I hated leaving her, but this had to be done. We return to Brooklyn, our men stationed around the warehouse, mere miles from where they were keeping Fiona. Surveillance revealed that the Volkovs are definitely inside. And if they are there, so is Elio.
We fan out without a word, the click of safeties releasing the only warning this place will get. Kirill and Anton peel off toward the back with half the men, while Konstantin and I move in from the front.
Two guards by the entrance never make it to their radios. My silencer takes the first clean through the eye, while Konstantin drops the other with a single shot to the throat. They collapse like puppets with their strings cut, and we’re already through the door, while Kirill and Anton shoot their way inside, surrounding them from all sides.
Gunfire cracks like thunder through the large space as men scramble, none of them prepared. We took most of their guys out already, and they barely have any here. Five, ten maybe.
One stumbles with a pistol raised, and I put three rounds in his chest before his weapon clears the doorway. Another tries to retreat, but Kirill intercepts him mid-turn, shooting him point-blank in the gut, then his head.
We clear the space body by body, the air thick with gunpowder and the scent of death. Screams echo while I scan the space for Elio, needing him alive.
Just as I head for the back door, I find him trying to escape with three men surrounding him. I let out a shot, dropping one of them, while Konstantin and Anton surround the others.
“Took you long enough,” Elio drawls, a smug grin on his face.
I raise my gun, the muzzle aligned perfectly with the center of his skull. “Your own nephew gave you up. You must not be worth much.”
He chuckles. “Neither is my nephew. Weak little bastard, like his father.”
My temples pound so hard, the floor seems to vibrate beneath my boots as I think about how Fiona must have felt when they tore that tracker out of her.
“You’re going to wish for death when I’m done with you.” I step into his space, his men doing nothing about it.
He doesn’t flinch. “We all die, my friend. I am not scared of anyone. Especially you.”
The words barely leave his mouth before I slam the butt of my gun into his temple with a sickening crack.
A sudden thud echoes from the left, somewhere behind a stack of boxes. I meet Konstantin’s eyes and jerk my chin, letting him know I’m going to check it out. Kirill falls in behind me, gun raised, covering my flank as I move forward.
When I round the corner and see who’s crouched there, a laugh breaks out of me.
“Well, well. Daniil Volkov. We have been looking for you.”
The Pakhan of the Volkovs looks nothing like he once did. The years have aged him poorly. He’s, what? Sixty-five? Too bad he won’t see to sixty-six.
“Ya tvayu mamu yibal,” he curses, like I would even care what comes out of his mouth.
Konstantin answers without missing a beat. “That’s not very polite.”
“My brother’s right.” I fire a single round into his foot.
He howls, collapsing, and I grab him by the collar, dragging him out to the SUV, while our men take Elio and all the others who are still clinging to life. The bastard groans in the back next to Elio, head lolling.
Wait until they find out what I have planned for them.
Konstantin’s estate rises as we make it down the private road, heading toward the barn, where his Calabrian pigs wait for their dessert.
All fifteen of them.
Once the vehicles stop, we haul them out of the SUVs one by one, forced to their knees in the dirt as zip ties cinch tight around their wrists.
Elio laughs. “Well, this is dramatic.”
Konstantin steps forward, hands behind his back like he’s about to give a lecture. “We like the entertainment. Life tends to be boring otherwise, don’t you think?”
A slow, knowing grin curves across Elio’s mouth, while Daniil’s face twists with rage.
Elio lifts his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Then let’s not drag it out.”
