Chapter 2 #2
Instantly shedding the hazy afterglow of their explosive intimacy, Zara shifted directly back into tactical mode.
She rolled off the narrow cot, ignoring the thick streaks of his cum running slowly down her inner thighs.
Reaching for her discarded tactical gear, she rapidly began strapping her Kevlar vest tightly over her large breasts.
Watching her arm herself, Luca felt a profound shift settle permanently over his dark soul.
The original syndicate contract to murder Rossi was utterly irrelevant.
The immense payout his employers promised meant nothing.
The only thing that possessed any value in his incredibly violent world now was the fierce, deadly woman currently racking the slide of her Glock 19.
Standing up, Luca swiftly pulled on his dark tactical pants and secured his heavily loaded thigh holsters. He checked the magazines of his matching Sig Sauers, ensuring a round was chambered in each weapon, before sliding his signature stiletto blades into his combat boots.
Stepping over to the heavy blast door, he pried open the shattered electronic keypad with the tip of his knife.
Crossing the exposed blue and red wires instantly triggered a shower of bright yellow sparks.
The heavy titanium locking bolts groaned loudly in protest before finally disengaging with a heavy, metallic clank.
“Stay right on my six,” Luca instructed, gripping the thick metal handle.
Zara raised her firearm, stepping smoothly into a perfectly balanced shooting stance directly behind his right shoulder. “Just open the damn door, Italian. I know how to survive.”
He shoved the heavy blast door open.
A thick, suffocating cloud of black smoke instantly poured into the cramped panic room, bringing with it the intense, humid stench of the burning Louisiana bayou.
The sprawling Rossi estate had been nearly decimated.
It was a wonder they had survived. Moving swiftly out into the ruined marble hallway, Luca swept his pistol left while Zara instinctively covered the right flank.
The oppressive southern humidity hit them like a physical blow, blending horribly with the intense heat radiating from the blazing wooden rafters above. The grand foyer of the plantation house was heavily littered with the mutilated bodies of Rossi’s personal security force.
Gunfire suddenly erupted from the massive front courtyard, heavily suppressed automatic fire shattering the eerie silence of the burning mansion.
Pressing his back flat against a shattered marble pillar, Luca signaled for Zara to halt.
He peered carefully around the edge of the stone column, his dark eyes scanning the ruined courtyard.
Five men dressed in black tactical gear were currently advancing systematically through the smoke, executing the remaining wounded guards with ruthless, methodical precision.
Squinting through the thick haze, he focused sharply on the heavy tactical vest of the lead breacher. The man turned his head sharply, exposing a highly distinctive black serpent tattoo coiled around his thick neck.
A cold wave of fury crashed heavily over Luca.
He recognized that tattoo. He knew the specific suppressed MK18 rifles the men were carrying. He even recognized the brutal, highly coordinated tactical formation they were currently executing. This was not a rival cartel, nor was it a random mercenary strike team hired by a local bayou gang.
This was the *Cosa Nostra* elite cleanup crew.
His own brutal syndicate had orchestrated the strike.
The Italian mafia bosses operating out of New York had not simply hired him to assassinate Donatello Rossi.
They had clearly decided to wipe the entire Louisiana territory off the map, fully intending to purge everyone inside the estate—including their own star killer.
They considered him entirely expendable, merely a highly convenient loose end to be buried in the muddy swamps along with the target.
“What is it?” Zara whispered sharply, her dark eyes tracking the intense shift in his violent posture.
“My employers,” Luca replied quietly, his hand tightening ruthlessly around the grip of his pistol. “They sent a secondary team to ensure there were zero survivors. They plan to burn this entire swamp to the ground with us inside.”
She merely tightened her grip on her Glock, her gorgeous face hardening into a mask of pure lethal intent. “Then we kill every single one of them.”
A dark, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth.
His absolute loyalty to the Italian syndicate evaporated into the humid bayou air, instantly replaced by a fiercely burning devotion to the woman standing right beside him.
He would gladly slaughter every single man he had ever called a brother if it meant keeping her safely breathing.
“On my mark,” he ordered softly.