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I nod, fully aware that he can’t fucking see me, taking two steps forward as I try to move with him despite being unable to see. I can handle myself in these kinds of situations, so staying with him wouldn’t be my usual move, but it’s not a bad plan, so I do as he asks without hesitation.
Squinting, I see the outline of Vito’s chiseled jaw as he steps right up to the door with the light creeping through underneath. But after a breath or two, I frown, noticing the light dimming. Not because it’s been turned off or anything, but because there’s something seeping through the gap under the door.
“Wait,” I whisper, taking the final few steps to stop at his side. I crouch down, assessing whatever the hell it is as I run my finger over the top. The tips of my fingertips are tainted red, the only kind of red you get from one thing, and one thing only.
Blood.
Vito’s jaw tightens in fury as he sees the red on my skin, before glancing over his shoulder at his brothers. They must hold a silent conversation between them because by the time I rise to my feet, I’m being given a new set of orders from Vito.
“Spread out, Matteo with me, Enzo and Wren take the door to the left and cover the back corridor into the main room of the warehouse.”
Enzo laces his fingers with mine as I grasp my gun in the other hand, letting him lead me toward the door Vito mentioned. Enzo releases my hand when he’s at the door, slowly pushing it open before entering, and I follow after him.
Remembering to hold the door so it closes quietly behind us, I almost jump out of my skin when Enzo flicks the light switch on and the corridor comes into view. I sigh in relief, pleased to have my vision to work with again, but no sooner than we take two steps does the sound of gunshots ring out from behind us.
Fuck.
I lift my gun instantly, spinning on the spot to point it at the door we just stepped through, ready to take down whichever motherfucker steps through next.
“Let’s cover the other side of the warehouse,Bella.”
I purse my lips, keeping my gaze set dead ahead for another few moments, before I reluctantly turn back to him. “You better be right, Enzo,” I mumble, flicking my raised gun toward the other end of the corridor, and he takes the hint, leading the way.
One shot. Two shots. Three.
That’s how many more ring out by the time we get to the other end of the hallway, spiking my blood with fury as I pray to fucking god that Matteo and Vito are okay and it’s their gunshots I can hear and no one else’s.
“Through this door we turn right, and the next door on the right again will lead to the main room where they are,” Enzo explains as he glances back at me over his shoulder for a brief moment, before he opens the door and inspects the area.
Once he’s happy it’s empty, he waves for me to follow him, and I stay hot on his heels until he brings us to a stop at the next door. Just as he presses the palm of his hand against the wood, another shot rings out, followed quickly by two more in short bursts, making my heart thunder in my chest as my pulse rings in my ears.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, De Luca. Watch me set fire to your empire and burn it down.” I’m not familiar with the voice as humor ripples through every word.
We’re dealing with a psycho on the other side of the door, it seems, and I don’t have time to waste on whoever the hell it is.
“What is the likelihood of them seeing us as soon as we open this door?” I ask, keeping my voice as low as possible.
Enzo’s brows knit as his jaw tightens before he gives me an answer. “Not likely, but also not one hundred percent.”
Fuck.
Of course it’s not going to be easy, Wren. Nothing ever is in this life.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, tightening my grip on my gun as I nod at the door. “Open it a bit.”
Enzo wraps his knuckles around the handle as he steps to the side and opens it ever so slightly.
I wish he fucking hadn’t.
I don’t need a bigger gap to see any more of the horrors playing out on the other side. I can’t see Matteo and Vito, the priorities my eyes are searching for, but what I can see burns my fucking soul.
There must be seven or eight men in total, but the man at the center of them all holds my attention as he waves around a lit match while one of the others doses the fuckingpileof dead bodies that stands tall beside them.
“I said come out. Since I’m unable to attend the other funeral on our agenda this week, I thought it would be fun to hold one of my own,” the man with the lit match grinds out, clearly not appreciating his first demand being ignored. He turns, seemingly in search of the ‘De Lucas’ he’s after, and I hope that means he hasn’t managed to hurt Vito and Matteo.
His accent tells me he’s Russian, the lilt and sharp bite in his broken English clear as I watch his nostrils flare. His hair falls loosely around his shoulders as he glances from left to right looking for his targets.
“Have it your way, then.” With a wave of his hand, he tosses the match onto the heap of dead men, and they ignite all at once.
