Page 132 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

And just like the coward that he is, he won’t fight fair.Neither will I.Warriors don’t give two fucks about fair.We only care about winning.And we will win.

I will win, and I will make sure Frankie is saved.

I touch the knife sheathed at my hip.I hope I’m not forced to shoot the Russian.I hope my knife, sharpened to perfection, will do the job for me.

Bullets are too impersonal.Too sterile.And this shit is about as personal as it gets.

The motherfucker has the woman I love, and he won’t get out of this alive.

“Satellite says we’ll be greeted by fifteen men patrolling the exterior,” Finn says, agreeing with Cal’s assertion that we’ll be outnumbered.

“They’re not just men,” Evander corrects him.“Intel says this bastard surrounds himself with ex-Russian military.An elite commando group.Remember that these men survived the restaurant firefight, and they survived for a reason.”

“High-res thermals show another fifteen inside the house, but it could be more,” Cal says.He rubs his chin the way he does when he’s mulling over our odds in his mind.

“They’ve got one chopper and two eight-seater planes,” Declan says, glancing at the imagery.“I’ll take them out while you focus on the lawn gnomes.”

“Roger that,” Finn says, tapping the table.“We slice like butter, and when the time is right, we make a holy racket.”

“But only if andwhenI give the signal,” Cal says.

“The all clear’s on me,” Evander tells Cal.“If the situation starts looking hairy, I’ll signal you that it’s racket time.”

Declan cracks his knuckles.“It’s been too long.I forgot how much I fuckin’ love a holy racket.

“We ready?”Cal asks.

I stand and grab my kit.“I’ve been ready, asswipes,” I complain.“You pussies love to hear yourselves yammer.This calls for more action and less jackin’ off.”

“Roger that,” Declan says.“No jackin’ off until our mission goals have been met and exceeded.”

We leave the room with our kits, dressed head-to-toe in night gear.We pass through the house, but on our way out, we’re greeted by the unexpected.

Victoria, Emma, Phoebe, and Summer are waiting for us in the living room.They stand close together in the darkened interior, solemn expressions on their faces.

I exhale sharply.Irritated.We don’t have time for this.They’re not overly emotional as women go, that’s true, but they’ve never seen us in loadout gear as a unit, and ready to rock n’ roll.I’m sure it’s intimidating.They might even try to stop us.

Or… maybe not.

Nobody looks nervous or worried.No one’s hysterical.Instead, they’re resolute.

They don’t say a word.They don’t reach out for a hug goodbye or shout out reminders to be careful.Instead, they’re gathered in a show of respect, arms slipped around each other’s waists.I glance at my brothers, who each stare straight ahead at the front door.

My sisters are here to offer their support, and something about it gets me choked up,

My brothers have chosen wisely.Their women are pillars of strength.Warriors, themselves, really.They nod to us, in sync, as we walk out the front door.

It’s two in the morning, and the chill of the night hits us when we step outside.We place our gear in the back of Cal’s Range Rover.Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father in the shadows in front of his house, watching.We lock eyes.He nods at me, and I nod back.

Cal gets us to the Sweetbriar Airpark in about fifteen minutes.Declan instructs him to pull up directly to the helicopter pad outside a small hangar I didn’t even know we use.It might even be new construction.

But as in all things aviation, that’s Declan’s wheelhouse.

He jumps out of the SUV and is nearly hopping up and down in excitement as we round the hangar toward the pad.

“Wait ‘til you get a load of this shit!”he says, laughing.“Finally!I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to put my new toy to the test, andhoo, boy—this is it.Let’s get this party started!”

We’re all standing still, staring.