Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“The hell I am.” Chase was already grabbing more ammo and strapping it to his chest. His sleeved tattoos gave him away to anyone who knew about the man they now called the executioner.
The right hand of the Abandonato family and the Capo.
Last year someone shit himself, literally, when Chase got out of his car.
It was one of the best days of my life since joining forces with the ridiculous Italians and being forced to kill with them as well as eat at their table.
“Please.” It was a word I rarely uttered. A word so rare that tangible silence crackled in the air with awareness that I wouldn’t utter it again, not to an Italian, especially not to Chase.
“I counted an additional six men last time, not including two De Lange captains, and you want to go in there and just, what? Ask for a meeting?”
I smirked, already opening the car door. “You forget, I’m Russian.”
“And?”
“And my balls are bigger.” I shrugged, earning a glare from him. “They think I’m their friend, they think I play both sides and that my loyalty is only to myself.”
“Good, because that’s all true, you jackass.” Chase shook his head slowly. “Just try not to die. It will completely ruin my good, mood, yeah?”
“You? Good mood?” I snorted. “I’ll get the gates open, try not to hit any plants on your way in, when you hear multiple gunshots from inside you’ll know it’s safe for you to reveal yourself to the masses.”
“Be quick about it.”
“If you’re so worried, time me.” I winked.
“Record’s four minutes, Phoenix won’t be happy to see someone take the title from him.”
At that, I smiled wide, finding immense joy in torturing Phoenix the way he constantly tortured me with his weekly meetings and trainings on how to be a good boss to a family that didn’t even want me.
“Ready?” Chase held up his Rolex.
“Set.” I cocked my gun.
“Shit.” Chase muttered as I walked up to the com and pressed the button.
“Yes?”
“Andrei Petrov, I have business with the family.”
“You’re not expected.”
I smiled at his idiocy. “That’s kind of the point, let me in.”
The gate buzzed.
It was too easy when people thought you weren’t the enemy.
It was easy when you made them think you were their friend.
I was good at that, being what I needed to be to anyone and everyone. I was a true chameleon and I knew that’s why Chase and the rest of the bosses didn’t trust me.
Because they knew I could and would play them.
I was with them until they were against me; at least that’s what I told myself. As long as Luca Nicolasi roamed this earth, I’d taken an oath.
And I’d see it through.
As I sauntered right onto De Lange property, the two men inside the gate approached me.
I had a bullet in each of their foreheads before they could utter one word. Another man opened the door and pointed his gun at me.
Idiot.
No wonder the De Langes were getting killed off so easily, he didn’t even use the door to hide behind, just ran out into the fucking sunshine waving his gun like a jackass.
He fell against the doorframe and slumped to the ground. Sighing, I lifted my gun, and stepped over his large body and into the house.
Come out, come out wherever you are.
Blood rushed through my body, pulsed, pumped like I was high on the best drug. I could see clearer, smell better, I could sense everything around me like I’d just taken a hit of heroin.
I saw movement in my peripheral vision and shot down the hall. Voices shouted.
There were at least a few more men — that I knew. The De Langes weren’t known for having many men at their homes, it was too easy for us to pick them off.
Which meant…
“What do you want?” a voice yelled.
“Surrender, and I’ll tell you.”
“We don’t surrender.”
“I’m Russian. I’m afraid I don’t care,” I said in a lethal voice. “I give no mercy, I torture for sport, and I’m seconds away from blowing up the entire house. You may as well come out before you’re holding your own intestines and scrambling to shove them back into your miserable bloating body.”
A man moved into the hall, gun in his hand holding it high in the air. “What the hell do you want? We made a trade, gave you the girl, and were told we’d be left alone for a few more days so we could regroup. I think that’s what you call… grace? Artful warfare?”
“I don’t give a fuck what they call it. I don’t know the meaning of the word mercy.” The guy froze. “One question, and if you answer correctly I’ll let you live.”
He gulped.
“The other night, the girl you sent to me to sell. Who is she to you?”
His grin turned lethal. “Why? She not performing well enough for the members of your club?”