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As the tires beneath us hit the ground, I grin. “Welcome to South America, boys.”
* * *
“About fucking time.”My uncle slides his wine glass toward the edge of the table without even looking up from his food. “You trying to kill me with dehydration?”
“That’s not how I’m going to kill you.”
His head jerks up at my voice.
The room is lit by a gaudy chandelier hanging above the long, heavy wooden table. It’s an old-school dining room, closed off from the rest of the house, and set for one.
But it happens to have three entry points. And I took the doorway straight across from my uncle. So I’m the one in his line of sight.
And when he looks at me, I know exactly what he sees.
A man dressed all in black. Tactical vest. Holstered silenced gun. Long-bladed knives strapped to each thigh. Blood dripping from the tips onto the tile floor.
His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.
When I step closer, he tries to lunge for the gun he’s carelessly left on the table in front of his plate.
But he doesn’t see Nero standing directly behind his chair.
And when my uncle leans forward, Nero swings his arm down in an arc, fingers clenched around his own straight blade, tip down. When his hand reaches the bottom of its trajectory, and Nero’s hand swings back toward him, the tip of the knife pierces through my uncle’s shoulder, under the clavicle, and slides all the way through until it embeds in the wooden backrest of my uncle’s chair.
The pinned man screams.
And I sigh. “No point in screaming, old man. Everyone is dead.”
He tries to jerk forward, still going for the gun, but the knife holds him in place.
King steps into the glow of the light from the side entrance. “Nicely done,” he tells Nero, nodding to the blade, his own bloody knives at his sides.
Nero smirks. “Learned that trick from you.”
“W-what do you want?” my uncle grits between clenched teeth.
“What do I want?” I cock my head. “I should think that’s obvious. I want you dead.”
“You ungrateful—” he starts.
But I close the distance between us, slamming my palm into the butt of the knife in his shoulder, shoving it deeper.
“You want to talk about ungrateful?” I use my right hand to draw one of my blades free. “I was willing to let you live out your pathetic life down here, unbothered. But not anymore.”
I grip the knife in his shoulder with my left hand and jerk it free. It takes effort, especially since I just pushed it deeper, but the singing in my ribs reminds me how close this man came to ruining everything I have.
Sensing what I’m going to do, Nero grabs the back of my uncle’s chair and yanks it back from the table, giving us space.
“Gonzalez means Chicago now. You’re done.” I toss the knife I just pulled out of his shoulder onto his lap.
He curses at me, and Nero cuffs him on the back of the head.
“Pick it up,” I snap at my uncle.
His eyes flare, and I can see he’s going to be a bitter fuck right until the end.
He grabs the knife and stands, blood soaking through his shirt. “You think you can just walk in here and kill me?”
