50. ANTONIO
Can this day get any worse?
"I've got their location." Vito's fingers fly over his phone, sending the coordinates to my soldiers—the ones still in Warwick, chasing ghosts like a pack of useless bastards. I’ll deal with them later.
Losing her? That's unforgivable. For now, I still need them, but there will be consequences for their carelessness.
How the fuck did Scarlet and Gigi even leave the mansion? And why?
I should have been there. It was my job to keep them safe, and I failed. Fuck!
The rotors slice through the sky as the chopper hurtles toward Warwick, where they're once again being held in one of Carlos' warehouses.
Thank fuck I installed other trackers besides the ones in their phones and Gigi's car.
Scarlet's is in her ring; Gigi has one in her necklace's pendant, with a second in her hair tie.
I hit speed dial on my phone; the moment Enrico picks up, I yell, "I need weapons."
He doesn't miss a beat, "How many, what, and where?"
I send him the coordinates. "My men will be there. Carlos's goons just took Gigi and Scarlet. I'm twenty minutes out."
"You got it. It'll take me an hour to get everything there. Two if you want the tanks."
The fucker isn't bluffing, either. He bought a handful of T-14 Armata tanks from the Russians not too long ago.
I consider the offer for a few heartbeats, but discard it.
For one, driving several illegal tanks through NY will garner too much unwanted attention, and two, in two hours, this will be over. One way or another.
My men are already armed with M-4s, but Enrico has the heavy artillery that will be needed to storm this warehouse.
I was lucky the first time. I surprised Carlos and his goons.
This time, they'll be waiting for us. An hour, he said, that gives Vito and me just enough time to get the lay of the land and come up with an attack plan.
I don't like the idea of Scarlet and Gigi in Carlos's hands for so long, but that can't be helped right now.
Like it or not, the girls are on their own for the time being.
I keep track of the minutes that have gone by. I will make Carlos's men pay for every second of it, with interest.
"I'll need stun and smoke grenades, as well as the regular kind. Grenade launchers, and an EMP jammer." I'll cut their way of communication off first. That should put the fear of God on them right from the start. "I want SCAR assault rifles."
"Anything else?" Enrico presses.
I look at Vito, who shakes his head. "That should do."
"You've got it."
There is nothing else to say, and we hang up.
Silence takes over the helicopter. Vito stares darkly out the window. His entire body is coiled tight, ready for war, just like mine.
One question haunts me: What if we get there too late?
The thought claws at my throat, tightens it like a noose.
I’ve lost people before. I’ve buried family. I’ve held bodies in my arms, felt the warmth drain from them. The notion of Scarlet being one of them tortures me. Because I know…
If I lose her… and the baby…
I won’t come back from that.
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, but all I see is her.
Scarlet. The way she tilts her chin up when she’s being stubborn, that glint in her eyes when she’s fighting me.
The expression on her face when she comes.
The way she looks at me, her eyes filled with love.
How she fits against me, soft and strong all at once.
She is my entire world. She’s out there, in the hands of men who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. A sharp exhale rips from my chest, and I curl my hands into fists. Breathing has become a chore as fury and worry choke my throat.
The chopper dips lower, we're almost there.
"ETA five minutes," the pilot calls.
Five minutes.
Five minutes until I paint Carlos’ warehouse red. Five minutes until I rip apart every single fucker who has dared touch what’s mine.
"Boss?" Vito’s voice is quieter now, careful, like he knows. Like he sees it. My unraveling. The thing I can’t control. I exhale slowly, pushing everything down, down, down, until the rage turns to something colder.
"No survivors."
He nods his agreement.
Tonight, I don’t just kill them.
I erase them.
The chopper sets down ten miles from the warehouse. I won’t risk them hearing us coming. As soon as I step out onto the pavement, my eyes roam over my soldiers. A quick count tells me there are thirty, when there should have been fifty.
"Where the fuck is Al?" I grind out.
Umberto steps forward. "He was in the first SUV the assholes blew up," he fills me in.
Right now, I can't afford to think about the twenty or more mothers and widows I'll have to notify later, nor can I think about what it would feel like to lose a spouse or sister. We pile into the waiting SUVs to take us closer to the warehouse.
"What's the plan, boss?" Vito steps impatiently from one foot to the other once we get there. He's ready to go in.
I already scoped the area when we circled in the chopper. Now, standing hidden in the woods that grow on one side, I make out water on the other, with warehouses in between. The area is tight and contained.
Carlos has several snipers stationed on top of his roof. I'm sure they reported seeing a helicopter coming by and are on high alert, but it won't help them.
“Snipers up there, there, and there,” I say, pointing to the tree line and the rooftops of the flanking warehouses. “Six men on top of Carlos’s building. Wait for my signal, blow the roof open, then drop stun grenades through the breach.”
It’s a risk—a big one. If Carlos—or whichever disposable scum he has working for him—used the same setup they used on Scarlet, there’s a chance the girls are close to that blast zone. And one of them is carrying my child.
But I don’t get the luxury of hesitation. I’m not just here for my family. I command soldiers with families of their own. If I send men to die tonight, it won’t be without giving them the cleanest shot at surviving.
“Three SUVs hit that hangar gate—hard.” I point again. “As soon as it’s breached, the perimeter teams go in. The roof team follows fast and coordinated. No dead weight.”
Vito hands me a vest mid-sentence. I strap it on without missing a beat, my mind cycling through every possible fault in the plan. I’m not hoping for luck—I’m compensating for it.
“Here,” someone says. I look over. Enrico stands off to my left, dressed in tactical gear.
He’s holding out an iPad. He must’ve broken land-speed records getting here.
Good. He’s the only other bastard I trust not to screw this up.
"What am I..." I drift off, staring at a thermal image of the inside of the warehouse.
"Thirty men on the ground floor, four dots in the basement. I suppose those are the girls and whoever has them." Enrico fills me in.
I don't feel grateful very often, but Enrico just handed me the key to my assault plan. We can obliterate the first floor without the girls being harmed.
"Thank you."
Enrico nods at me grimly, his eyes conveying his understanding. He wouldn't feel any other way if it were Cat down there. "You got it, brother."
I give the command for the snipers to take out the men on Carlos's roof first. The shots are silenced, but in the still of the afternoon, they are audible; thankfully, not enough to be heard inside the warehouse.
Next, Vito, Enrico, and I make our way to the warehouse walls, followed by more of my men and the ones Enrico brought. Everybody else is getting into position, waiting for my command. Enrico also brought comms and earpieces—essential for keeping every team sharp and synced.
"The plan is to roll in hot and shoot indiscriminately. Kill every last one of those bastards, except Carlos and Nestor, they're mine. Capiche?"
"Yes, sir," the men answer as one.
"I can’t talk you out of this?" Vito mutters. He’d rather I stay out of it—but there’s no universe where I sit this one out.
Not with the three people I’d burn the world down for on the line.
Just then, three SUVs come into view. Their lights are off, and they're accelerating with every inch of ground gained.
"Not a fucking chance," I grin at him. It's been a while since we've seen this kind of action. Getting into the other warehouse had been a piece of cake; this one is a bit more challenging. But nothing we can't handle.
As one, the massive trucks slam into the hangar doors, pushing them in. The sound of grating metal is only disturbed by an explosion coming from the roof and the shouting of men in pain.