AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But just in case shit went sideways…I needed her out of the line of fire.
Needed her safe.
Her eyes darted between me and the chaos unfolding, and more shots rang out, but she gave me a determined nod.
“Now go and keep low,” I said, my voice hard.
She hugged me, and her intoxicating scent mixed with the scent of alcohol and cleaning agent.
“Promise me you’ll stay safe,” she demanded, still not leaving.
“Only if you promise the same,” I replied.
Her gaze never left mine. Our connection felt electric, charged with both fear and trust.
“Deal,” she said.
I shoved her toward the door and turned around to face whoever was coming for us.
“Alex, take this!” Matteo shouted, appearing next to me. He handed me a gun. The cold steel felt slick in my palms. Comforting.
Cristo crawled to my other side, gun in hand and a grin on his face.
“I haven’t had a good firefight in ages,” Cristo said.
I chuckled and enjoyed the adrenaline coursing through my body.
I peeked over at the bar. Most people were gone—thanks to all the emergency exits. A couple were on the floor or taking cover—all except for three armed men walking straight toward us like gunmen straight out of a bad Western movie.
They were still too far away to see any details but were headed straight towards us. And then the leader looked to the right, and in the flashing light, I saw the scar that snaked down his cheek.
It was just a flash. But I was pretty sure.
Bruno Moretti.
I’ll be damned.
Flanking him were two of his goons, their eyes cold and unyielding—not his brother Franco—whom I had expected since both Bruno and Franco needed me dead to put a lid on any potential dispute as to who had the potential right to become the next boss of the Moretti family.
I had the strong inkling the Morettis might’ve been behind the attack on our family home, but for Bruno himself to make an appearance in our club was not a smart move.
Killing a rival was one thing. Doing it on his own turf, by your own hands, another thing entirely.
But Bruno Moretti had a reputation for being a hothead—borderline crazy, with a violent streak that bordered on pathological.
A cruel smirk was etched onto his face when we made eye contact, and he pointed his semi-automatic at me.
“We’re made.” I ducked down, and so did Matteo as Cristo.
Bullets flew over our heads, and glass shattered all around us.
Shit.
We were sitting ducks, and with every second, they closed the distance.
My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins.
“Spread out,” I said, and Cristo, Matteo, and I crouchingly moved into position.
