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I promised her that I would come back.
I have no idea if I’m going to be able to keep that promise.
The melee of bullets ricocheting off the walls is almost deafening. The sound of boots stomping back and forth fills my ears, and I pull another gun from my hostler, so now there’s one in each hand.
Ryder has his back almost against mine, keeping his eyes on my back while I make sure nobody gets us from the front. I can’t see most of the people shooting, but I can hear them. They’re whispering, some screaming as they nurse injuries.
The Russians are dumb. It’s a pretty obvious move to try to use my Father’s funeral as a distraction while they overtake my men and steal from us. We’ve got a lot of them shot and on the floor, but the occasional bullets still come from some of them too stupid to give up.
“I want as many of them alive as possible.” I snarl at Ryder, angry beyond measure. My forehead aches from scrunching it so much, and my fingers are curled around my gun’s trigger.
Anyone who’s stupid enough to step into the line of fire and dumb enough not to be one of my men is going to get a nice little gift on the legs.
“Yes, capo.”
“And not one of them escapes the warehouse, dead or alive,” I grunt at him. I don’t watch, but I know he’ll relay the information through hand gestures to our men behind him.
I can feel a stinging pain in my legs, which either means I’ve been wounded or a piece of shrapnel got me. I can’t tell. I don’t have the time to check either. The warehouse is dark, with large container boxes creating safe hiding places for men with guns.
I sink my elbow into Ryder’s side, and pointing, whisper to him. “I’m going to shoot somewhere off to the right of the red one. You take off anyone who sticks their face out.”
My heart is in my throat, sweat dripping off my forehead. If the Russians make it out of this fight with even a hint of a win, there will be nothing to stop the Cambodians from trying and possibly every other fucking gang in Chicago.
They were going to be a lesson to anyone stupid enough to think the Amorys have lost their prestige just because my Father is dead.
I had known that there was some risk of something like this. After all, when powerful people die in this world, others are always willing to take their place.
I wasn’t sure, however, that it would be this soon.
I wait to receive Ryder’s nod against my back, and then I point my gun at the red container and release too-fast shots. I roll away, and Ryder shoots almost immediately after. The silence is punctuated by a sharp scream, and the sound of a thousand bullets spills into my ears in the silence.
I jerk away and run a few steps, my eyes tracking the men’s positions even as I roll and find cover, taking out a man who isn’t dressed in the standard Amory color of red and black stripes.
All our men are dressed the same way. It makes it easy to avoid taking out your own man in the heat of battle.
I find a corner, and a shot rings out just a few inches above my head. I grimace and turn to the left where the bullet had come from. The man has his hand in the air, and a look of realization flits across his face just seconds before he falls to the floor, a dead man.
He doesn't get to threaten me and live. I have a wife and kids at home waiting. And that’s the only reason that I’ve come here, away from them. Only because I know they’re safe. My home is like a vault, there’s no way to get in unless you’re let in.
We’d found about twenty of the Russians here; there shouldn’t be that much left to take out. I can’t wait to get back to them. But I also have a responsibility to the famiglia, and this is that responsibility.
This reminds me of Father. He never would’ve stayed with the family, either. He would’ve been in the thick of the battle. Same as I am now. Maybe I am a lot more like him than I’ve always believed.
You promised her you’d come back.
Father always promised too.
I hope that I get to make it back to her.
I wipe a line of sweat creeping toward my eyes away with my sleeves and listen for footsteps around me. There’s nothing, but it doesn’t mean someone isn’t creeping towards me.
I spread my feet and slink forward, darting my head quickly back in when I find a man looking in my direction. He lifts his gun, but I’m already gone. I cock my gun again, stick my head out and take him out with one shot. He drops his gun and buckles, sinking almost comically slowly to the floor, his scream piercing the air as he folds his hands over the wound on his leg, spurting blood.
I’m still watching when Ryder appears, his forehead sweaty, white debris all over his dark grey suit. He hands me my phone, his eyes bloodshot. “You need to leave right now. I’ve had the back entrance cleared.”
I glare at him, wondering if a bullet to his own legs will teach him a thing or two about subordination. “I don’t take orders from you.”
He shakes his head, frowning himself. He looks around and steps closer. “No, but you said to let you know if anything goes wrong at home. Everything just went wrong at home.”
