Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
On the command of the one in charge, the men stream into the building. I expect to hear gunfire, but it’s quiet. I hurry toward the entrance and see why. Lucien’s men are easily outnumbered and clearly taken by surprise. Their weapons are not ready and gear is discarded as they sit laughing and talking in a language I don’t understand, but it sounds Eastern European mixed with Russian. Vests with SWAT typed out on them lie haphazard on the floor. This is not an organized operation.
Dominic’s men round them up, only two shots fired with silencers in place as others are knocked to the ground and driven to their knees.
I don’t see Bastian anywhere, though, and look around, circling behind abandoned machinery to where I hear more men. Laughter. And my brother telling someone to go fuck himself. I hurry toward the sound, Dominic’s men at my back, and see them in a wide open room with drains along the cracked tile floor. Meat hooks dangle from the ceiling. My brother hangs from one, handcuffs hooked, and his hands holding tight to support his weight. He’s shirtless and barefoot. His feet don’t touch the ground. And from here, I can see the damage they’ve done to his chest. His back.
A man gears up to punch him in the gut. Bastian grunts as the man turns to his buddies and laughs. But he doesn’t know my brother. Bastian lays his weight into the swing, using momentum, and lifts his legs as he swings back toward the asshole who hit him. He manages to kick him in the face when he turns around.
The man curses, then spits blood. His friends laugh outright, but he reaches for a cattle prod. I have my gun out, and before he can get close to Bastian, I shoot the bastard in the side of the head. Blood splatters my brother as the man stands momentarily still, as if his body hasn’t registered the fact that he just died, before he falls over sideways.
It takes his buddies a moment to process what has just happened, and by the time they get their weapons, Dominic’s men are on them.
“Don’t kill them outright,” I order as I hurry to Bastian.
“Took you fucking long enough, brother,” Bastian says as I lift him just high enough so he can get his arms free of the hook. I set him down, see him wince, and wonder what damage they did to the bottoms of his feet. His wrists are raw and bloody, burns and bruises mark his chest, stomach, shoulders, and back. But he stands straighter, swallowing down the pain. “Give me your gun.”
I hand it over, taking in the bruise around his eye and the cut along his lip. And I watch as, rather than using the gun to shoot his tormentors, he beats the shit out of each one with the butt of the pistol, wrists still cuffed, until six men are lying barely conscious on the filthy ground.
He crouches down beside the body of the one I shot and digs into his pockets to retrieve the key to the cuffs. He stands and holds it out to me. I can see he’s in pain.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine. Vittoria?”
“Safehouse.”
“Good.” He looks at the men as I unlock his cuffs.
“Hang them from the meat hooks. Wait until they come around to kill them,” I tell Dominic’s soldiers.
“And do it slow,” Bastian adds. He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth and turns his back on the scene. I can see he’s rattled. But more than that, he’s pissed.
“Lucien Russo is mine,” he says.
“He’s yours.”
12
VITTORIA
I pace the penthouse, my mind whirling. What just happened? How did things go sideways so quickly? I perch on the edge of the leather chesterfield of this very modern, masculine space and set my head in my hands. It’s pounding. I look out the window at the busy street below, but we’re too far up for me to recognize any of the hundreds of SUVs that pass.
Bruno is also pacing. He’s as worried as me, and I realize how strange this is. How he and I are both concerned about the brothers. Days ago, would I have cared at all?
I get up, discarding my heels on the Persian rug and crossing the room to the bathroom where I search the cabinet for aspirin. I find some and take two with a handful of water from the tap. I splash water on my face and pat it dry when I finally hear them in the other room. I rush out to find Bastian and Amadeo walking into the penthouse, Amadeo carrying some of Bastian’s weight and both looking like they’ve been through hell. Bastian especially. He’s barefoot, shirtless, and I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand when I see how his chest is covered in strange bruises, bloody circles.