He grabbed the small radio transmitter with a shaking hand.

“Tony ordered it!” Vincenzo yelled into the mic.

His voice echoed off the steel walls of the shipping containers.

“Tony ordered the hit on Marcus’s brother,” Vincenzo sobbed, his face covered in rain and tears. “He wanted the territory. He wanted Marcus to think Romano did it so Marcus would kill him.”

The static on the radio suddenly cut out.

There was a long silence.

Then, a voice came through the speaker.

It was faint, but clear enough for all of us to hear.

“Vincenzo, you idiot,” the voice said.

It was Tony.

“You were supposed to be professional,” Tony said through the static.

Marcus stood frozen.

The gun in his hand lowered several inches.

His face went completely pale, his eyes staring at the small black radio on Vincenzo’s chest.

“Tony?” Marcus whispered.

The radio did not answer.

The line went dead.

The wind picked up, blowing a spray of cold saltwater across the concrete.

Marcus looked at Romano, then at Vincenzo, then at the tall man.

“He used me,” Marcus said.