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Blood sprays into the air as bullets tear through Derek and Sebastian’s wrists, making their guns clatter to the ground.
Panic blares inside my skull.
I whip my head from side to side, trying to spot the shooters. But before I can, voices boom across the parking lot.
“Get down on the ground!”
“On the ground!”
“Now!”
Sebastian reaches for another gun with his uninjured hand, but he just cries out in pain as another bullet tears through that wrist as well.
Red dots appear on my chest and arms.
A fuckingmassof red dots.
“ON THE GROUND!” a man bellows again.
I drop to my knees, bringing my hands up behind my head.
“You set us up,” Derek hisses as he and Sebastian quickly kneel on the ground as well.
Utter shock clangs through me as people swarm in from all sides, so all I manage to press out is, “No.”
Because whoever these men are, they’re not with me.
There are red dots on Derek and Sebastian’s chests, backs, foreheads, and the backs of their heads, so I assume I have sniper rifles pointed at me from all directions as well.
I remain perfectly still as the host of men rush up to us with weapons drawn. About half of them are wearing black combat clothes, but the others are in civilian clothing.
Something tugs at my memory.
But before I can connect the pieces, someone plants a boot between my shoulder blades and shoves me face down on the ground. I slide my hands away from the back of my head and instead rest them on the ground beside me, but I keep my forehead pressed against the warm asphalt. The boot that shoved me down remains on my back, keeping me pinned to the ground.
And then suddenly, the final piece clicks into place in my mind.
The people in civilian clothing.
I know who they are.
They’re—
“I knew it,” a hard voice says. Authority and hatred and smug victory all pulse from that dark rumbling voice. “I knew that if I followed one rat, it would lead me to the others.”
My blood freezes to ice at the sound of it.
Slowly, I twist my head to the side so that my cheek is pressed against the ground instead.
Polished black shoes and the hem of a pair of impeccably tailored black pants become visible. I resist the urge to swallow.
“He might think that he can keep things from me,” the man continues. “But I knew that a rat has been living right underneath my grandson’s nose for weeks now.”
I glance up at the man towering over me and meet the merciless gaze of Federico Morelli.
40
RICO
