Page 116 of His Sinful Need

Too quiet.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as we creep through the maze of shelving and boxes and shipping containers. Whereiseveryone? PacSyn’s whole warehouse operation appears to be utterly abandoned.

I grab Max’s shoulder, stopping him short. “Something’s not right,” I murmur.

He frowns. “Think we’ve been made?”

“I don’t—”

The sudden thunder of boots on concrete makes us both spin around, and half a dozen armed PacSyn soldiers appear from behind a stack of crates, weapons trained on us.

Well, well. They remembered their guns this time.

“Hands up!” one barks.

Exchanging a glance with Max, I slowly raise my hands. The soldiers surround us, seizing our guns and binding our wrists with zip ties. I strain against the plastic digging into my skin, but it’s no use. Then the warehouse door crashes open, and two more soldiers drag Van inside. His face is tight with anger, an already-purpling bruise along his jawline.

“You okay?” he asks hoarsely, when he catches sight of me.

Before I can respond, the butt of a rifle slams into his back, driving him to his knees with a choked grunt.

“No talking,” one of the soldiers snarls.

Outrage burns through me at the sight of Van on his knees. I lunge forward, only for two sets of hands to force me down again. Max catches my eye, gives me a tiny shake of the head.

Keep cool, Capo. I can practically hear him saying it.

Heavy footsteps sound throughout the warehouse. The soldiers part to allow a tall, slender man to stroll up, regarding us with an icy smile. I recognize him as Blackjack Benny, one of Chuckles Moran’s lieutenants with a taste for gambling.

“Well, what do we have here?” Benny asks softly. His polished shoes stop inches from my face. “A couple of mice, lurking where they shouldn’t be.”

I glare up at him and say nothing. Beside me, Max shifts.

Benny tuts. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be expecting you?” He leans down, gripping my chin roughly. “You know, Soldano, Mr. Moran is very interested in you. Very interested indeed.” He straightens, addressing the soldiers in a bored voice. “Take them out back. Mr. Moran will be here shortly to deal with them.”

Rough hands seize my arms, and Max and Van are hauled along, too. We’re shoved outside into a small courtyard between two warehouses, forced to our knees again. Benny turns up a few minutes later, smiling down at us before he checks his watch idly. “Mr. Moran will arrive shortly. I’d make your peace if I were you.”

Max’s shoulder brushes mine. I meet his eyes, wondering if this whole thing was actually a giant mistake. So much left unsaid, so much undone. I want to tell him how much I—

The cold metal of the gun barrel digs into the back of my neck as the PacSyn goon yanks me up, his beefy hands pulling my arms up roughly behind me. I stumble a bit but quickly regain my footing, gritting my teeth against the flare of pain in my injured arm. One wrong move and this twitchy lowlife will blow my brains all over the concrete.

Beside me, Max is similarly hauled to his feet, and then Van as well.

“End of the line, boys,” Benny says. “But the Boss wants a word with you before we dump your bodies in the bay.”

I’d say it’s about twenty minutes before I hear the solid, slow footsteps that presage Chuckles Moran’s arrival, getting louder and louder.

CHAPTER47

BRICKER

Chuckles Moran is builtlike a bulldog, stocky but muscular under his immaculate suit as he walks into the courtyard. His small dark eyes find me first, and they ooze smug satisfaction. “Well, now,” he says. “Fabrizio Soldano, in the flesh. Wasn’t sure I’d see you again after that mess at the bank. Gotta say, didn’t expect you to be dumb enough come waltzing straight into my territory after the way my inside man played you for a fool. Yep, your Mama shoulda known better than to fuck with me.”

So Chuckles Moran knows the Maestra is also my mother? Interesting.

He jerks his chin at Max. “Youshoulda known better, too. Pedretti, right? Your Boss’ll get a message in the form of your head.”

A sudden Fury lances through me at the threat to Max’s life, white-hot. It takes every shred of self-control not to smash my forehead into the bastard’s face.

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