Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Cut the crap, Ferrante. I’ll give up Harlem if you let her go,” I said, knowing damn well I was willing to forfeit a lot more than that for my sister’s happiness. “She wants out of the game. To go away. Start fresh.”
“The underworld is not a McJob. You can’t hand in your two-week notice.” Achilles zipped his protective vest up to his neck. “Tierney knows too much about the Camorra for us to let her walk away.”
“I’ll give assur—”
“This conversation is over. She’s nonnegotiable where I’m concerned. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure she’s happy. Happier than anyone else could make her.”
The conversation was far from over. If push came to shove, I’d slit Achilles’s throat myself. However, now was decidedly not the time to deal with it.
The red dots on the screen shone brighter, nearer. I tapped the side of my Bluetooth to connect Sam back into the line.
“Well, boys. It’s showtime,” Sam announced into our earpieces. “Knock ’em dead, and don’t forget to bring me a souvenir.”
On cue, two bulletproof vans jam-packed with Camorra soldiers revved up their engines, flooring it from behind the dune and onto the road, blocking the path for Alex’s truck.
Our van followed last, parking behind the two trucks, as another layer of barricade the Russians couldn’t plow through.
I slid the door open, watching as four Bratva soldiers poured out of the first van, firing a round of bullets at our vehicles. Camorra snipers on the dune took them down like soda cans.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.
They jerked comically as the bullets hit them, falling to the ground.
Another set of soldiers hopped out of the Bratva’s vans. The last van on the line backed quickly, wheels screeching, but Luca put two bullets in each of its front wheels, making it sag onto the concrete road with a thump.
Springing out of the van with my firearm cocked, I jerked my head toward the third van. Achilles followed me.
Chaos erupted, with swaths of Bratva soldiers pouring out of their vans, shooting indiscriminately. They emptied most of their clips within two, maybe three minutes. I watched as two Camorra soldiers fell from the dune like a mouton in a guillotine. I thought I saw Luca duck away before they got him, but I had no time to check.
The third van stood still and stayed locked. Nobody came in. Nobody went out.
Jackpot.
We both headed toward Alex’s van.
Achilles fired a round with his M16, spraying the Russian soldiers and taking a bullet that landed in his body armor.
“Vafammoc.” He spat on the ground.
“You hurt?”
“Nah, I took a bet with Enzo they wouldn’t even touch me.” He flicked gunpowder off his shoulder nonchalantly.
I put bullets in two Bratva soldiers’ heads on my way to the van when they tried to jump me from behind. The third soldier was too close for a decent aim, so I hit him with the back of my rifle, caving his skull.
When I reached the desired vehicle, I produced a prick punch from my pocket and set it between the gap of the sliding door. There was no point trying to shoot my way into the truck. It was bulletproof, windows included.
“Cover for me,” I ordered Achilles, since I had my back to the commotion. He pressed his back to mine, shooting at everything that moved toward us while I pried the sliding door open. It clicked, gliding just enough for me to take a grenade out of my pocket, pull the pin, toss it inside, and slam the door. I grabbed Achilles by the collar and dragged him behind a dune on the side of the road to avoid the shrapnel. Halfway through, he roared, “duck!” and before I had the time to process the word, grabbed the back of my head and shoved me to my stomach.
A bullet flew a millimeter from my head.
A second later, Achilles rose from beneath the dune, aimed at a Bratva sniper who had assumed his place on a dune, and shot him clean between the eyes.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “That was close.”
“Spared ya.”
“Surprisingly.”
“Nah. You make my sister happy.” He yawned. “Too happy sometimes, unfortunately.”
The grenade exploded, shaking the van behind us. Black smoke curled from the gaps in the doors and windows. The unmistakable scent of burned flesh wafted through the air.
It was weird to think of Alex as dead.
Weirder still to think that I killed him myself.
For a few moments, I just stood there, staring at the van.
The hubbub around us died, along with two dozen Bratva soldiers who were splayed on the road. A few Irish and Camorra soldiers also lay lifeless at our feet.
“Okay, lover boy. Let’s see our handiwork.” Achilles advanced toward Alex’s van. He slid the door open and popped his head inside. Ripped the balaclava from his face to inspect the massacre.