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“Tell me again what we’re doing here,” I said into the radio, keeping my voice steady.
This felt like one of the tests my father and uncles used to make me do.
Like killing a friend to show if I had what it takes.
“Keep pulling security.” Hawk’s curt response came into the button in my ear.
A jolt of annoyance shot through me, and I ground my teeth. I loathed being kept in the dark, but I knew better than to question him further. We’d been through too much together for me to doubt his order or his judgment.
But the lack of information pissed me the fuck off.
My instincts told me this wasn’t an ordinary job.
There was something in the way Hawk had looked at me when he’d told me we were leaving for this mission.
And as much as I tried to suppress it, the small part of me—the part that was my father’s son, the part that had been groomed to be the next head of one of the most influential Italian Mafia families—still hated not calling the shots.
Even years after I’d left that life behind.
Even years after I’d chosen to work for Hawk instead of my family.
I focused back on the airstrip, the silence only broken by the distant hum of an approaching plane. I squinted through my rifle scope, searching for any signs of movement—nothing, then I focused on the sky—located the plane circling over us.
I adjusted my grip and kept my eyes glued to the scope. My heart beat a dull rhythm, but my hands remained steady.
“Looks like we got company,” I murmured into my radio, my eyes locked on the small plane drawing nearer. “Were we expecting someone?”
“Affirmative,” Hawk replied tersely. “Three planes, no one else.”
One plane landed, not a minute later, another, and finally, a third. They all taxied toward the hangar, their engines roaring, breaking the stillness surrounding us.
I continued to scan the area, knowing that unforeseen occurrences were the norm in our line of work. And they wouldn’t have hired Raptor if there wasn’t a threat.
I listened when the last engine fell silent.
I wasn’t interested in whoever was disembarking.
Not part of the job.
But I narrowed my eyes when I caught movement coming from across the cracked runway.
“Three black vehicles approaching,” I reported, my voice steady as I tracked their progress. “Are we expecting company?”
“Negative,” Hawk growled. “Eliminate the threat.”
Without hesitation, I adjusted the scope, exhaled half a breath, held it, and pulled the trigger, dropping the first driver with a single shot.
The vehicle swerved violently to the right before crashing into a nearby concrete structure that looked like a small bunker.
My heart hammered in my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I quickly shifted my aim to the second vehicle.
“Number one, temporarily down,” I said, then took out the second driver with a well-placed bullet. It was like plucking them off in a shooting galley—almost too easy. Couldn’t they at least try some evasive driving maneuvers?
As men scrambled out of the wreckages, I picked them off one by one, with lethal precision, each shot perfectly placed. “Two vehicles, down. One more to go.”
I focused back on the third vehicle, which had slowed down.
Satisfaction twisted in my gut, tainted by the knowledge of what I’d just done. These were people’s lives I was snuffing out, and yet it had become second nature—had been second nature.
