Chapter Two
Severin
I finally found the bastard. After days of dead ends and a few dead bodies left off the map, I got him.
The man in question is Rizzo, who thought changing his name to an American one would hide him.
The lieutenant on my father’s payroll lets money talk.
It didn't take him long to jump into the computer system to find the coward.
I used my own connections to find him. He should have known my hatred for him would not stop me from finding him and making him pay.
The snow has thickened, my headlights barely breaking through the white curtain of it. I lean closer to the front window, my eyes focus clearly on the leading path to the old cabin I’ve been told he’s hiding in. Poor bastard thought coming to the mountains was going to save him.
The small cabin is barely standing, perched on a cliffside overlooking the mountain. It’s brown, warped timber sagging from the structure, and it looks as though a strong wind could blow it down at any second.
None of that matters, though. All I care about is getting to the man who took my brother’s life. That target sits inside this piece of shit of a cabin. I pull my gun from the cold, wet holster—the same weapon my brother’s hands used to touch.
Images of me and Viktor riding in the back of an old sedan that reeked of cigarettes and body odor come to mind.
We were just kids, excited to be sent out on our first job together for our dad.
We were closing for him. Viktor was huge.
His large frame towered over half the kids our age like a brick wall.
I swear he could walk into any room and the people would cower at his feet.
He usually handled these types of jobs by himself, but Dad thought it was finally my time to tag along.
Viktor was two years older than me… stronger…
faster…wiser. I looked up to him. Most boys my age idolize their father, but not me.
Viktor was my role model, my idol, the very man I strived to be when I grew up.
That night, my hands shook as I held the gun in front of my body.
Viktor leaned in close and helped me with my stance, told me to breathe, and everything was going to be okay.
"Inhale and exhale with it," he said, tapping his finger on the barrel.
"Don't let it know you're scared of it." He shoved a cigarette between his lips and grinned wickedly.
He knew how much our father hated that he smoked.
We moved through the house that reeked of musky, soiled clothes and fake ass Avon perfume, the kind that clings to the air and sticks in your nose hairs.
The men hid in the shadows, waiting and watching, but they didn’t make a move.
My whole body shook with nerves, holding the gun and having to pull the trigger when I got the order to shoot.
Viktor didn’t so much as blink. He pushed open the door without a second thought, while the target was waiting for him in the back room, slouched in a chair with a half-empty bottle and a pistol on the table.
I remember how the man’s eyes widened with shock when he saw my brother walk in untouched.
Viktor’s voice was calm when he told him to stand.
The man reached for his gun, but he didn’t stand a chance. My brother pulled the trigger without even hesitating. It only took one shot, and the old man fell off the chair onto the ground.
We left the way we came in. The guys who stood in the shadows were no longer visible.
My brother lit another cigarette before we hit the street, smoke curling around his grin.
For him, it was just another night but for me, it was the night I learned what kind of men we were destined to be. Dangerous.
A loud clatter shatters the silent snowy air.
It pulls me out of a memory and into the present, sounding like a metal object hitting the floor inside the cabin.
The snow whips sideways as the storm rages on.
Each gust drives the cold air deeper into my bones.
I take my first step onto the porch, the boards creaking under my weight.
My feet take a few more steps until I grab the worn-out doorknob and slowly twist it. Locked.
I tighten my fingers around my gun. Then I step back slightly, square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and lift my boot, kicking the door. It splinters off as I burst inward.
I move quickly, gun raised, finger on the trigger. My eyes scan the room fast, first checking corners, shadows, then the floor. Moving left, then right, with the gun steady and aimed, I circle the room slowly and carefully.
As I scope around, I see a chair tipped over near the table. One leg is broken as if someone left suddenly.
A faint creak breaks the silence, and I turn toward the noise. My heart begins to race as I attempt to listen for the next sound, but all I hear is the wind rattling outside.
I glance at the table–a single cup sits, untouched. I hover my freehand over the top of it to feel for steam, but none comes from it. Whoever sat here didn’t leave too long ago.
As I’m about to turn around, a weight crashes into me, hurling me to the ground.
I grunt when my shoulder slams against the wood, and my gun slides across the boards out of reach.
I look at Rizzo’s ugly face as he pins me down.
Moonlight reflects off the blade he holds in his hand briefly before he drives it into my side.
My body arches off the floorboards from the impact and pain, but I bite my tongue. He will never hear me scream.
“That's all you’ve got?” I ask with a bloody smile. He won’t break me. No one will… ever again.
He jerks the knife free and impels it back in, sending another burst of pain through my body.
Hot, wet blood pools around me. I refuse to die here.
Slamming my forehead into his face, I feel the crunch of his nose from the impact and use his faltering grip to make my next move.
I knee him in the groin, throwing him off me so that I can retrieve my gun across the living room.
He’s still lying on the floor when I lift my gun from the ground. His groans echo around the room. Pussy.
He doesn’t wince when I point my gun at his chest, just smirks. “You think you’ve won?” He spits out the blood pooling in his mouth. “You’re just like him. Thinking your family is better than the rest of us.” He laughs, chuckling darkly. “You’re the last one standing in my way.”
My chest tightens, rage fueling the pain I feel. “You thought killing my brother and starting a war with our families would elevate you in rank, but you're wrong. You just moved me up instead, and I intend to end the bloody war you threaten between us.”
He sneers. “That’s why you will die. I won’t take orders from the ‘Vitelli’ family.” His hand clenches around the knife as he rises on wobbly legs, readying himself to lunge at me.
My fingers pull the trigger, shooting him right in the chest until he falls face-first in front of me.
As I stand, looking at Rizzo’s body lying limp, I hear my brother's voice talking me down the ledge. “You made me proud, brother. In this life, we protect what is ours. We are family, and we do what we have to do for them. Now stand up, dust yourself off, and remember you survived.”
Slowly, this time, I fire one more round into Rizzo's head to ensure no breath is left in him. I’m about to lower my gun when I see a silhouette of a person appear at the doorway.
The world around me begins to blur, but she becomes clearer.
The dirty-blond-haired woman with big brown eyes, who looks as though she is a doe in headlights, stands in the doorframe.
She holds a gun straight at me. Just looking at her stance, she has strength in her.
With the way she is holding her rifle, she knows how to shoot, too.
I swing the gun back up, blood dripping down my arm to my fingers.
The room starts to spin, and then the ringing starts in my ears. I know this feeling all too well. I've lost too much blood. Before I can pull the trigger, everything goes dark.