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“No harm will come to Alexandrea,” my father cut in. “We have guards watching her twenty-four hours a day. Marcello is with her right now.”
Carl rose from his chair, straightened his lapels, and glanced at my father. “Arlo, I’ll speak with the Elders about the Sicilians.”
As Carl walked toward the door, a loud boom sounded. The silent alarm on the wall flashed red, illuminating the wood panels in my office. Then all of our cell phones dinged at once.
The Knights checked their phones as I shot up from the armchair to scan the security feeds. The men at the front of the estate took heavy fire from a small army dressed in camouflage from head to toe.
We were also getting hit from the back, a sniper taking out the guards posted at the edge of the cliff. A few men hopped out of a helicopter, jumping down from the cargo net as they shot at our foot soldiers. Our men dropped to the ground, one after the other, gone before they even knew what hit them.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I asked my father. “We tripled our guards, and we’re using Drake’s AI software to detect threats by air.”
“Fuck,” Drake bit out, staring down at his phone. “I didn’t get a notification because the system is down. They fucking hacked us.”
I reached for my gun with one hand and my phone with the other. Armed and ready to fight, the Knights approached the door, awaiting my orders.
My father stood at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Every war has casualties, son.” He tapped his fingers on my upper back. “Go protect our legacy.”
I dialed Marcello and raised the phone to my ear. He answered on the first ring. “Put Roman and Dom on Alex and meet us downstairs.”
I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket. Another loud bang followed by a ripple of gunfire rang through the air.
“Let’s go,” I told the Knights.
I led the pack out of my office and down the hallway, leaving Carl and my father behind. With our guns raised, we kept our backs against the wall and crept downstairs to the second floor.
Marcello met us on the landing and took control, guiding the group downstairs. My younger brother was better at tactical planning than me. He was the muscle, and I was the brains.
We ascended the stairs to the first floor. In his element, Marcello issued orders under his breath. He tipped his head, telling Sonny and Drake to head toward the back of the house.
It sounded like our men were doing their best to eliminate the threat. Everyone in Devil’s Creek would hear the gunshots. It was a good thing the cops were in our pockets.
We moved as a unit down the main hallway, and as we passed one of the smaller formal dining rooms, glass shattered. Entering with caution, we surveyed the room. Shards of glass and burnt scraps of fabric scattered across the hardwood floor. Dark smoke clung to the air, sweeping across the room like fog.
Marcello turned to me. “Looks like a homemade bomb.”
“Our enemies haven’t brought the fight to us in a long time,” Damian said with an evil grin.
I could see the wheels turning in his sick head. He was looking forward to making these assholes bleed. But so was I. There was something magical about taking a life, holding it in your hands. For a few seconds, it gave me the power of a fucking god.
Why would they attack us at home, where we should have seen them coming? We had the advantage on our turf. This was a distraction, a ruse to get us away from the real prize. My heart thudded in my chest, racing so fast my pulse clawed at my neck.
I grabbed Marcello’s shoulder and he turned to face me. A shiver rolled down my spine. “We played right into their hands.”
As we ran toward my mother’s studio, Alex screamed for help. Chills spread down my arms like spiders crawling over me. I thought about the horrible shit my enemies would do to Alex. My heart pounded like a drum because I knew what I would do.
Roman wasn’t standing guard. In fact, none of our men were anywhere in sight. That was unusual. We had guards posted on every floor as a precaution.
The walnut floor shone from a distance with a thick substance. As I stopped in front of the studio doors, I realized it was blood. I stood in the doorway with Marcello by my side and stared in horror.
Roman was on his knees, clutching his side. Head hung low, he hissed in pain as blood seeped from his wound and onto the floor. He was one of our best guys, trained by my brother. Dom was dead and lay face down next to a canvas. Another one of Marcello’s most loyal men.
A lanky man with dark sleeves of tattoos pointed a gun at Roman’s head. Directly in front of me, a muscular man held Alex with a blade to her throat. One wrong move and he could filet her like a fish. Another man stood behind them with his gun aimed at the back of Alex’s head. It was a smart move, exactly what I would have done. They dressed in dark blue camouflage, half of their faces obscured by matching bandanas.
“Marcello,” Alex cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Marcello, shoot him.”
Not me.
My brother.
