“You call one wrong man,” I say, “or say one wrong word, and I put you down before the sentence finishes.”
Gabriel’s stare doesn’t waver. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I repeat, cold. “You make the call when I tell you to.”
He huffs out a laugh.
“Get him cleaned up enough that he doesn’t look like he came out of my house.” My gaze cuts to Dimitri. “Not too clean.”
A dark grin twitches at the corner of Dimitri’s mouth. “Got it.”
“Pietro, send the route.” He nods.
“Vaska, with me.”
“Ivan, perimeter team.” A sharp dip of his chin.
I look at Angelo last.
He doesn’t ask if I want him there. Doesn’t ask if I’m sure. He already knows the answer to both.
“You in?” I ask.
Angelo’s gaze stays on the map. On the depot. On the mess we made years ago that never stopped bleeding.
Then he looks at me.
“We started this together,” he says, voice flat and certain. “We end it together.”
I grab my gun off the table, check the magazine by feel, rack it once, and shove it into the holster at my back.
Then I turn for the door.
The sun outside is too bright. The day is too far gone. Every instinct in me is screaming that I am already late.
But late is not dead.
Not yet.
And until somebody puts a body in front of me, Ayla is mine to get back. I pause with my hand on the door and look over my shoulder at Gabriel being untied.
“If she’s breathing when I find her,” I say, “we keep your truce.”
His eyes narrow.
“And if she’s not?” he asks.
Something cold and absolute settles into place inside me.
I open the door.
“Then there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”
Chapter 57
Ayla
Guards on rotation.
