AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snarled at Luca.
Luca fell silent, the clacking seizing. “What did you say to me?”
“I said—”
“No, I heard what you said,” Luca said with a humorless laugh. “But I’m in the middle of myownjob, and I’m doing this for you as a favor. A favor that I don’t owe you. You will not speak down to me, call me kid, and snarl at me like a rabid dog.”
Vincent unclasped his fists, taken aback by the bite of Luca’s words. The kid—the man—rarely spoke, especially in his own defense. Vincent had been strung tight since the incident the day before, and he needed to see Kiera, but Luca was right. With a slight wince, he realized that Luca had likely heard and shrugged off the “kid” label that Vincent had used every time they had spoken since first meeting him.
“I’ve killed just as many people as you have, Rossi. I might not have the reputation, but I’m no less dangerous. I’m part of this splinter cell because of my skill, not because of any favors. Understood?”
Vincent felt the shift of power in the conversation—the way that Luca managed to maintain a foothold, even against him. He was both impressed and surprised. “Understood,” Vincent said, staring at the phone.
With a growing sense of curiosity, he decided he’d need to learn more about the spy in his splinter cell.
“Good,” Luca’s tone once again became easygoing and young—the tone to which Vincent had grown accustomed. “He had a storage facility on the far west side of Philly. His credit card shows food purchases all around that area. He’s either staying there or nearby.”
Vincent nodded and prepared to close the phone, but he paused. “I owe you one, Luca,” he said before ending the call.
He owed Luca far more than one favor, and the man knew it, but Vincent had a feeling that he’d never call in the favors.
He sent Marco the address, tucking his Colt in his hip holster and Smith and Wesson at his ankle before barreling through the door of his house and into his car. He’d never been driven by anything other than a need to be the best soldier. Now, Kiera drove him, and it was a dangerous weakness to have—a defenseless woman to target when his enemies knew they couldn’t get to him.
After half an hour, he arrived at the storage units, parking in a lot bordering the facility. He needed an element of surprise to end the man who proved a risk to Kiera and the upper levels of the mafia. Krill aimed to destroy the organized crime unit for which Vincent had always worked, but Vincent wouldn’t allow it.
Marco pulled beside his car after a few minutes, and they stepped outside together, giving no more than a nod in greeting. Marco didn’t need to speak to relay the anger that exuded from him. He wondered if Marco had experienced a threat in the same way as he had, but he didn’t bother asking.
It would be over tonight.
They strode through the line of storage sheds, all concealed with metal sliding doors that locked the sheds to keep them secure. Vincent placed a hand on the Colt at his hip as he neared the shed that Luca had indicated. Shed 243. Vincent’s gaze slid to Marco as they stood on the two sides of the door, finding it unlocked.
Krill had to be inside. He wouldn’t have left it unlocked otherwise.
They each placed a hand on the metal door, and with shared breaths, they lifted it, their eyes darting around the space, gobbling up the details of the room that—to their dismay—didn’t contain Krill Laker.
However, the pictures that dotted a row of bulletin boards told them that Krill had been there. There were dozens of images of mafia members, some recognizable and others entirelyforeign to Vincent. He scanned the open room full of pictures, and his heart skipped a beat as he found one of Kiera in her server’s uniform, the short skirt hiked up her leg beneath the touch of one of the Grotto’s customers. He couldn’t tell when it had been taken, but surrounding the one image was a dozen more just like it. Vincent’s hard, watchful gaze was reflected in the background of some photos, but he hadn’t been the focus. No, the focus had been Kiera.
Marco released a deep breath, and Vincent jerked his attention upward, realizing that even the sight of Kiera—of her petite frame, cunning smile, and tight ass, managed to distract him from the goal. From finishing his mission.
“He has pictures of my boxers,” Marco said, slamming a photo down. “Of Gunner.”
Vincent recognized the name. Marco had been training the man for years. Outside of Vincent and Marco’s connections inside the mafia, Gunner was Marco’s best friend, and the best boxer Vincent had ever met. Gunner trained half of the self-defense classes that Marco had no time to teach at the mafia-run gym, using the paycheck to pay for the membership of over fifty gym patrons who wanted to learn the art of boxing.
Why would Krill have pictures of Gunner?
“There are pictures of Kiera, too,” Vincent added, holding up one of the more decent ones of her.
Marco’s brow knit together as he lifted his phone to his ear and waited. Even from across the small room, Vincent heard each ring and then the eventual sound of the voicemail. He tried again to no avail.
“We need to get to his house. I have a bad feeling about this,” Marco said. Vincent wanted to argue that they were so close—close enough that they would likely catch him if they remained on his trail. But as Vincent looked at the combination of fear and anxiety in the eyes of his friend, he agreed.
The drive-in Vincent’s car felt as if it took an hour, though it had only been ten minutes of Marco shifting uncomfortably and attempting to call his friend repeatedly. Over and over, Gunner didn’t answer. When they pulled into his apartment complex, they rushed up the three flights of stairs until they reached the man’s door.
The man’sajardoor.
Marco had his pistol in his hand before Vincent had fully sensed the issue with the scene before him. And when he did, Vincent palmed his gun, too.
They barged into the room, firearms raised.
