I’m not imagining it. Tremors ripple down my chains, my arms vibrating painfully.
An explosion rocks the hall outside.
Rocco curses, dropping the knife. The metal rattles somewhere near my knees as I start to smell smoke.
“Che cazzo!?What the fuck is happening?” Rocco’s voice retreats as he opens the cell door, shouting expletives when foul, acrid air immediately fills the confined space. “Fuck. Fuck! What the?—?”
Beneath his rage-filled ranting, Rocco is terrified.
It sounds like there’s a war going on above our heads. Things breaking, people running, shouts and therat-tat-tatof automatic weapons. Loud thuds of bodies hitting the floor.
I strain my ears, scrambling to understand what’s going on as the chaos gets closer.
Footsteps pound on the basement’s concrete floor, the call and response of someone chasing and another trying to escape.
There are gunshots. Still rooms away but getting closer.
I can hear Rocco pull back the hammer on his gun. Theclicksends goosebumps over my exposed skin. He’s not going to waste a bullet protecting me. His fuck-ups have brought the war into his house; I’m the last thing he’s worried about.
I sense the second he runs away, leaving me tied to the ceiling, naked, on the verge of blacking out, and entirely at the mercy of whoever steps into my little corner of hell next.
Time stretches, the violent noises skirting around my cell but never entering. The footsteps retreat, the gunfire gettingfurther away. I start shaking, suddenly very, very cold. It takes me a second to realize why. There’s a draft.
Rocco left the door open.
And his knife at my knees.
And my legs unchained.
I have no idea how I’m going to make those things work for me but, goddammit, I’ve got to try. I’m psyching myself up, mentally cataloguing all the things my legs were once capable of when I was a high school athlete. Surely, I can figure out a way to use my feet to get ahold of the knife. Somehow pass it to my mouth. Then, if I can force myself to stand, maybe I can use the knife to get my hands free. It’s too insane to even be considered a long shot, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’ve never been so desperate in my life.
I’m about to force my feet to function when I realize I’m not alone. There’s a new smell in the room. One I recognize. My stomach skydives when I recognize the voice too.
“Fuck me, little cousin. Looks like you and I are finally alone.”
2
ALIK
Ihave four minutes—five, max—to get the job done and get the hell out of here. It should be more, but I lost time killing two fuckwits in the stairwell. Serves them right for runningawayfrom the fight. Loyalty means nothing to the cowards in this family.
I move fast, silently down the hall. The less noise, the less likely I’ll have to waste more time disposing of Pagano lowlifes. The less energy I’ll waste too. With my adrenaline up I can barely feel my broken ribs, but I’m going to need all my strength to drag my target out of here.
A concussion, multiple lacerations to the scalp, two black eyes, several broken ribs, and some more scars to add to my already impressive tally—that’s what I get for being a bad man who, one time, chose to do the right thing.
That was a few weeks ago and it was a moment of weakness I have no intention of repeating.
If my father could see me now, he’d laugh and give me another beating to add to the one I had to accept for refusing to complete a job. TheArkhangel—ourbratva’smost elite assassin—is universally feared, especially by those who know exactlywhat goes bump in the night. The fact that I intentionally let a target live is a threat not just to my reputation, but to my organization, my family. A failing ourpakhan, my father, will never let me forget.
Guess it’s a good thing the evil fucker isn’t here.
I’m in Chicago for reasons that have nothing to do with my role as mybratva’sinfamous assassin. I should never have agreed to the hit to begin with. I was getting twitchy, frustrated by how slowly things are progressing here. I needed a way to stay focused, to keep my mind sharp. The joke was on me, though, because the target turned out to be a woman, and I don’t execute women or children. There are some rules that even villains have to live by.
After that massive fucking mess, I told my father theArkhangelis going to ground until I say otherwise. I have to stay focused on the real job at hand. Or, in this case, the person.
Rocco Pagano.
Bodies of his foot soldiers are scattered across the house and grounds, some lying lifeless in the hallway as I make my way to my target. Thick clouds curl out from the smoke grenades the Cerreti soldiers detonated. I’ll give Aldo and Rem credit; they donotfuck around when it comes to taking out their enemies.
