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The air reeks of decay as Miles and I approach their warehouse, a dilapidated structure looming like a tomb at the edge of their territory. We cling to the shadows, ensuring no one sees us.
I've spent so long in the dark, it's a familiar friend. It hides Miles just as easily. I guess maybe he's spent his fair share of time clinging to shadows, too.
Nothing moves as we approach, but we're confident this is where they took her. Miles called in every favor he's owed. I called Rafe.
Alamilla didn't try hard to hide her. He brought her to the same place Miles was supposed to meet to get the guns. I'm guessing that was by design. He wants Miles to show up. Either he intends to kill him when he does, or taking Karina was meant to yank Miles back into line.
Either way, Alamilla is going to be sorely disappointed.
"Ready?" I ask Miles, my voice barely loud enough to pierce the night.
"Ready," Miles replies, that square jaw set in grim determination.
Before we can step forward, a familiar figure seps out of the shadows, moving toward us. Miles tenses, but I place a hand on his arm, stilling him.
If he shoots Domani, I'm going to be pissed.
"What are you doing here?" I ask the man who's fought and killed at my side in every goddamn war we've waged for fifteen years. I'm glad to see him here now.
"You thought you were doing this alone?" He arches a brow, a wry smile dancing on his lips. "You know it doesn't work that way, motherfucker. Not with us."
Not that long ago, I was saying something similar to him. It was me, offering him a hand in the dark. Now, here he stands, ready to return the favor. Gratitude surges through me. In this life, debts are rarely repaid. Between the two of us, they always are. We ride together. We die together.
He flicks his gaze at Miles. "Alessepo."
"Brambilla."
I'm not surprised Miles knows who he is. We're the biggest fucking criminals in Chicago. Our names probably haunt his department. And yet, they can't ever seem to catch us.
Funny how that works.
"Let's do this," I say, nodding at both men.
Silently, we slip inside the warehouse. The scent of rust lingers in every corner. Our footsteps are barely audible on the concrete floor, our breaths mingling with the eerie silence that surrounds us… until it's shattered.
"¡Intrusos!" A shout ricochets off the walls as a group of armed cartel members catches sight of us. Surprise quickly morphs to aggression.
Domani shifts, a panther poised for slaughter, while beside him, Miles' usually stoic expression bleeds to a mask of deadly intent.
Gunfire rips through the warehouse, chaos igniting around us. We move as one, shadows flitting between pillars as we take out the cartel members one by one while they take potshots.
I quickly take cover behind a pile of crates, with Miles and Domani taking similar positions on either side. Our firearms are like extensions of ourselves—cold, precise, and unyielding.
One after another, Alamilla's people fall, plummeting like stones as my bullets find their flesh. Beside me, Domani and Miles are just deadly, just as unrelenting.
They outnumber us, but it's not even close. They're little more than children playing at war. We've been orchestrating it longer than they've been alive.
"How fucking many are there?" Miles growls from my right as he pauses to reload.
Too many. Cristo. Did Alamilla have all of his people lying in wait for Miles?
A bullet whizzes past, singing the air where my head was moments before. I mutter a curse, shooting the stronzo in the kneecap. I fire again as he falls, hitting hm between the eyes.
They falter, realizing they're outmatched. One runs for the doors.
Domani takes aim, dropping him.
The last handful scatter like rats, deciding they'd rather face Alamilla's wrath than die in this fucking warehouse.
