“I don’t want to die.” Enzo’s voice breaks with fear.
White-hot rage floods my system. I raise my gun, but Pyotr jerks Enzo closer, using him as a shield.
"Careful, Dante. You wouldn't want to hit your precious bastard."
"Let him go," I growl, "and I'll consider letting you walk out of here."
His laughter turns my stomach. "You're not in a position to offer terms."
Three more Bratva soldiers emerge from the shadows, weapons trained on me. I'm cornered, outgunned.
But they've made one critical mistake. They've threatened my son and underestimated me.
I move before conscious thought takes over, unleashing a hail storm of bullets that drops the closest men. Their bodies hit the floor as I dive for new cover, reloading in a single fluid motion.
Pyotr drags Enzo toward a rear exit, firing wildly in my direction. A bullet zings my shoulder.
I ignore it, pushing forward, my world narrowed to a single goal. Save my son.
When I exit the door, Pyotr turns quickly, holding Enzo up in front of him. “Don’t make me kill him, Luca. I will.”
“I always knew you were a pussy. What would Morozova think seeing you hide behind a child like a coward? You’re a disgrace to the Bratva.”
“Shut the fuck up.” The confidence he had a moment ago is gone. He knows the tide is turning.
He knows he’s a dead man.
But nervous men are more dangerous than confident ones.
They’re jittery. Impulsive.
“Just hand over the boy and my job here will be done.”
“You’re lying.”
Yes. I am. I move closer.
“I’m not kidding, Luca.” Pyotr holds a gun to Enzo’s head.
I suck in a breath, calculating whether I can hit him between the eyes before he can pull that trigger.
“I want down.” Enzo thrashes, the heel of his foot kicking back into Pyotr’s dick.
“Fuck!” Pyotr drops Enzo.
I squeeze the trigger one final time.
The bullet finds its mark between Pyotr's eyes, his expression frozen in surprise as he crumples to the ground.
The gun that had been pressed to Enzo's head clatters across the concrete.
Behind me, the door opens, and I quickly turn, firing again, dropping another Bratva soldier.
“Enzo. Come on, Son. We need to go.”
I turn to him, reaching out my hand, but he’s frozen, his eyes wide with horror.
His uncle's blood has splattered across his cheek and clothes.
