Page 137 of Inked in Devotion

Dimitri erupted in maniacal laughter. “The Italians sure know how to make a grand entrance.”

While we made it to the George Washington Bridge, Rurik and the other bratva were yelling amidst the brassy sound of ear-splitting automatic weapons. Kirill was already grumbling that he would need to call in favors to cover up the war zone and reminded everyone to wear their balaclavas.

Crossing the bridge, I followed Kirill closely and heard him ask Ilya if the FDR was still open.

Where it turned tricky was to take the FDR or 9A but we made a unanimous decision to use the FDR. Though it had more traffic than the 9A, we eliminated the need to move from the west side of Manhattan to the east, reducing ambush points.

I saw smoke before an explosion lifted the front of Kirill’s Porche.

“What the fuck?” he shouted before he spun, and my SUV T-boned him, crashing into the back of his vehicle, just shy of hitting Sato’s side. I slammed on the brakes, but it wasn’t enough, and the ensuing momentum plowed the Porsche and smashed it into the barrier. Lev’s SUV barely missed mine. This kid must have grown up playing Grand Theft Auto. He was already backing away.

“We have a shooter on the bridge!” Dimitri yelled. “Incoming!”

A deafening noise and jolt rocked our vehicle.

“Chloe, are you all right?” I growled as I reversed the SUV and saw my opening onto the Harlem River Dr.

I heard a hoarse “yes.”

“Go, go, go,” Kirill shouted. “I’m gonna smoke this fucker. Take Lev. Don’t worry about us. Rurik is on his way with the Italians.”

“Welcome to New York!” Trevor Hayes’s voice came over comms. “I have you on traffic cams.”

“Mask, Chloe.” I pulled down mine just as Dimitri was already covering his face. Too many cameras around Manhattan.

The road was unusually quiet after the pandemonium of the bridge, but I welcomed the lull. I hated leaving Kirill behind, but the whole point of the convoy was to clear the path for me and Chloe to get to Marriage Ink.

“How are the streets, Hayes?”

“So far, the usual suspects on an early Tuesday morning. Our men have reported suspicious activity around the Marriage Ink building. I’ve conferred with Ilya. The Vozhokari and the hired thugs have exhausted their resources on the Palisades and the bridge. The Vozhokari numbers are unknown, but we’re counting two more mercenaries unaccounted for. They should be lurking around Marriage Ink, so keep your eyes open on approach. We have men patrolling.”

“Thanks. Any reports of hostiles on motorcycles?”

A fractured sigh came over the comms. “A few motorcycles out and about. None look suspicious yet.”

“Got it. I’m sending you dashcam footage. See if you can tag the one after us.”

“Copy that.”

Just then, rip-roaring shouts erupted on comms. “Take that, motherfucker.”

“You got the sniper?”

“You bet.” It was Sato who answered. “We’re piling into Rurik’s vehicle and coming after you.”

“Should we wait for them?” Chloe asked.

“No,” Dimitri and I answered in unison.

“We can’t be sitting ducks,” I explained. “De Luccis are backing us up once we exit the FDR.”

He chuckled. “They weren’t expecting the bratva and the Italian mafia to join forces at short notice.”

“We’re almost there, Chloshka.” My eyes were checking every nook and cranny on the barely lit road. Like the Palisades, the FDR had limited entries and exits. Marriage Ink was on 71st Street, before Third Avenue.

Despite the De Luccis backing us, I couldn’t shake the foreboding rattling my cage of calm determination. The east-to-west cross streets of the Manhattan grid were narrow, frequently under construction, or delivery vehicles were in the way. But we had no choice, and that was why we preferred to use the FDR; less traffic lights and impediments to get through.

I made the turn onto 71st Street. I didn’t like the way the looming skylines of New York hovered over us in a watchful, sinister way; its never-ending dizzying scaffoldings muddied the view to a would-be attacker.