“Focus,” Ben says, coming up behind us. “We can’t afford to let our guard down. Not even for a second.”
Suitably chastised, we make our way along the narrow stone wall that runs on each side of the barren sewer. The stench gets worse the farther we advance, and my nose scrunches as unpleasant reminders of my brief time living on the streets resurrect in my mind. Those were dark days I don’t like revisiting. Scuttling sounds raise all the hairs on the back of my neck, but I avoid thinking about rats and concentrate on the task at hand.
“The others are in position and ready for the signal,” Ben says, updating Salerno through the earpieces they are both wearing to keep communication open. Salerno, Russo, and their men are on the opposite side of the tunnel, and excitement is palpable in the air.
There’s nothing like a bloodymafiosobattle to get the adrenaline flowing.
When we reach the end of the tunnel, scouts are sent up the ladder, through the grate, and onto the grounds to scan the area. A couple minutes later, Salerno presses on the device secured to his ear. “It’s clear,” he says, his loud voice carrying across the gloomy dank space. “We’ll head up first.”
Brando makes a gagging sound as we wait to exit the tunnel, and I grin behind my mask. Once we are all outside, we split into our assigned groups and take off running in different directions. Salerno’s property is vast, and there’s a lot of acreage to cover. I’m with the boss, Leo, Brando, and his crew of ten soldiers. We race around the perimeter in a northwesterly direction with weapons armed and ready and our eyes peeled for the enemy.
The first couple of guys we come upon are easy targets, and Ben and Leo snap their necks before they’ve even realized they’re under attack. That all changes a few minutes later when gunshots ring out, peppering the air with bullets.
Our element of surprise is gone, like we knew it would be the closer we got to the house. The large sprawling structure is clearly visible in the distance, surrounded by tall trees and dense woodland at the rear, rising ominously from the landscape like some creepy haunted mansion. The main body of the building is three stories, propped between various-sized turrets that stretch skyward. The gray stone brick façade is barely visible behind dense ivy crawling up the walls on all sides.
We sprint toward the house, watching for other guards on both sides as we run. Up ahead, Salerno and his motley crew converge on the enemy from the other side, and it’s game on.
“Fuck me,” Leo says as we approach the front of the building, and I know he’s not referring to the stream of Russian mobsters pouring out the front doors. The house is like some twisted gothic mansion conjured from a nightmare, complete with a monstrous fountain out front that is decorated with hideous statues of gargoyles, werewolves, demons, and other mythical creatures.
“This place is creepy as fuck. I almost feel sorry for Anais having to grow up here,” I admit before firing my weapon at the brawny Russian charging toward me. Men spill out onto the front lawn from the house and the main outbuilding, swarming us in droves. I shoot at will, ducking and diving while keeping Leo and Ben in my sights. This location is remote, but it’ll be a miracle if the cops don’t appear at some point with the volume of gunfire crackling through the air and the bodies already dropping like flies.
We push forward slowly, and I narrowly miss getting shot when a barrage of bullets sails over us from above. Behind us, our team of snipers swings into immediate action, retaliating and trading fire with the Russians perched in the turrets. Bullets whizz over our heads as we continue the good fight on the ground. The Russians are everywhere now, coming at us from all angles, though it looks like our numbers are evenly matched.
I briefly glance in Salerno’s direction, and he’s like a man possessed, swinging an axe—a goddamnedaxe—at anyone in his vicinity. I punch a guy moving in on me from the left as I chuckle at the Bratva who are actuallyrunning awayfrom Saverio. He’s a complete maniac, and he could probably take them out single-handedly, such is his thirst for revenge.
Still, I’ll rest easier when our backup arrives.
Leo covers me while I reload my rifle, pressed into the alcove behind one of the large turrets. Lifting my head, I spot a creeper sneaking up on Ben. The boss has a guy in a headlock, and he’s angling to get the right position to snap his neck, so he hasn’t noticed the second guy coming at him. There isn’t time to warn him, so I shove Leo out of the way and fire, taking the guy out with a bullet in the side of his skull just as he aims his gun in Ben’s direction. The boss whips around, nodding in my direction, as he snaps the other guy’s neck, and it’s lights out for the Bratva bastard.
Leo and I rejoin the melee. A guy lunges at me, hands poised to curl around my neck, but I swing my leg out, taking him down in an unexpected move. Pointing my gun, I pop a bullet in his forehead, and the light instantly dies in his eyes. A callused hand wraps around my neck from behind, and I shove my elbow into the man’s gut while thrusting my head back into his face with force. The dude stumbles, and I grab his weakened arm, throwing him over my shoulder. The stocky guy lands on the gravel driveaway with an oomph, and I kick him in the balls for fun while I plant a nice, neat hole in his head.
All around me, men are fighting for supremacy, and broken, bullet-ridden bodies litter the ground. We knew we couldn’t get through this day without casualties, but I hate seeing men lose their lives because Salerno was too pigheaded to heed Ben’s warning about the Russians.
So much needless waste of life.
Sweat glides down my back as the fight continues, and most everyone has downed weapons and is using their fists now. Ben hollers for Leo and me to follow him, pointing in Salerno’s direction. Punching the guy in front of me, I kick him in the gut before yanking his head back and slitting his throat. I drop him to the ground and race after Leo, jumping over the motionless bodies lining the space in front of the open entrance doors.
A few blacked-out vans come careening up the driveway and screech to a halt behind us. We swing around, with our guns out, ready to handle anything the enemy throws at us, because we may not be the only ones with a backup plan. Doors slide open, and I breathe a sigh of relief when our reinforcements jump out, instantly swarming the Russians. They are considerably outnumbered now, and the battle is entering its final stages.
“Come on,” Ben yells. “They’ve got this. Let’s head inside.”
Salerno charges through the front door of his house, firing from a gun in each hand, and we reload our weapons, grinning conspiratorially as we follow him inside.
11
ALESSO
Salerno strong-arms me into the room where his men are enjoying the spoils of war. “Have a drink. Pick a whore,” he says, waving his arms around the large room like a triumphant king. In the past, I’m guessing this room was a traditional ballroom, but Salerno has transformed the space into a den of iniquity. The walls are painted a garish red, and thick black and gold drapes cover the windows, shielding the festivities from prying external eyes. Overhead, the antique chandeliers are covered in some type of black mesh material casting a creepy lens over the proceedings.
All the furniture is black leather, and there are various stripper poles and sex equipment dotted around the room. A fully stocked bar resides against the wall on the other side where the surviving made men are partying up a storm.
Everywhere I look, I see naked women—young sex slaves Salerno keeps for his personal use. God only knows what they have been subjected to these past few months under Russian control. Most look emaciated and weary beyond their years. Salerno’s men have them bent over couches and coffee tables and sprawled across sex machines as they fuck the last of the adrenaline from their system. The girls stare straight ahead with emotionless expressions, and it sickens me to my stomach.
No wonder Ben chose a torture session with Gambini over this. We are strictly anti sex trafficking in New York, and though Ben has pleaded his case with Salerno over the years, the asshole refuses to give up this part of his lucrative business. Tales of mammoth drink- and drug-fueled orgies in Vegas are legendary withinmafiosocircles.
“The boss needs you,” Leo says, materializing at my side. He narrows his eyes as his gaze roams around the room.
“Tell Ben to leave the traitor and come celebrate,” Salerno says, slapping the ass of a skinny brunette with massive fake tits as she passes by tucked under the arm of a pot-bellied guy with a bad combover.
