Chapter Twenty-Two
Leonid
At first, the receptionist refused to disclose anything.
He wouldn’t even tell my men if Simeone was actually staying at the Palms Hotel Spa. Normal policy for a hotel.
It all changed when they offered him a thousand dollars in cash. The prick took the money smiling and promising to help us out. Money talks. Bullshit walks.
Truth be told, that receptionist kept his word.
A few minutes before midnight, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from the hotel. A hushed voice shared new info.
“He just took the elevator to his room. Seventh floor, room seven-fourteen.”
A shot of adrenaline flooding my veins, I address the girls in a calm, steady voice.
“Walk up and down the hallway, acting like you’re drunk. When he gets out, pretend you lost your keys. We’ll take care of the rest.”
These girls have balls... I told them Simeone is no ordinary man. He’s almost forty years old and has spent most of his adult life bashing heads, breaking bones and shooting people. Some men would be afraid to even go near him. Not Nicki and Brandi. Of course, they’ll make good money out of this. I’ve promised them thirty thousand dollars each if all goes to plan. For a five-minute job, that’s a lot of cash. Yet, this job is dangerous, much more dangerous than spending the night with a stock broker or a realtor like they usually do.
The Palms Hotel Spa looms tall and bright in a rather dark neighborhood. Its gold and red sign is over the entrance, the light from the lobby illuminating a big chunk of the road outside.
The girls go in first; Ivan and I wait in the lobby for them to take the elevator up to the seventh floor.
This place has an air of luxury to it. There’s a statue of Mercury, the Greek god, just next to the entrance. Beige carpets line the floors with lounge sofas and armchairs at the numerous tables across the hall.
The distinct ding of the elevator sends my brother and I pacing past the reception desk. We get into the empty car, tensions rising. My gaze lands on the chrome railing in front of me, Ivan counting the magazines in his pockets.
“Quick and painless?” he asks, shoving a full magazine into place. “Or slow and painful?”
I screw the silencers onto my Glocks and put them behind my back, their grips sticking out over the belt of my pants. “I would love to tear this fucker apart, piece by piece. We’re not on Bratva ground, though. It’s got to be quick and painless.”
The clang of the elevator arriving fills my ears; its doors open sideways. I peek out and notice the two girls strolling away from me. They giggle, Brandi leaning on Nicki, her arm raised in the air. I hear her cheering, my gaze stopping on the door almost directly across from me. It’s got the number “716” on it.
I leave the elevator and jog toward the pillar to the right. Having climbed a flight of stairs, Ivan stops on the steps that overlook the hallway. The numbers of the rooms closest to me make something very clear. They are numbered 719 and 720, which means that Simeone’s room is well down the hallway.
“Oh, man!” Brandi moans in fake frustration, turning around. “Where did I put our keys? They were in my purse when we left the bar.”
“Which one?” Nicki wonders, the two of them laughing out loud. “Why did you take two?” Brandi clutches her stomach, doubling over with a loud chuckle the moment she strolls past room 714.
The sound of the door clicking open makes my heart jump in my throat. I reach behind my back, the tip of my index finger making contact with the grip of my gun. I ease it out and slow my breath, a gruff, male voice rising above the giggles of Nicki and Brandi.
“What the fuck?!” Simeone exclaims, stepping out of his room. “What the fuck are you girls doing out here? There’s people trying to sleep.”
Brandi laughs harder; she looks up at him over her shoulder. “Oh, we’re sorry!” she says in a playful voice. “We didn’t mean to wake you, sir. It’s just that we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” he asks, scratching the back of his head. That prick is eyeing her from top to bottom. The hunger in his eyes isn’t just obvious—it’s palpable.
“Well...” Brandi pauses, both girls blocking my view as they turn to face him. “I can’t find my keys. Can we use the phone in your room to call the reception? I’m a little too drunk to go back downstairs.”
“So am I,” Nicki says in a husky voice. “Go ahead, honey,” she urges her friend, pushing Simeone back against the wall. With his side in view, I step out of my hiding spot. I level the gun at him, Nicki pushing my target aside. She jumps into the room and slams the door shut; Simeone’s left knee brushing the carpet as he looks up at me.
“Hey, asshole,” I growl, holding the Glock with a steady hand. “We finally meet.”
His smirk fuels my anger. I lower the gun to his head.
But this son of a bitch is quick—quicker than I imagined.
In a swift move, he thrusts his arm up. He slaps his fingers into my wrist and knocks the Glock from my grasp before bursting off. He starts a frantic dash up the stairs as I’m picking my gun up from the floor.
“Don’t move!” Ivan shouts.
I jump up, the sound of thumps and grunts much louder than the sound of my footsteps. I reach the second flight of stairs, catching a glimpse of a door swinging back and forth. The sign on the wall next to that door reads “Roof.”
Three long strides send me right to the door. I throw my elbow forward, the glass hitting my body with force—but the sight that greets me forces me to bolt my feet to the ground. A skyscraper in the backdrop, Simeone is standing near a fallen Ivan. My brother is crab-walking backwards, the Italian aiming his gun down at him.
“Stay where you are, motherfucker!” Simeone yells, lifting his gaze from Ivan to me. “Drop the piece! Drop it or I’ll pump your buddy full of lead!”
“Okay, okay,” I say in a hurry, letting my Glock fall to the ground in front of my feet.
“Kick it over!” Simeone commands.
I comply, my gun sliding across the ground of the roof, Ivan leaning against his palms just feet from my spot.
“You win,” I assure him. “You got us both. Now, tell me. Why did you try to blow me up?”
“Simple, you Russian fuck,” Simeone smirks. “The Armenians already had a hard-on for you. I planted that bomb so you’d think it was them.”
“The war would have weakened both the Bratva and the Armenians to make it easier for you to move in, claim territory,” I conclude, holding my arms up.
“That’s right,” he confirms with a nod, his smirk annoying the hell out of me. “You’d rip each other’s throats out. With you and them out of the picture, my family would take over. I’d become an underboss. I mentioned my plan to my Don, and he okayed it.”
“No more shooting people for a living, huh?” I taunt him, halting just next to Ivan.
“Enough with this shit,” Simeone roars, his gaze darting between me and Ivan, then back to me. “Who wants to go first?”
“Do me a favor, will you?” I say in a hesitant voice, an idea flashing through my mind. “Let me sit next to him.”
“Do it,” he orders, waving his weapon down to the ground.
“Thanks,” I murmur, a swift, sideways glance offering me some hope. Ivan still has a gun behind his back. I can see its handle sticking out from his pants. He’s just not had the chance to use it—Simeone overpowered him with his quickness, like he did with me downstairs. “Good job, Tommy. Two birds with one stone.”
“You got that right, asshole,” he states.
I bring my knees to my chest. “But not tonight.”
At that, I toss my arm to the side, the heel of my palm bumping into the fabric of Ivan’s shirt. I grab the handle of his gun and twist it in the air before raising it up to Simeone. A sharp noise tears through the atmosphere as I pull the trigger. The bullet striking the barrel of his gun, it flies up and over his forearm. He gasps, a guttural cry shooting out of me. I jump up, burning with determination to end this motherfucker, once and for all.
My body crashes against his, shoving him back. Our bodies move as one across the roof until his body smashes against the low wall behind him. He bends backwards, his arms hanging over the wall.
“You filthy fuck,” I snarl, my hands at his throat. “You didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger, so you tried to blow me up. Pathetic.”
“It almost worked,” he chokes out, my fingers tightening around his neck.
“Almost,” I bark out, pushing him upwards. As his feet leave the ground, he thrashes about and grabs my wrists. He jerks them from side to side in an attempt to break free. It’s pointless...
The fire of determination is raging through my insides. I have been waiting for this for far too long to let him slip away. His body hangs over the low wall, and I look into his eyes. All that fear, all that despair in his gaze gives me a sense of satisfaction.
Part of me wants to drag him back and beat him to death. To pound on him like I’ve never pounded on anybody before. Still, a beating would be too messy. I would splatter his blood all over that roof. Blood means evidence, and cops love getting their hands on a high-profile case like the murder of a gangster.
I release my grip on his throat, Simeone’s eyes opening wide. His arms flail about as he falls, his long cry reverberating throughout the neighborhood. My gaze follows him down, his figure getting smaller and smaller, his cry fading into nothingness.
Ivan stands next to me. A sickening thud puts an end to Simeone’s fall. His body crashes against the roof of a parked car, shards of glass shooting out and into the road and the sidewalk. He lies perfectly still with his arms out to the side, my brother staring down at the mangled vehicle.
“I’m sorry, Leonid,” he says in a broken voice. “He was too fast for me. I tried shooting him downstairs, but I didn’t have a good shot. I chased after him, but he’d been waiting for me behind the door. He slammed it in my face and knocked me out. That’s when you showed up.”
“It’s okay, Ivan,” I assure him. “I got him. He won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Let’s get the girls and get the hell out of here.”
I don’t waste any time. We clear the roof and run back down the stairs, my mind going back to the fear in Simeone’s eyes. I have no regret over what I did. In fact, I enjoyed it. The Italian gangster had been messing with our heads and had come very close to killing us. It was kill or be killed, and I came out on top.
Three words are sending waves of joy straight into my heart.
I destroyed him.
Tommy Simeone is no more. He’s gone. Finished.
We reach an alley behind the hotel and disappear in the dark, smiling at each other. The Bratva has prevailed again. Despite Simeone’s best efforts to get rid of me, Clare and Ivan, he failed. I saved us all, with a little bit of help from two ballsy ladies. They’ll be well compensated for their courage. For now, all I want to do is break the good news to a gorgeous brunette.