There are jumbled voices and words coming through the walkie, but I’m barely listening. Just standing on the roof, beneath the glow of an early-evening moon. The sea air is crisp, and I pull in a long breath, holding it.
Now that the helicopter has landed, I can’t see what’s happening over the trees.Shame… It’s just out of sight.
“Jefe!” Paulino shouts. “So Kent’s staying with the prisoners, but Russo wants you to—fuck—” he sounds like he’s running, tripping over things, “—he told me to bring you there. To the beach. He wants you to come and meet him there…”
I snort.Yea, fat chance.
Russo with Dascha and Byron, and Alexander on the way??
I can think of a million things I’d rather do… Like drink a bleach-tini. Break bread with Hannibal Lecter.
I havenodesire to feed Antonio Russo’s ego any further. And more to the point, I don’t have to. Alexander Reznikov is on his way to them right now, and he’s justitchingfor an excuse to end Russo’s life. If the governor even breathes wrong in his son’s direction, it’ll be the end of it.
Using my every ounce of remaining strength, I head back inside and down the stairs, each step that brings me closer to the aviary filling me with purpose.
“Jefe?? Está ahí?”
I ignore him, becauseno, I willnotbe joining Mr. Governor on the beach.I have more pressing matters right here…
I need to get to mi pajarito… Make sure he’s okay.
I can’t leave him sitting in the dark over there, with all this commotion going on. Regardless of how we left things earlier, I just… can’t. Icannotstay away.
I need him.
My movements slow as I pass my library, and the light streaming from the panic room.Odd that the door is open…
Choosing to investigate, I inch closer. My eyes fall to droplets of blood on the floor.
Peculiar.
Gunshots echo in the distance.
My hand slips behind my back to my pistol as I approach the panic room slowly. But there’s no one inside. Just more blood.
I breathe out rough, heart pounding. The cries coming from the walkie are growing more aggrieved by the second.
“Russo’s down! The Governor is down!”
Standing still, a shiver buzzes through me.
Well, then… The Governor of New York is dead on my land. That’s lovely.
My lips quirk. Rest in peace, puta.
I assume it was Alexander’s doing, but when someone shouts that it was The Carver, I’m faltering.
What the fuck is going on here, man?
A bubble of laughter puffs from my throat.
All I hear is gunfire.
“Copy. We’ve got eyes on—shit!”
“I need backup! West beach!Now!”
“Copy.”
