“Fuck if I know but hold on.”
“Boss? What is it?” Donatello barked. “You were right about the Russians. Several arrived in town. They’re planning something. Guess who they went to see?”
“Carmine.”
Donatello sucked in his breath. “How in the hell do you know that?”
Jesus Christ. We’d been playing Russian roulette with a group of Russian thugs. I kept searching behind us. Something was very wrong.
“Listen to me. I don’t care what you do. Get to Anastasia,” I barked. “Zorro. Backseat and down.”
He obeyed me without thinking, but his growl continued. He knew we were in trouble.
Shit.
Everything happened fast, an overpass providing enough shadowing of the sun to see what we were dealing with.
The window on the vehicle next to the SUV holding our men was down, a projectile sticking out by several inches.
Not an assault rifle, but a rocket launcher.
“Fuck!” I yelled just as Alexander pressed down on the accelerator, weaving in and out of traffic.
“I see it,” Alexander hissed.
The tires squealed. Horns were honked.
Vehicles skidding out of the way.
Our driver trying to ram the other vehicle.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Boom!
The explosion was horrific, the vibrations creating a cataclysm effect, other vehicles spinning off to the side.
Cringing, both Alexander and I watched as the force drove the SUV across the six-lane highway where it hit the Jersey wall, bouncing up by several feet before landing on the other side with another horrific explosion.
“Boss. What the hell is going on?”
“Protect the family!”
Boom!
A miss, but a portion of the highway disintegrated.
Fire exploded, coming from all directions.
That didn’t stop the dark sedan that rolled through a wall of flames.
“Hold on, brother. This is going to get dicey.” Alexander was a damn good driver although I was better, yet the sedan wasn’t backing down.
In fact, they were gaining on us.
“They’re preparing to fire,” I yelled.
“I get it!” Alexander swerved, narrowly missing a car.
