Chapter 18 - Abe
I slammed my fist on the mahogany table, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. My brothers, Ivan and Vlad, didn't flinch. They were used to my outbursts by now.
"We've been chasing the wrong fucking tails for months," I growled, running a hand through my dark hair. "All this time, we thought it was the Petrovs muscling in on our territory, but it's been these new Italian upstarts?"
Ivan leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of calm. "It seems that way, Abe. Our intel was… flawed."
I snorted. "Flawed? That's putting it mildly, Brother. We've wasted time, resources, and blood on the wrong fucking crew."
Vlad raised his hands. "What's done is done. This new mob thought there was no better way to put their names on everyone’s radar than by coming after what belongs to the Vadims. The question is, what do we do now?"
I paced the room, my mind racing. The implications of this new information were staggering. A new Italian mob group, the Amatos. as they called themselves, operating right under our noses, bold enough to encroach on Vadim territory. It was a slap in the face of the Vadims, and by extension, The Unholy Trinity.
"We send a message," I said, my voice low and deadly. "A crystal-clear fucking message that no one, Italian, Russian, or otherwise, crosses the Vadims without consequences."
What I didn’t say was that after we’re done, they’d never dare mutter Pippa’s name behind closed doors. They’re the reason she was stabbed, the reason her life has had to come to a standstill and that stops now.
I could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, the thrill of the hunt awakening. This is what I lived for—the chance to prove why I was the muscle of the Unholy Trinity, why I always came out on top in any fight.
"These fuckers think they can waltz into our city, take what's ours?" I turned to face my brothers, a wolfish grin spreading across my face. "We'll show them exactly why that's a fatal mistake."
***
I leaned over the map spread across the mahogany table, my tattooed fingers tracing potential routes. "We hit them here," I said, tapping a warehouse near the docks. "Our intel suggests it's their main distribution center."
Ivan nodded, his analytical mind already churning. "We'll need to cut off their escape routes. I can have our tech team disable the security systems."
"Good," I growled, feeling the familiar rush of pre-battle excitement. "Vlad, I want you to position snipers here and here." I indicated two nearby rooftops. "We'll funnel them right into our trap."
The tension in the room was palpable, crackling like electricity. I thrived on it, my confidence growing with each passing moment.
"Remember," I said, my voice carrying the weight of command, "we're not just taking them down. We're sending a message. Make it bloody, make it brutal. Make sure they never cross us again."
As night fell, we moved into position. The warehouse loomed before us, a hulking shadow against the starless sky. I adjusted my earpiece, checked for the Glock against my hip.
"Now," Ivan directed through the network.
All hell broke loose. The night erupted in a cacophony of gunfire and shattering glass. I charged forward, my brothers at my sides, our men flooding in behind us.
The Italians were caught off guard, but they recovered quickly. Bullets whizzed past my ear as I dove behind a stack of crates, my heart pounding with exhilaration.
"Ivan, on your left!" I shouted, squeezing off three rapid shots. An enemy gunman dropped, clutching his chest.
The fight was chaotic, brutal, but we had the upper hand. I moved like a force of nature, my fists and bullets finding their marks with deadly precision. Blood spattered my crisp white shirt, but I barely noticed.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him. The man Pippa described as the one she saw at the casino. Bald, with a scar on his face. It’s because of him that Tony stabbed her.
I watched as one of my men chased after him, and with a roar, I ran as fast as I could, moving past my man. “He’s mine,” I bellowed, overtaking him.
The man turned to check the status of his chaser and recoiled in terror as I approached, his eyes widening in fear. I caught a glimmer of recognition in them before he turned to run.
My boots crunched on broken glass as I pursued him, adrenaline igniting my body like wildfire. A burst of flame lit up the night sky—a bullet whizzed past me, dangerously close. I didn't falter.
The man turned, a gun pointed at me. He shot while he ran and I turned my head right, letting the bullet pass. All I felt was the soft gush of wind. What a weak shooter.
He reached a dead end and I was now mere feet away. I jumped one foot forward onto a barrel, kicked off, and landed right in front of him.
He raised his gun, but it was too late. I had already closed the gap between us, my fist connecting with his jaw before he could react. His head snapped back and he stumbled to the ground, the gun falling inches away. He reached for the gun but I put one foot on his hand and kicked away the gun with the other.
The sound of his wrist snapping was satisfying, and the scream that adjoined sweet. I pulled out a knife and bent on one knee, taking it to his throat.
“You and Tony should never have put her in danger,” I said, before slicing open his throat and watching every last drop of blood splutter out of the gash until the last of life left his eyes.
***
I stumbled through the front door of my house, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving me feeling like I'd gone ten rounds with a freight train. But beneath the exhaustion, a sense of grim satisfaction burned in my chest.
"We showed those Italian fuckers," I muttered to myself, wincing as I shrugged off my blood-stained jacket.
I made my way to the bar, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey. It burned a path down my throat, momentarily dulling the ache in my bruised knuckles.
I needed rest. I trudged toward my bedroom, my feet heavy on the plush carpet. The thought of a hot shower and my king-sized bed was the only thing keeping me upright at this point.
***
I was just about to collapse onto the bed when I heard the soft click of the door. I caught a whiff of that familiar vanilla and jasmine scent. Pippa.
She padded across the room, her curves silhouetted by the dim light. Without a word, she slipped under the covers and pressed her soft, warm body against mine. I felt the tension in my muscles start to melt away as she wrapped her arms around me.
"Rough night?" she murmured, her breath tickling my ear. “I thought I heard you come back. Wanted to check.”
I grunted in response, burying my face in her light brown curls. Pippa knew better than to push for details, and that's one of the things I loved about her. She was always there, a silent pillar of support, never demanding more than I could give.
With her in my arms, I slept better than I had ever after a battle.
***
As the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the windows, I found myself tracing lazy circles on Pippa's hip. Her bottle-green eyes fluttered open, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily and nestled herself into my chest.
“Morning,” my voice came out hoarse and I pulled her in, giving her a kiss on her forehead. She smiled at me, her eyes still droopy from sleep.
“What happened last night?” she murmured with a hint of worry in her voice. “You look tired… and bruised.”
"We got him," I said with pride. "He belonged to a new Italian mob who wanted to show their power by going head-to-head with the Vadims.”
“What?” she said, suddenly serious as she sat and pulled the covers around her. “You got him? Are you okay? You didn't get hurt bad, did you?"
“He was a nobody. Those Italian bastards won't be causing any more trouble. And I’m fine, Pip. Just a scratch or two."
Pippa's eyebrows shot up. "And what about this mob? Won’t this cause more trouble?”
I nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Let's just say they won't be underestimating the Vadims or the Unholy Trinity again. In fact, they don’t have enough people to come at us again. We killed as many as we could."
Pippa shook her head, her beautiful eyelashes fluttering as though she was trying to clear her head. Her gaze settled on me at last, wide-eyed. "You killed them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "All of them?"
“Whoever was at their stakeout,” I said carefully, knowing that the truth might hurt, but she deserved to know it. The truth was, even after everything we'd been through together, it still gave me an uneasy feeling to see Pippa's reaction
This was my job, my life—and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't really understand what it entailed. "The Vadims and the Unholy Trinity don't take kindly to anyone trying to undermine us, especially not some small mob thinking they’re David and we’re Goliath.”
I watched Pippa's face carefully as she processed the news. Her brow furrowed, and a flicker of something—worry? Fear?—passed through her eyes. She bit her lower lip, a habit I'd come to recognize as a sign of internal conflict.
"That's… good," she said hesitantly, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. "I'm glad you're safe, Abe."
I frowned, sensing there was more she wasn't saying. "But…?"
Pippa shook her head, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But the guys you were protecting me from have been taken care of, haven’t they?”
"That's right," I nodded, trying to read her expression. She looked so… pale. Was it because of the news about the Italian mob? Or was it something else? "They won't be causing any trouble anymore."
She nodded, looking down at her hands as if they were a foreign object to her. "Okay."
But there was a hint of sadness in her eyes, like she was holding back tears.
“Pip…?” I started, reaching out to grab her hand. Her skin felt surprisingly cold. "What's wrong?"
She looked up, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "I need to leave," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The weight of her words hung in the air between us, and I felt a sudden, inexplicable tightness in my chest. Something was coming, something big, and for the first time in a long while, I felt unprepared.
She stepped out of bed, started putting on her clothes, and I just sat there like I’d been hit by a truck of bricks.
I remained quiet for a whole minute while she dressed, certain I'd misheard. "What?"
She didn’t answer my question. Instead, she was fumbling around the side table, looking for something. It was as though she didn’t hear me, or perhaps, didn’t want to.