buckled into an unmistakable compound fracture.

The rest of the Wolf Gang remained deathly still, no one daring to so much as breathe too loudly as their capo

loomed over Paulie's whimpering form. Eyes glittering like flint, Rafe straightened, idly flicking spent ash from his

cigarette across the luckless scout's body. "That...was for not doin' your homework, caporegime. Next t|

gotta hear about endangerin' every other made man in this family, somebody's gettin' deaned out."

Stalking back toward the battered pleather sofa, Rafe collapsed into the creaky cushions and tore an angry drag

from his smoke. "This changes everything. The Shaws got our scent now, know we been sniffin' around their

operations. No way they let that kind of insult slide, not even with an apology."

The wheels of his tactical mind spun furiously as the reality set in. They were lambs among wolves now,

separated from their customary allies and unable to hide from the vengeful glare of one of the most powerful

organized crsyndicates on American soil. A muscle ticked rapidly in Rafe's densecorded neck as he lifted one

meaty hand to massage the tension from his brow. His reputation, his men's very lives now hung by a thread

courtesy of one idiotic fumbled assignment.

The shrill chirp of his burner cell sliced through the dead air. Rafe held up a single calloused finger to his men as

he unfolded the disposable flip phone. Even before bringing it to his ear, he knew it would bring nothing but

further suffering on its end. "Tellyou got sgood news for once, Gino," he growled into the mouthpiece.

The response sent ice water flushing through his veins. A laugh of pure disbelief, devoid of all humor, wrenched

itself free from Rafe's chest.

"You wanna run that byagain, truck stop?" His voice dripped venom, the serpentine undulations of a

predator silently coiling. "I must'a misha'd that last part..."

An uneasy silence stretched for several agonizing beats before Gino expelled a quivering exhale.

"It's just like | said, boss. Word just hit the streets from Gambino's people - their asshole boss done went and

called out the Shaw family dogs on our asses. Wants to collect on that open insult contract, make an example..."

The mouthpiece cracked alarmingly in Rafe's grip. "That scambistro cockroach sold us out to the family?" He was

on his feet again in an instant, stalking with scarcely controlled fury toward the rusting fire escape windows.

"Boss, if they knew where we're holed up, they'd already be-"

Gino's feeble attempt at

reassurance was drowned out by

the deafening percussion of high caliber weapons fire. Glass and plaster erupted in through the shoddy windows

as Rafe threw his hulking frdown behind the tattered sofa. His hands moved by sheer muscle memory,

sliding the clips hinto his twin semi-auto handguns as the air filled with

choking smoke and zipping lead.

"Talk to me, what's the situation!" He bellowed over the cacophony as his men scrambled to return fire across

the living room. Through the swirling fog, he glimpsed the lifeboats silhouettes of spec-ops stylized soldiers

storming in through the shattered windows. Paulie hit the floor beside him, clutching a gushing wound to his

shoulder and howling. "It's the Dimigor brothers, boss! And at least another two fire teams worth of Casilleros'

hotshots!"

Fear churned in Rafe's gut like an icy pit even as he fed hot lead over the sofa's riddled backrest, trying to gain a

few scant seconds of advantage.

The infamous Dimigor twins were utter beasts - psychopathic mercenary enforcers so ruthless and unflinching

that even the most violent South American cartels had taken to avoiding the brothers rather than risking

retribution. To find them among the Shaw family's hired guns spoke volumes to the level of wrath raining down

upon the Wolf Gang's heads.

Half his crew had already fallen to the blazing salvo, collapsed into pooling incriminati with limbs splayed at

improbable angles. Rafe gnashed his teeth, tunneling his visionas a red mist of hatred began

to cloud his vision. If this

to be

his fast stand, he would die with

both pistols blazing, taking out as

many of these caavavangeli

scumsas he could before -

A concussive blast rocked the entire structure as something detonated beyond the thin drywall of the

apartment's exterior wall. Rafe and the handful of his crew still breathing were picked up and flung like ragdolls,

crashes and groans mingling with twisting steel and billowing clouds of acrid smoke.

White noise filled his head as he

blinked, struggling against the rapidly creeping edges of

unconsciousness to take stock of their situation. The floor where he

lay was tilted at an impossible

broken plumbing and support.ngle,

timbers jutting through the pitted drywall in a hellish melange of jagged motion. Shouts and

commands too muffled to discern

cut in and out as shadows advanced

steadily through the ruined

structure.

Rafe clutched at the pavement, groping in blind desperation for either of his fallen sidearms. But it was no use,

he realized with gut-wrenching certainty as his digits brushed across the inert metal. His fingers had been

completely severed by the blast, what little remained of his hands rendered to shredded flesh and bone.

A leather oxfords filled his fading vision as a shadow loomed over him, the acrid fog of spent accelerants and

gunpowder stinging his eyes. Rafe Luciano barely had the strength to lift his gaze before the cold regard of one

of the Dimigor brothers ground any final defiance to dust.

"Next time, lupo...take the contract before you steal from la famiglia. The Shaws send their regards."

The executioner's pistol barked, mercifully sending Rafe spiraling into oblivion before his body ever hit the floor.

In the opulent study of the Fafamily's sprawling Long Island estate, the heavy oak doors swung open to admit

Eric Fabio, the current head of the powerful crsyndicate. His expression was stony, a muscle twitching in his

granite jawline as he strode across the room toward his younger sister Liliana.

Liliana glanced up from where she had been poring over a leather-bound ledger, her cool gaze sweeping over

Eric's tense form. Without a word needing to be spoken, she knew something major had transpired - her elder

brother's anger rolled off him in barely restrained waves. "You're going to want to hear this, principessa," Eric bit

out at last, sinking into one of the oxblood leather sofas with a mirthless huff. He tugged at the knot of his silk

tie, already appearing disheveled despite the early hour.

Liliana carefully set aside her work and crossed the study, almond-shaped eyes studying Eric intently. It wasn't

often his unflappable composure becso thoroughly ruffled, especially unprompted.

"I'm listening, fratello," she replied evenly, delicately taking a seat on the sofa's opposite end and crossing her

legs. Her Louboutin stilettos glinted in the morning sunlight filtering through the french doors.

Eric exhaled a plof smoke from the hand-rolled cigarette already smoldering between his fingers. "I've just

gotten word back about the situation with that hotshot Wolf Pack crew Gambino's idiots tried to hire out from

under us. Seems our illustrious business rivals chose the wrong family to test."

Liliana's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction at that, but she remained otherwise impassive. Every made

man in the Five Families had known of the borderline suicidal manuevering Gambino's splinter syndicate had

attempted lately. Still, to hear Eric invoke such ominous tones...

"Letguess," she ventured, plucking a crystal tumbler of amaro from the beveled tray beside them and

bringing it to her full lips. "AntoGambino decided to test the wolves by siccing them on the Shaw family

operations."