“It’s not as flashy as a Ferrari or Lamborghini.” Bastian pulled to a stop in a quiet street and parked.
“You like Italian things.”
“I do. Italians know luxury. Once you’ve had nothing, you dream of beautiful things.” His dark gaze traced my face before he got out of the car.
I blew out a breath and followed. We were both dressed in black, and ready for whatever we discovered in that warehouse. I’d swapped out my jeans and ruined shirt for black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black sweater. And of course, my knives were strapped in place.
Unsurprisingly, Bastian looked great in all-black. It suited him.
I stared at the building across the street.
It was ugly. Squat, rectangular, with no distinguishing features. The entire street was warehouses. A few had security lights on, but most were dark. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
The throaty sound of a motorcycle caught my ear. Cole pulled to a stop beside us on his Harley, and pulled his helmet off. He jerked his chin up.
A second later, a black Range Rover turned into the street, followed by a sleek sportscar. The SUV slid to a stop, and I watched Landon and Nash exit from it.
For a moment, I wondered where Alessio was. Then I saw movement in the shadows by the sidewalk. The ex-mafia enforcer appeared like smoke.
Avengers, assemble.
Or rather, the entire retired-assassin version of the Avengers.
“That’s it?” Landon jerked his head at the warehouse.
“That’s it,” Bastian replied. “Alessio and Cole, circle around the back. Make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
The two men nodded.
“Landon and I will check the side entrances,” Nash said.
“See you in there,” Bastian said.
We crossed the street. My heart was racing and I wasn’t sure why.
No, that wasn’t true. I knew why. Because I might learn more about Ed that I probably didn’t want to know.
But I needed to do this. I needed to stop this killer.
The front of the warehouse was dominated by a large roller door, no doubt used to load trucks. It was closed, and Bastian checked the smaller front door beside it.
It was unlocked.
“There are lights on inside.” He peered through the front window. “They’re faint.”
We were definitely in the right place.
“Stay behind me.” He eased inside.
I rolled my eyes. I wasnotstaying behind him.
The warehouse was a large, cavernous space. The interior was typical, with a scarred, stained concrete floor, and large, metal support posts, and metal beams overhead.
There were dim lights on in the center of the space. As we walked closer, I realized the glow came from a couple of kids’ nightlights. They projected beams of light toward the roof, twinkling and sparkling.
Weird.
“What the hell?” Bastian muttered.
