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“So?” Billy laughs. “What is stopping you?”
“Because he’s the father of my kid.” My brothers bare their teeth but stand down.
“We’ll head over to the game and make sure he’s alright. I’ll call Mom and fill her in, she’s just going to yell at you for bringing the Italian if you do it,” Dalton says, pressing the phone to his ear.
“We’re coming too,” Sal says, walking to the car.
“Is that really a good idea?” Billy asks, looking at me, and throws a walkie talkie my way.
“He’s my son,” Salvatore bites out staring my brother down.
Billy nods and runs a hand through his long hair. “Okay, man.” His voice a tad kinder, like he’s already getting used to the idea of having Salvatore around.
“I still want to shoot your ass for what you did to her.” Dalton says in response, slipping the phone back in his pocket.
Billy holds the walkie up in the air, “We’re on channel six.”
“Copy that,” Sal smiles, saluting my brother. “I promise I won’t hurt her.”
Billy shakes his head. “You already did, man,” he grunts, getting in the truck with Dalton who smirks.
“Let’s get our son,” Sal grunts, putting the car in drive, the line between his brows deepens.
It doesn’t take us long before we reach a deserted parking lot behind the baseball field.
“We’re going to the field,” Billy says through the walkie.
“Confirmed, meet you in a couple,” I say. When we turn onto the parking lot four black rides are parked at the edge. The moment we exit the car, five very scary looking guys jump out. Sal smiles and walks up to them, shaking the guys’ hands, who are wearing all black. The last guy with a shaved head hugs Sal.
“Missed you, suka,” he says, his voice caring with a hint of a Russian accent.
“Amore,” Sal calls. I head over, and the men look me up and down, no emotion in their eyes. The only one who smiles is the Russian, wearing a black Adidas tracksuit.
“These are my men,” Sal explains, and I nod. “They’re here to make sure Derick gets what he deserves.”
“She’s even more beautiful than in the pictures you took when she was sleeping,” the tracksuit guy says, winking at me.
Sal swears in Russian, and he laughs. “I’m Vasily by the way,” he tells me, shaking my hand. The other guys introduce themselves as Levi, ex-Mossad; Mick, ex-South African special forces; Alex, former SAS from Manchester; and Nathan from New Jersey, a retired Green Beret. These guys mean business, and I can understand now why Sal is the best at what he does having a team like this, with men who trust and look up to him.
“You know the plan?” Sal asks, checking his weapons.
The guys nod, and Vasily grins. “This is going to be awesome.”
Sal shakes his head and winks at me.
“Before we get into position, we’ll make sure each exit is covered, and the fucker doesn’t see us.” The English guy says before walking toward the field with the others right behind him, all four fanning out in a different direction.
“Busy game,” the Russian says, motioning to all the people walking around and sitting in the stands.
“It’s the last of the season,” I explain, wanting nothing more than to run to the field to make sure Iggy is okay, but we can’t draw any suspicion.
“I’ll stay in the truck. I’ve got eyes everywhere,” Vasily says, motioning to the black van obscured from view. Sal nods, putting in the earpiece Vasily hands him.
“Do I get one?” I ask, and Vasily looks at Salvatore for confirmation.
“Give me,” I warn, holding out my hand.
Vasily chuckles and walks to his ride, opening the door to get me another earbud. “Here you go.”
