Sneaking down the stairs and into the garage, I snatch the TTs keys off the wall and head for the car.
That’s when the lights flicker on. “Going somewhere?” Gianni’s voice echoes around the vast garage.
Shit.
I only turn my head. “To live up to the name Ghostface Killer.” Gianni grunts, and I spin to face him. Bull and Gun are also in the room. “What gave me away?”
“Nothing gave you away. I just had a hunch.”
“Hunch?” I repeat.
“The way you looked at me this morning. After everything was said and done. It was vicious and vacant all at the same time. The only other woman to ever look at me like that was my ex-wife. And let me tell you, that woman was a piranha.” He laughs, but the sound is empty. Not an ounce of humor. “It’s a good thing I’m surrounded by bodyguards.” He thumbs behind him.
“Are you here to stop me?” I question.
“Not at all. If you feel this is something you need to do, far be it from me to stand in your way. I just have one request. Take these two chuckleheads with you.”
Gun and Bull both cross their arms intimidatingly.
“With all due respect, I usually work alone.”
“With all due respect, you used to be alone. You could afford to be reckless. But now you have a husband and child to consider. A husband and child who both need you. I saw what it did to Baz when he lost you the first time. He won’t survive it if it happens again.”
I sigh as Gianni’s words seep in.
“Are either one of you good with a rifle?” I succumb.
“Gun is ex-military. Ranger,” Bull informs me. “I’m just a hell of a shot.” He leers arrogantly.
My focus flip-flops from Gianni to Gun to Bull, and then the tiny Audi.
I emit a low, throaty groan of resignation. “We’re gonna need a bigger car.”
The drive from Long Island to Staten Island at three o’clock in the morning is a breeze. Not an inkling of traffic. We ended up switching the TT for a Range Rover. More room for Gun, Bull, and the arsenal they packed in the trunk. There’s enough ammo back there we could go to war with Mexico. And win.
The ride is quiet but not sinisterly so. It’s a mental preparation.
I direct Gun where to park by Benny and Regina’s mansion. There are side streets behind the house that the cameras don’t pick up. I know all the blind spots. Every single one. This house was my playground for nearly ten years. My prison, my protection.
Gun and Bull follow my lead as we come to the base of the hill the house sits on. It will be a climb, but nothing unmanageable.
With the darkness shadowing us, we trek upwards until we come to a chain link fence covered in ivy.
“You didn’t tell us we needed bolt cutters,” Bull whispers in the dark.
“We don’t.” I sidestep ten feet until I feel what I’m looking for. “Ah.” I pull on the fence, and it separates. I had cut a line through the metal when I was sixteen. It was my escape. It wasn’t that I wanted to run away, but sometimes I just wanted a change of scenery. I would walk the side streets in the middle of the night just to clear my head. Benny never knew. At least, if he did, he never let on.
I squeeze through the opening first. It’s tight for me—it’s going to be a bitch for Bull and Gun.
Gun barrages his way through next, both Bull and I forcing the metal to give enough so he can squeak through.
“That sucked.” Gun cracks his neck.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company on this little run. If I had, I would have come up with a different plan.”
Gun and I take the rifles Bull hands us, and the grenades. I thought they were a little much, but Gun insisted. Cause how often do you get to throw a grenade, right?
We haul Bull through the sliver, ripping his shirt and some skin on the rough metal.
