We stop a few feet away. Close enough to speak. One of the sons looks us over, slow and unimpressed.
“This doesn’t look very friendly, Vitale.”
“That’s because it’s not.”
Elio shifts slightly beside me.
“Well,” the son continues, “I suppose since you were the ones who started our downfall, it would have been naïve to think you’d end it politely.”
My gaze settles on him coldly.
“The only thing I’m ending today is you,” I say evenly.
A flicker of amusement passes over the Pakhan’s face.
“You’re smart, Vitale. Confident. It’s a shame I need to take you down. You’ve caused my family enough trouble. You killed one of my cousins. And now I’m going to make sure you don’t walk out of here alive.”
I almost smile. “That’s doubtful.”
Every muscle in my body tightens with anticipation. The time for talking has passed. I move first. Gun in one hand. Knife in the other.
The metal is familiar. It both steadies and grounds me.
One quick glance at Elio and my brother nods once, sharply. He pulls out his weapon and my men follow suit.
“I’ll take care of the Pakhan,” I say quietly.
And then all hell breaks loose. Gunfire tears through the air. Loud, immediate. Deafening against metal. Men spill out from between containers, from behind crates. More than I’d expected. But not enough, of course.
My men move fast, taking cover behind containers and returning fire. They’re specially trained and I have no doubt they’ll hold their own.
I step forward instead of moving back, closing the distance between myself and the table that’s currently surrounded. They’re protecting the Pakhan. A bullet ricochets off the metal beside me, sparks flashing. I don’t flinch.
One of the sons reaches for his weapon, stepping forward. I fire a quick clean shot and he hits the ground. The second one is about to lunge, his expression colored with rage. But the Pakhan holds him back.
I take care of the men guarding them. Shooting one by one. When it’s down to three men, I finally see a crack in the old man’s expression. Although it surprises me when I find defeat.
He’s been expecting this. This was simply his last chance to take a stand. He wanted to go down fighting.
His eyes don’t leave mine as I kill his men, shooting and stabbing the ones that get into close range. There’s a precision to the violence I inflict. I don’t find any satisfaction from killing the small fish. They’re irrelevant and they mean nothing to me.
Who I’m really after is the man that gave the orders for Lindsay’s father to get shot. The same man that’s been plotting on my family. His incompetence at controlling his men is also the reason she was kidnapped and almost killed. He’s caused enough damage to my woman and now I’m going to repay him in kind.
I inch closer to the table, noting that the other son has disappeared. Which is unfortunate. I’d been hoping to end the Pakhan’s bloodline. The old man still doesn’t move as I get closer to him. Suddenly, there’s a shout behind me.
Elio.
I turn just enough to catch the movement. A man closing in from my side. I only have time to blink before sharpness sears my skin. A whoosh of air escapes my lungs and I manage to raise my knife and sink it into the bastard’s neck before he pushes his own knife deeper into my flesh.
“Matteo.”
Elio’s voice is the first thing that cuts through. Not the pain, the pain is secondary, arriving late like bad news delivered by someone who’d been working up the nerve. My brother’s hand closes around my arm, pulling me sideways, and I let him because my legs have decided to have a private conversation with the ground about whether they still want to participate.
We make it to the container. My back hits the metal and I register it distantly, the cold of it, the rust smell.
I look down.
The handle is still there. Black, utilitarian. The kind of knife that isn’t made to impress anyone, just to go in and stay in. There’s not as much blood as there should be, which either means it missed everything important or my body hasn’t caught up yet.
