Chapter 18
Alessandro
I make my way back up the stairs to the VIP lounge, a headache beginning to thump behind my eyes. I can still feel Lennon’s heated body pressed against mine. Still smell her scent on me. My mood is darkening by the second.
When I reach the top of the stairs and head to the back, Giada is striding toward me with a forced smile and a wicked gleam in her eyes I don’t like.
“There you are, fiancé,” she says as she approaches. Without warning, she throws herself against me, pressing her mouth harshly against mine.
I grab her arms instinctively.
A flash goes off. She pulls back and smirks at me. Then nods to the man standing a few feet away with a camera. “Get that to the Tampa Times tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Then shoots me a small, apologetic smile as he scurries away.
My confusion solidifies into hot molten rage when I realize what she’s done and why. I clench my fists to keep from wrapping my hands around her throat.
She steps into me and glares up into my furious gaze, her dark eyes hard and glittering dangerously.
“I told you I wouldn’t have my fiancé simping after trash, Sandro.
You embarrassed me in front of some important people tonight.
Do it again, and I will ruin her life.” She bumps into my arm as she pushes past me.
Then stops. “And by the way, Papà insists you come for family dinner tomorrow night. Since we’re going to be family. Six o’clock, don’t be late.”
I grind the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to calm the internal tremble of rage shaking my bones. It’s been a long time since I’ve lost control, but Giada fucking Zerilli threatening Lennon is bringing me to the edge.
Fuck it. I need to destroy something.
I push past some VIP assholes partying with the girls Rocco hired and find my men still seated in our booth.
Excellent.
Reclaiming my seat, I glance at the men. Rocco and Caelian are staring at me with raised brows.
Fausy, Caelian’s thirty-year-old brother and one of my capos, is peering at me curiously.
Out of all of us, he’s the most unassuming at 6’2 with a stocky build, a head of curly black hair, and a short beard that enhances the structure of his baby face.
He’s smart and level-headed, though which is just as deadly as muscle in our world.
“You look like you want to murder someone. What the fuck just happened?”
Rocco chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Lennon just happened.” He smirks at me. “Oh, brother.” He lifts his finger to order me a drink.
I shake my head. “Whiskey’s not going to cut it. We’re going to burn down one of the Bratva’s whorehouses,” I say, my tone laced with promises of death.
Rocco’s gray eyes gleam with excitement and probably too much scotch. “Fuck yeah,” he grunts. Fire is his preferred method of destruction. “When?”
“Tonight.” I flick my gaze to Fausy. “Get ten soldiers together. Your best fighters, sharpshooters. I don’t know how many Bratva will be there. Have them meet us at the warehouse at midnight.”
Fausy nods and pulls out his phone.
I realize we’re going in blind. The smart approach would be to conduct surveillance first and assess what we're dealing with. But I can’t wait.
If I don’t point my destruction at something deserving of it right now, I’ll end up doing something stupid.
Like burning down Zerilli’s house instead. With Giada in it.
“What are we going to do with the women?” Caelian asks. “We can’t just leave them on the street.”
“I’ll warn Chief Knowles. Make sure they show up to get the women somewhere safe.”
***
The house is in a rundown section of town behind the Tampa airport, on a street where people tend to mind their own nefarious business.
We pull our caravan of six blacked-out Range Rovers into a tiny unlit chapel parking lot on the corner of the street and pile out.
It’s now almost two in the morning. We’ve all sobered up and are running on adrenaline and the high of promised violence.
I step up to Fausy, who’s handing out weapons to the soldiers from the back of one of the SUVs. Like the rest of us, he’s dressed in black pants, black long-sleeved shirt, black balaclava, black combat boots.
“Use the silencers on the guards. We need to neutralize as many as we can without alerting whoever’s inside. We don’t want them to start using the women as hostages.” I make sure I have the soldiers’ attention. “Half of you hit the front with Fausy, half go through the back with me.”
“And what about any Johns that are in there?” Gunnar asks as he checks his own weapon.
“Fuck ‘em,” I say. “They go down, too.” I’m not in a generous mood. I turn to Rocco, who’s leaning against the SUV, muscular arms folded against his chest. “Once we get all the women out, you’re up.”
He gives me a smirk and a salute.
My gaze sweeps over our small but lethal army. “Everyone ready?”
“Ready,” they say in unison.
I lead five of the men through the backyards of the neighboring houses, until we’re crouching behind a row of overgrown bushes between the target and the house next door. There’s a sliver of moonlight and a warm breeze rustling the palm trees.
Three men sit in plastic lawn chairs. There’s the light burble of conversation, and the cherry red of their cigarettes glowing in the night.
I motion to three of the soldiers and they take aim. Holding up three fingers, I start the countdown. Three, two, one…
Three soft pffs echo in the night.
All three men jerk back in their chairs and fall silent.
I motion the crew forward, and we make our way into the yard, our footfalls noiseless in the sandy soil and sparse grass. We approach the dead men, and I smile. Three perfect shots to the head. I nod my approval and step on one of the lit cigarettes, grinding it under my shoe.
There’s a small, cracked cement pad in front of a sliding glass door.
We line up against the side of the house and, ignoring the sweat rolling down my face, I peer inside.
A cluttered kitchen sits in darkness. Beyond that, there are lights on in the house.
I carefully put pressure on the glass door, and it glides open.
Unlocked. Cocky fucks. Soon to be dead fucks.
I slide it open further, enough for us to slip inside the kitchen. As we stand there, the laugh track of some TV show reaches us from the next room. I hold my fist up to tell the men to stay put and then silently move to peer around the wall into the living room.
Six men are lounging on the furniture, beer bottles rest in their hands and litter the coffee table. One of them says something in Russian and the others laugh. No women present.
Perfect.
I motion for the soldiers to line up behind me. We’ll wait until the other team breaches the front door and hit them together.
A man suddenly swaggers out from the hallway beside the TV. His shirt is untucked, his face flushed.
The Russians chuckle. One of them mutes the TV. “You enjoy little Katerina, yeah?”
The man nods, but looks like he wants to say something as he frowns and runs a hand through his thinning hair.
Apparently the Russians notice. “Spit it out, Mr. Levine.”
He holds up a palm. “I’m not complaining mind you. But maybe next time go easy on the drugs. She barely moved.”
“That sounds like complaining to me,” one of the men on the sofa growls.
He looks flustered but just nods. “It’s all good gentlemen. See you next week.” He moves quickly to the door.
When he opens it, all hell breaks loose.
My men are blocking the doorway. One of them puts a bullet in his forehead, and then they pile through the door.
Before the Russians can react, their bodies are filled with lead. It’s over in seconds. We move in and survey the damage. Blood seeps into the furniture as their eyes stare vacantly at us.
“How many were out front?” I ask Fausy.
He inserts a fresh magazine in his Beretta and chambers a round. “Four.”
“All right, let’s bring all the bodies inside.” I text my brother to bring around the SUVs for the next phase of the plan. Then turn to Gunnar. “Come with me to get the women out.”
Gunnar and I move down the hall. There are four closed doors. We open the first door slowly. Five naked and bound women lay on mattresses. Two of them are also gagged.
I flick on the light, and they stir. As they blink their eyes open, whimpers begin to fill the room.
“You go to the next room, I got this,” I whisper to Gunnar.
Moving into the room, I crouch between the mattresses and lift the balaclava so they can see my face. “I’m not here to hurt you,” I say. “We’re here to help you.” I meet each woman’s terrified gaze. “Do you understand?”
“What about the men?” one of them asks, her chin tilted up bravely in defiance despite the terror in her eyes.
“They’re no longer a threat.”
They glance at each other and then back at me. A few of them nod, but the skepticism is hard to miss.
“I’m going to remove your bindings and get you out of here.” I unsheathe a knife from where it’s strapped to my thigh, and the women flinch in unison.
“It’s okay,” I say soothingly, moving slowly to the first woman. I carefully cut the zip ties on her ankles and wrists, my blood boiling at the raw wounds on her pale skin. “There you go.”
I move to the next woman, as that one removes the gag from her mouth, and a small cry escapes her throat. As I cut the second woman loose, I can feel the energy shift in the room. The others are sitting up, realizing I am actually here to help, eager to be set free.
When I have all the women freed, I use my knife to cut the sheets in half, so they have something to cover themselves with.
They wrap them around their emaciated, bruised bodies, two with tears streaming down their faces, the others sitting in the silence of trauma.
As I help the last woman to her feet, her haunted eyes catch mine. “Where will we go?”
“They will find us. Kill us,” a petite brunette with a yellowing bruise on her face says on a sob.
“The police will be taking you to a safe house,” I assure them.
Horror fills the room as they start crying, “No no nett politsy!”
I hold up my hand. “I promise you will not be going to jail. You have my word.”
They follow me out of the room, and we meet Gunnar in the hall with six other women in the same state behind him and one unconscious in his arms. She looks about fourteen.
“Fuckers,” he growls as his eyes meet mine. His are an ice-blue fire within a stone face.
One of the women moves in front of him and strokes the young girl’s cheek as he holds her. “Katerina,” she whispers. “Hang on, dorogaya devochka.”
“Don’t look at the bodies,” I instruct the women as we lead them through the bloody carnage in the living room and out the front door.
I chuckle as one of the women spits on a body as she passes it. Still a bit of fire left in her. Good, she’s going to need it to heal.
We help them into the SUVs where they’ll be driven to the rendezvous point we set up with Chief Knowles so his men can get them to the safehouse.
Once the SUVs pull away and disappear down the street, I pat Rocco’s back. “Let’s burn this bitch down, brother.”