I turn back to the matter at hand. “We’ve got a few hours before midnight.”
Luca pulls out his phone and brings up the layout. “Garage entrance is the weak spot. Cams are old, power lines exposed near the east wall.”
“Two guards outside,” Enzo adds. “Six more inside. No civilians. Braga likes his privacy.”
“Enzo cuts the power,” I say, taking control. “Luca stays on lookout. I’m going in with Cross.”
Julian doesn’t look at me. He just nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen, all business again. He knows I’m using his real name now for a reason.
He definitely suspects they know something, but no one’s going to say a fucking thing. Not while I’m standing here.
Braga’s a dead man walking, and Julian is mine now, whether the others like it or not.
We burn the next couple hours in the basement, stacking crates with enough firepower to start a war: extra clips, silencers, grenades, Kevlar, burner phones. Julian keeps his head down, but I notice the shift in him. The flex of his jaw. The way his hands linger too long on the blades.
Hewantsthis.
By the time we’re geared up, we’ve still got a few minutes to kill, so we pay a visit to our little friend downstairs. Can’t have him thinking we forgot about him.
He’s still tied to the chair, arms numb, face bruised from our last chat. He looks up when the door creaks open, eyes wide, like maybe we came to finally let him go.
“You sure Braga will be there at midnight?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, yes. I told you already, he’s always there at midnight. He doesn’t miss. Now untie me, you sick fucks!”
I chuckle, slow and cold. “Maybe I will.AfterI watch your boss take his last breath.”
He jerks against the zip-ties, fury in his eyes. “You’re making a mistake. You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with.”
“Funny,” I murmur, stepping forward. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
He scoffs. “I hope Braga kills every last one of you.”
I move toward him, but Julian beats me to it.
“Braga’s not coming for you. You know that, right?”
The guy glares at him. “You don’t know a goddamn thing.”
Julian crosses his arms. “Don’t I? How long’s it been now, two days? Three? He hasn’t even sent someone to check if you’re alive.”
“Fuck off.”
“You were a pawn. That’s it. He used you, like he uses everyone else. And now you’re here. Alone. Rotting in your own piss.”
The guy spits blood at Julian’s boots. “And you’re any better? Braga’sbitchturned traitor? He should’ve slit your throat when he had the chance.”
Snap.
I’m across the room before Julian can blink. My fist cracks against the bastard’s cheek, his head snapping sideways. Blood spurts as I bash his fucking teeth in. He tries to scream, but I shove a hand over his mouth and punch him again, harder this time. The chair rattles with each blow.
“Say that again,” I growl, “and I’ll pull your fucking tongue out through your teeth.”
He lets out a broken sob, his body slumping forward.
“Nico.” Julian’s voice cuts in, low, calm, dangerous in its own right. “That’s enough.”
I freeze mid-swing, blood running down my knuckles.
