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The stairs leading up to the VIP section twist around to my right, and I can tell that’s where the hushed conversation is coming from. I strain my ears, focusing all my attention on them in hopes of hearing what it is they’re actually saying, but I come up short.
Fuck.
Inching along the edge of the wall, I stop when I reach under the staircase where another door leads back into the shadows of the building, and I waste no time slipping through it. Confident no one is in here, I race to the end of the hall before finding the private metal steps that also lead up to the VIP area, but from behind the bar instead.
I know exactly where to step on the stairs to keep the noise I make to a minimum, and as I reach the top, I stop altogether when I hear the sound of my brother’s voice echoing from the other side of the door that stands before me.
“Uri, explain what you’re doing on our property.” His voice is void of any emotion, but the dark tone is enough to make a grown man shiver. He’s not in the mood to be fucked with, none of us are, but an explanation for his arrival would be greatly appreciated. I’d like to know why this motherfucker is even in our country, let alone here specifically, but Matteo will always get straight to the point.
The window on this door is a small square, angled perfectly for me to have a clear view of what is going on in there.
Uri, and what looks like four men, are standing with their backs to the bar where I am, while my brothers, Torres, and a few of our men are facing them head-on. With the empty bottles of liquor and smashed glasses dotted around the bar, it looks like Uri and his men may have had a good time before we arrived.
Excellent.
Uri must be close to seven feet tall. His wide frame and bald head make him look bulkier. I’m sure he’s feared among others, but we fear no one.
No. One.
“Ahh, how nice of you to join us, Mr. De Luca. We were entertaining ourselves while we awaited your arrival.” He waves his arms around him, noting the mess before shrugging. “Maybe next time, don’t keep your guests waiting so long, huh?” His accent is thick but understandable, the mocking tone highly noticeable as he shrugs his shoulders once more.
Asshole.
Matteo takes a step toward him, straightening the collar of his shirt as he looks at the intruder. “Had I known we were having guests, I would have been here to greet you, but I don’t believe this is a friendly visit.”
Uri chuckles, head falling back as his shoulders bounce with the movement, his men joining him. Vito sneers at them. He’s not the most smiley man to begin with, but it pisses him off when he sees grown men take their cues like that from their leader. Don’t laugh because your boss is, don’t crack your neck because they do. You’re supposed to still have individual thoughts even when you’re part of a team. Idiots. They need better training, that’s for sure, and a lesson or two in class, but that’s not likely to happen.
That’s your biggest sign that your men are fuckers and aren’t being true to themselves and the business, the family, they are choosing to be a part of.
“Whatever gave you that idea, Matteo?” I catch a glimmer of a smile on Uri’s mouth as he turns to one of his men, giving me his side profile, and I want to slice his face up with the anger and frustration rushing through my body.
Fucker.
“What happened to our two shipments at the port, Uri?” A smirk teases my lips at Vito’s question. Never the one to fuck around.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Uri replies withanothershrug, irritating the hell out of me, but not as much as it agitates Vito because in the next breath, he pulls his gun from his hip and points it at the Russian. “Now, now, Vito, don’t go waving weapons around if you’re too afraid to use them.”
I scoff at his words and the fucking audacity he has to say that about Vito of all people, but I realize too little too late that his words were a distraction as he reaches for his own gun. In the blink of an eye, it’s aimed at Torres who stands beside Vito, and as the next second follows, a bullet hits Torres right between the eyes.
My jaw goes slack at the fast move, before chaos breaks out on the other side of the door. That’s my fucking cue to join the action and catch them off guard. As I swing the door open, I hear the sound of another gunshot, but I can’t be certain who it was from or where it was aimed, so I keep my focus on the closest one of Uri’s men to me. He’s standing at the entry point to get behind the bar, so there’s nothing between us.
With my hand gripping the gun at my waist, I take quiet, calculated steps toward him, but as I get within an inch of him, he spins on the spot with his gun poised in his hands, but the barrel is aiming down.
I take my opportunity to elbow him in the throat, the sound of him sputtering and choking meeting my ears as the grip on his gun loosens. Kicking my foot out, I collide with the back of his legs, and he topples forward, gun slipping from his hands and gliding across the floor as he hisses in pain on his hands and knees.
Since we’re blocked from everyone else in the bar, I drop to my knees, not wanting to use my gun just yet if I’m still unnoticed because the noise will give me away. Before this fucker can attempt to attack me, I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as I roll us to the side.
He grunts in my hold, fingers digging into my arms as he attempts to loosen my hold, but this isn’t the first time I’ve strangled someone, and it’s not the first time I’ve done it in this position either. Come to think of it, I’ve probably strangled someone to death behind this bar before, too.
The guy tries to kick his leg over his head at me, and I smirk, adjusting my legs, so they’re between his, holding them apart and pinning them in place. With him firmly locked in my grip, I tighten my arms at his neck, feeling his fight against me draining until there’s nothing but a lifeless body in my hands.
As I let him go, tossing him to the side, the noise of the room quickly comes back into focus as I hear shouts and grunts coming from the other side of the bar. Before I even attempt to get mixed in with them, I reach for his gun and tuck it into my blazer pocket, appreciating the extra round of bullets if necessary.
Pushing my hair back out of my eyes, I take a deep breath as I move to the opening at the side of the bar, crouching. Another one of our men lies out cold on the floor a few feet away from me, while Matteo and Vito have flipped a table and are shooting from behind it.
I’m not sure if they see me or not, but that’s not my priority just yet. I need to know what’s going on with the rest of these Russian bastards. However, the angling of my brothers hints that the Russians are firing from the other end of the room.
Shuffling back behind the bar, gun poised ready to take aim, I move as quickly and quietly as I can to the opening on the left. When I reach the other side, there’s only one man remaining.
