The Russian howled. Whatever he’d been about to say dissolved into a ragged noise.
“Save it,” Blackjack said. “You’re not bleeding out here. You don’t dieon these boards. Roman asked us to bring you back breathing. You’re going to get your big finale at a different venue.”
He nodded toward Priest.
“Stabilize him just enough to keep him from checking out early,” he ordered. “Tourniquet that leg. I want him screaming when we hand him over.”
Priest left Roman’s wife long enough to snap a band around Vladimir’s thigh. He checked his stab wound too, said it wasn’t fatal, and that he’d live. The Russian cursed in at least three languages.
“Miami,” Blackjack said into his mic. “Status.”
“Building’s clear of hostiles,” Miami said. “The ones who weren’t dead already are either running or surrendering to Roman’s men. Street cams show the SUVs and van are empty. Drivers are fucking gone, captured, or dead too. Boardwalk cams show… a lot of shell casings. Sirens inbound from three directions. You need to move. Now.”
“Copy that,” Blackjack said.
Liberty stepped in, eyes sweeping the scene. Her gaze lingered on Vladimir, then on Gianna and her mother, then on us.
“You always pick the prettiest party venues,” she said dryly.
“Tell your girls to start clearing their brass,” Blackjack replied. “You came in hot, now we leave cold. I don’t want the police pinning more than noise complaints on any of us. Roman can take care of that but not if we get caughthere red handed.”
Liberty flicked two fingers in a signal. The Vipers broke, some already moving back to their bikes, others scooping up dropped mags and shells.
Priest helped Roman’s wife to her feet. She shook. Her eyes darted over all of us—cuts, guns, bodies. She looked like she wanted to be somewhere else so badly it hurt to see.
“Donatella,” Blackjack said, toning himself down by degrees. “We’re getting you out of here.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, Alice. Roman?” she managed to say.
“You’ll see him soon,” Blackjack said.
Gianna moved to her mother’s side, rubbing at the raw skin on her wrists where the zip ties had been cut. She looked at me.
“You good kid?” Blackjack asked her.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said with a nod.
Her voice was steady.
“Don’t thank us yet,” I said. “We still have to get you past the rest of this circus.”
She smiled faintly.
Blackjack dialed a number on his phone with his thumb and held it to his ear.
He didn’t put it on speaker.
“Roman,” he said when it connected. “It’s over. We’ve got them. Donatella and Gianna are alive. Your traitor’s breathing too, for now.”
He listened.
His jaw tightened.
“We’ll bring him,” he said. “Name the spot.”
A pause.
“The beach?” he repeated. “The old south-end stretch. Yeah. I know it.”
