“Save some for the rest of us,” Dante barks a laugh as he dispatches a man on my left with a flourishing gesture of his knife.
“This isn’t a damn game.”
The body slumps to the floor at my feet before Dante replies again. “That makes six. How many did you get?”
I point my gun over his shoulder and shoot the man inches away from tackling Dante from behind. “Thirteen.”
The warehouse is a maze of crates and machinery. We had prepared for this, running through the schematics a hundred times. But no amount of preparation could have prepared me for the heaviness of the air, thick with smoke and adrenaline.
I can barely make out Max as he leads a group to secure the northern exit. Dante disappears at my side, too. His team pushes south, cutting off any escape routes.
I’m left to monitor my own team, still picking off the stragglers that were standing guard, waiting for the all-clear from Max and Dante.
When it comes, I don’t hesitate.
We storm the central storage area, where lingering Cartel goons desperately attempt to shove duffle bags into heavily fortified SUVs, scrambling to regroup to face their imminent demise.
The sound of gunfire and shouts fills the air, but we don’t relent. My team presses forward, refusing to yield to the pressure of their incoming fire. I can practically see the fear in their eyes when they realize we aren’t ducking for cover.
I shoot brazenly, drawing as much fire as possible, taking a shot to the chest that punches into my bulletproof vest with the force of a bus. But still, I keep pushing us forward.
I’m a ruthless distraction if ever there was one.
I’m buying Max and Dante enough time to circle back. Within minutes, we have them entirely surrounded.
It’s with no small amount of satisfaction that I watch the remaining guards either surrender or flee into the night. Their loyalty to the Cartel shattered in one ruthless night.
“Secure the perimeter,” I command, stepping over a body as I make my way to the office at the back of the building.
Inside, I find exactly what I’m looking for: ledgers, shipment schedules, and stacks of cash. Evidence that ties Amos Rubio directly to every crime he’s committed in Brooklyn.
“Boss,” Teo’s voice crackles through the comms. “Rubio’s on the move. He’s retreating back to the mansion. We’ve got him cornered.”
I allow myself a brief, grim smile.
“Good,” I say. “Now it’s only a matter of time before?—”
“LEON.”
My head snaps up at the sound of Isabella’s voice. She runs into the office, panting hard as she all but falls at my feet.
“What thehellare you doing here, Issy?” I’m yelling, out of fear or maybe outrage. I’m not entirely sure which.
Isabella remains unfazed, grabbing hold of my arm urgently and tugging me to my feet. “It’s Mia.”
All sense of victory immediately shatters at my feet.
“What?”
“Leon, she’s gone into labor.”
23
MIA
Iclutch my swollen belly, inhaling deeply as another contraction ripples through me.
The twins are ready, which means that I should be ready.
