Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“And the witnesses?” Renzo asks.
“Let them talk.”
I let out a sigh because that means we’re going to have to call in favors and bribe lots of officials to keep Damiano’s ass out of prison.
But what he wants, he gets, so none of us argue.
When the convoy of SUVs pulls up to the club, I glance around the area.
It’s quiet outside the club because it’s early and the place isn’t open yet.
“What do you want to do?” Renzo asks Damiano.
“Let’s go knock on the door,” he mutters as he shoves the door open.
“You think they’re just going to open for us?” Renzo asks as we all climb out of the SUV.
“Of course not,” Damiano growls, giving Renzo a what the fuck look. “I’m not fucking stupid.” Lifting his arm, he signals for his men to come.
When I see the grenade launcher, I shake my head. Everyone’s going to hear the explosion.
Angelo and I glance at each other, and I can see he’s worried about Damiano. Even for our boss, who’s done some crazy shit, this is a little reckless.
“Blow the door,” Damiano orders.
Leaving my rifle in the car because I sure as shit won’t need it in a club, I pull one of my Heckler & Kochs from behind my back, where it’s tucked into my waistband.
Renzo and Angelo also hold their guns ready.
The grenade blows a hole in the front of the club, and I suck in a deep breath of air before I follow my friends over the rubble and into a dark hallway.
Smoke hangs in the air, and I duck my head low, trying to avoid inhaling it.
As soon as we reach an open space with a dance floor and bars, the fuckers open fire on us.
Renzo and I duck to the side and run toward a bar, where we take cover. I have no idea where Angelo and Damiano went.
Renzo shakes his head and mutters, “Damiano seriously needs to get laid. It will do wonders for his temper.” He darts up, takes a quick look, then crouches in front of me again. “Cover me. I’m going to make a run for the DJ’s booth.”
He darts out from behind the bar, and I shoot up and open fire on the fuckers that are on the second floor while mumbling, “Who the fuck’s going to cover me?”
I watch as a bullet clips Renzo’s arm just as he ducks behind the booth and take out the fucker who shot my friend before I make a run for it.
Don’t get yourself killed today, Dario.
Chapter 37
Dario
I feel a stinging sensation across my side as a bullet narrowly misses me before I fall and slide straight into Renzo.
“Christ,” he grunts. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I check the magazine in my gun, then I slam it back into place. “We should’ve brought machine guns,” I mutter as I move into a crouching position.
“You’re bleeding,” Renzo says, pulling the fabric of my shirt away from my side.
“So are you. Two grazed me. How’s your arm?”
“The bullet didn’t go deep. I’ll live.”
“You better.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Damiano shouts over the gunfire.
“DJ’s booth,” Renzo yells.
The gunfire stops suddenly, and we hear our boss bark, “Get your asses out here.”
We dart up, and as we leave our cover, it’s to see Damiano and Carlo moving up the stairs with Angelo and Big Ricky behind them.
“You watch our backs while I keep an eye on the second floor,” I tell Renzo before we run to catch up to the others.
Everything is eerily quiet as we take the stairs up, and when we reach the VIP area, Miguel’s sitting at a table with his men forming a half circle around him.
“Did you really have to go to all this trouble?” Miguel asks as he stares at Damiano.
“Yes.”
Not giving a shit, Damiano pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table. He gestures for Carlo to pour him a drink.
I move closer while I pull my other Heckler & Koch from behind my back. On guard, my eyes flick from one fucker to the next.
Damiano lets out a sigh. “All you had to do was listen, but no, you had to be stubborn and come into our territory.”
“There’s a lot of money to be made in New York. The deal still stands,” Miguel says, looking a little uneasy.
Carlo places a tumbler of whiskey in front of Damiano, who picks up the drink and takes a sip.
When he sets the tumbler down again, he murmurs, “As good as a thirty percent share sounds, I have to decline.”
My heartbeat speeds up again because I recognize the look on his face.
A second later, his arm flies up, and he takes the kill shot, hitting Miguel right between the eyes.
All hell breaks loose, and the rest of us open fire.
A bullet whistles past my head, and I have to drop my empty Heckler & Koch before tackling Damiano off the chair when a fucker has a clear shot of him.