So, I’ve learned not to count on my intuition when it comes to Soren. He could very well be watching, waiting, just to jump out and rescue me.
As if I need him to rescue me at any given moment. I can handle myself. I don’t need him; I don’t need my brothers; I don’t need guards.
That’s why I’m here.
Walking down a dimly lit alley in the middle of the night.
Soren had unintentionally given me the exact information I wanted. The Carvels were planning on an ambush, but not tonight. Saturday night they’d be playing poker. He hadn’t told me where, but that was easy enough to figure out.
A few phone calls, texts, and maps search later, I knew exactly where to go.
I’m not worried. It’ll likely only be five or six of them, and I have my gun on me. I’m prepared this time, and they’re the ones who will be taken aback. Not me.
As I get closer and closer to the back door of the office space they are holding their game downtown, I can’t get Jackson Carvel’s face out of my mind.
His hands.
The way he had looked at me like I was nothing but a body for him to use. For him to take and do whatever he wanted with.
If Soren hadn’t been there to stop him, just how far would he have gone?
Anger wells up inside of me, and I don’t care that I’m outnumbered. I’m angrier, and I’m ready.
“If you’re following me, you’d better be read to fight,” I say into the open air. Just in case Soren is listening.
If he wants to trail me, so be it, but I don’t plan on leaving without blood being spilled. Mine, theirs, all of ours.
Still, I find myself hoping that Soren isn’t following me. This could go down with minimal death, or it could go down with everyone fighting for their lives.
I don’t want to kill them all. I just want to show them what it means to go up against Carmine Dresvanni.
To go up against my father’s son.
I want to prove that I’m strong enough to lead this family.
The light underneath the door is dim, but I know they’re in there.
There’s no guard stationed at the door. Which is a little odd, but perhaps they really don’t expect any danger to come tonight. Why would they?
I should expect a guard inside though. I pull my gun out, slowly, and use my other hand to open the door. I’m prepared toshoot if a gun is pulled at me. If anyone lays a single hand on me, I’m ready to shoot their fucking head off.
It’s not enough.
I realize as the door opens, and I see that the round table in the center of the small office is completely empty, devoid of even a single playing card, that something is very wrong.
“Get inside!” a voice hisses from behind me.
The cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of my head.
There’s no one in front of me to shoot, and if I attempt to turn around and grab their gun, I could be dead before I even get a glimpse at my killer’s face.
“Drop the gun!”
I keep my gun held tightly in my hand, but I step forward.
“I said drop the fucking gun!” he tells me.
There’s more than one set of footsteps that I hear. Three…no four. No, five.
