Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I had no say in my imprisonment. But they put the chains on themselves. And even now, they refuse to stop pulling them tighter.
Chapter Thirteen
Domani
Finley retreats to the far side of the office, staring out at the backyard. I don't know what she's thinking, but I know she's angry. At me. At Rafe. Perhaps even at life.
I don't know what Rafe thinks about what she had to say, either. He doesn't address it. He simply circles around his desk and sits, getting down to business.
"This is the path Coda took today," he says, turning his laptop around to show me the screen. Coda started at Cillian's and drove several miles before stopping. He then retraced his path two miles before stopping again.
"He called me from there. The timestamp matches."
Rafe zooms in on the area, but it's nothing but an abandoned warehouse.
"Whatever happened either happened inside or on the road outside," Mattia says.
"An ambush?"
"Most likely. Coda wouldn't have followed them into a warehouse."
"Agreed," Rafe says. "Someone let Gabe and Diego know this is the spot where it happened."
"Already on it," Luca says, already typing out a text.
"Where does the tracker go from there?"
"Back to the house."
"They're holding him there?"
"Looks like it."
"Fottuti idioti," Luca mutters, tossing his phone on the desk.
"Have you picked up anything on the devices yet?"
"Nothing."
"Cazzo. He must have swept the house for them."
"Either that, or they just aren't fucking talking anywhere near where you planted them."
"I put them in every common room in the house, including the office and the damn downstairs bathroom."
"That explains the unholy noises I heard last night," Mattia mutters.
"So we're hitting the house?" Luca asks.
"No."
Everyone looks to Rafe.
"We have no idea how many men he has inside. We need to draw as many of them out as we can. We're splitting into two teams. One will meet Cillian for a fake hostage exchange. The other will advance on the house to clean it out." He meets our gazes, his level. "No one walks out alive from either the house or the hostage exchange. No one."
Fake hostage exchange. Cristo. I knew it was coming. I knew since the minute I got that fucking text. But I'd hoped like hell that there was a different way, some way that didn't require us to dangle Finley in front of that motherfucker like bait. I don't want her anywhere near him, let alone breathing the same air in the same room while bullets fly.
It's dangerous. Everything in me screams to protect her. But this time…I fucking can't. Because the best way to ensure she's never in danger again is to put her in danger now. It's a hell of a problem.
But we have no choice. To set her free, we have to risk it.
"You sure about that?" Mattia asks. "They'll only send someone else to take his place if you don't decide for them who it's going to be."
"Let them," he growls. "They won't get a fucking inch of this city. It belongs to us, and we're not sharing it. Not after this bullshit. If they line them up, we'll keep knocking them down for however long it takes for them to get the fucking point." His gaze briefly bounces to mine as if in silent acknowledgment of the conversation we had earlier. "This city belongs to us. We're not sharing it."
I nod. There can be only one king in Chicago. We've already crowned ours. If the Irish mob wants a new territory to play in, this one isn't it. We have far too many problems already. Between the gangs, the families, the feds, and the fuckery constantly hitting us from every side, we don't need the Irish or the Russians or anyone else trying to add more fuel to the fire.
Somewhere on the horizon is peace. That's what we're trying to build here. That's what Rafe wants for everyone so desperately. Peace. A chance to fucking breathe. But we'll never get it if we're constantly fending off every other fucking mob who thinks they can take what belongs to us.
We've already taught our people the painful lessons they had to learn to get the fuck in line. I guess it's time to teach everyone else. They can't have Chicago. They can't have Finley. And if I have to leave a goddamn pile of bodies for them to learn the lesson? Well, I've always been good at murder and getting away with it.
"I like her for you," Rafe says an hour later, eyeing me across his desk.
He kicked everyone else out. Finley didn't want to leave. I had to promise her that I'd be okay. She glowered at Rafe on the way out, as if silently daring him to try something.
My wife is fierce when she's feeling protective. I never thought I'd live to see the day a tiny Irish princess decided I needed her protection, but here we are. I fucking love her for it.