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Damian rusheddown the stairs after Cole, their guns drawn. They’d paid off one of their sources at the NYPD to clear the street for five minutes. It had been more than enough time to take out the guards and they had left the dead men at the top of the staircase and closed the doorbehindthem.
His men were fanned out all over the city, Brooklyn, and the surrounding areas, hitting the Fiore and Anastostargets.
Now it wasDamian’sturn.
He was surprised to hear the music thumping from the ground floor. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was a Friday or Saturday night. Instead they emerged from the staircase to an empty room, the purple, blue, and white lights criss-crossing the space as the music blared from speakers aroundtheroom.
He ignored it, letting his eyes travel one side of the room, his back to Cole while Cole checked the other side. He’d just spotted Primo, sitting alone on one of the velvet sofas, when the muffledwooshof Cole’s silenced gun traveled throughtheair.
The music went quiet — Cole had obviously taken out the sound system — and a moment later, he too turned his weapon onPrimo.
Damian wasn’t entirely surprised to find him without significant security. It was possible there were other men in the building somewhere — and probably Gatti — but his army was small compared to Damian’s. They would be stretched thin trying to defend Primo’s businessinterests.
“Come in, come in!” Primo said magnanimously. “Have a drink. It’sonme.”
Damian moved closer, his weapon still on Primo, his gaze pulled to the handgun sitting onthebar.
“I’ll pass,” Damian said. “Where’sGatti?”
Primo took a drink from the glass in front of him. “Bring my sister to me and maybe I’lltellyou.”
“Search the place,” Damian said without lookingatCole.
He kept his eyes on Primo as Cole moved out of his peripheralvision.
“He’s not here,” Primo said. “That would bestupid.”
“Not as stupid as leaving yourself unguarded,”Damiansaid.
Primo took another drink. “That’s your problem,” he said. “You think you’re so much smarter thaneveryoneelse.”
“Not everyone,” Damian said. “Justyou.”
“Says you!” Primo shouted, his face suddenly contortedinrage.
Damian fought the urge to put a bullet in Primo here and now. And why shouldn't he? His hesitation didn’t make sense. He should have walked in and put a bullet in the bastard’s head like he and Cole had done to the guardsoutside.
It’s what he’d planned to do, but fuck him if he didn’t keep seeingAria’sface.
It defied logic, and logic was what had built Damian’s empire. What had saved him during his childhood with his father, throughout the lonely years after his mother’sdeath.
Now he saw what Aria had been dealing with. Primo had turned on a dime, had gone from calm to red-faced and shaking in a matter ofseconds.
Primo took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. “You took her,” Primo said. “And all of this,” he waved a hand around the club, “means nothing without myfamily.”
“Anastos took her — you took her — from Italy,” Damian said. “She came with me of her ownaccord.”
“Liar!” Primo shouted, picking up the gun and standing. He shuddered as he took a deep breath. “You turned her against me. It’s your fault, allofit.”
“Don’t raise that gun, Primo,” Damian said, hisvoicelow.
Primo ignored the warning, began to raise the weapon in Damian’sdirection.
Damian started to squeeze the trigger, pointed it at Primo’s head. He would make it quick. He would do that muchforAria.
He would make no such promise for Malcolm Gatti and StefanoAnastos.
He was waiting for the explosion to ring through the room when a voice sounded behind him that stopped him in histracks.
“It’s not his fault, Primo.” Damian watched Primo’s eyes slide over Damian’s shoulder — watched as Aria was shoved toward the bar, her arms twisted behind her back by Malcolm Gatti. “I’m just not your familyanymore.”
