Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Fucking suburbs,” he says and yanks it open.
I’m too shocked that worked to say anything as he hustles inside. I leave the door propped open with a brick before hurrying to the stairs on Carlo’s heels.
“I forgot to ask,” I say, passing the second-floor landing, heading to the third. “What’d Renzo say about this operation?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know.”
I laugh at the audacity. “Isn’t he going to be pissed?”
“Only if this goes wrong.” Carlo reaches the third-floor door and looks back at me. “You ready?” He checks his watch. “My guys should be in position.”
I can hear footsteps coming up the stairs behind us. “Let’s do this.”
Carlo goes first. We burst into a quiet hallway and sprint down to apartment 314. He doesn’t hesitate when he reaches the door, only braces himself on the frame and kicks right above the knob. The whole thing gives an ugly heave loud enough to make a nearby dog start barking. He kicks again, and the door flies open, spraying wood everywhere.
It’s chaos as we storm into the apartment. My gun’s up as I turn right into a small galley kitchen. “Clear,” I bark, following back out into the living room. The place is spartan: barely any furniture. A couch, a TV on a table, and a couple chairs. Empty beer bottles and an overflowing ashtray sit on a plywood coffee table.
“Back here,” Carlo says. “Oh, fuck!”
Gunshots ring. They scream like a demon. I throw myself around the corner after Carlo and find him hunkered down on the floor, grinning like a madman, shooting into one of the bedrooms.
The wall’s riddled with bullet holes. I dive across and come up on the other side, thankful I’m not fucking dead, and spot movement. Someone in the other room is at the window. “Stop!” I yell and charge in after him.
“Shit,” the guy says and moves to jump out, but I grab him by his waistband. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and the underwear nearly rips before I can get a hold on his arm. He struggles, cursing, but I drag him back inside. I crack him in the face with the butt of my pistol, and once he’s subdued, I realize the apartment’s quiet. Without the gunshots, my ears are ringing.
“Don’t try to fight,” I say, holding my gun to the guy’s head. I drag him to his feet. He’s white, reddish hair, an ugly reddish beard. Scrawny and covered in tattoos. “You make one move and you’re dead.”
“Fuck you,” he says but keeps his hands up as I grab him by the back of the neck and steer him into the hall.
Carlo’s there, looking grim. He seems unhurt, thank god, but he shakes his head. “Dead,” he says.
“Seamus?” My captive tries to jerk forward, but the barrel of my gun on his skull makes him stop. “You fucking killed Seamus?”
“Guess we got the right guys,” I mumble as I keep shoving the Irishman back through the ratty living room and into the apartment hallway.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. “Why’d you kill my fucking brother?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Carlo says, hitting him hard in the guts. He doubles over and I have to keep hold of him to make sure he doesn’t fall. People are looking out of their apartments, and it’s a small miracle that nobody’s in our way.
Carlo’s men are there. His first crew is made up of three soldiers, all of them well armed, all in ski masks. They help drag the Irishman down the steps.
“We don’t have long,” Carlo says. “Got to get out of here.” We reach the bottom floor and hurry out the door. The door’s still propped open, and I make sure it closes once we’re in the parking lot.
I sit in the back with our captive, my gun still on his head. He’s curled up on the seat, hands covering his face. I can’t tell if he’s crying or what but I don’t care. Carlo peels out, flying into the street, and turning left away from the train tracks. In the distance, a police siren wails.
We drive in silence. My heart’s racing. That was fucking close. If we had taken just an extra couple of minutes, the cops would’ve been there way too fast. As it stands, I keep waiting for some trooper to pull us over, but soon the city’s looming in the distance and getting closer by the second. Once we’re in the limits again, I start to relax.
Carlo parks outside of a boring row home deep in the Rossi territory. “We’ll keep him here.” He twists in his seat and stares back at our man. He’s staring down at the floor, his eyes red-rimmed, looking like he’s in a daze. “You alive in there?”
“Fuck you,” he says.
Carlo shoves open the door. “Let’s take him inside and have a conversation.”