Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva), Nicole Fox [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

“He has her,” the man sputters again. The burst of strength that gave him the energy to speak is fading quickly now. I can see the lights in his eyes dimming. He just took too much damage; his body can’t sustain him much longer. Slowly, his grip on my forearm eases and falls away.

And just like that, he’s dead.

I stand and scream. “Fuck!” Lashing out, I kick over the coffee table and send its contents flying all over the room.

Eitan hands the bandages and alcohol to one of the other men and walks over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. But I angrily shake it off and punch the wall. Over and over until my knuckles are bloody. Drywall splinters and the room fills with the dust of the plaster, but I don’t stop. I need the pain, I need the blood, I need to know I’m fucking alive.

“Nikita,” says Eitan. “This isn’t helping her.”

I whirl to face him, fists raised. My first instinct is to strike him. Eitan closes his eyes, ready for the blow. Then, the fight just disappears from my body. My shoulders slump.

He’s right. Punching a wall won’t save Annie. Screaming and flipping tables won’t stop Gino. There is only one thing left to do.

I look at the blood dripping down my fingertips, then up at Eitan. “I’m going after her,” I rasp. “And I’m going to kill him for touching her.”

Eitan nods, and we begin to prepare.

***

Before we leave, I gather the men around me. The last remnants of the Lavrin Bratva. Good men, loyal men, fierce men, all of them. Some served my father and his father before him. Now, they have only me to lead them.

“I’m going to say this one time and one time only,” I begin in a solemn voice. I look around the dingy room at each of them in turn. “Any man who joins me on this mission will likely die. The odds are poor. The Italians have more men, more guns, and they will be on their home territory. They’re vicious dogs, every last one of them, and they will not hesitate to make your death long and painful.” I swallow hard. “So, if any one of you wants to walk away now, I will never blame you for that choice. Go, take your families, and run. And live. You deserve that much. I would give you more if I could, but this is all I have left. You’re forgiven already, and no matter what you decide, the Lavrins will remember your name and your loyalty.”

I pause and wait.

Not a man moves.

“So be it,” I say, nodding. “Then we’re leaving now. To face death.”

The ride to Gino’s headquarters is long and quiet. Most of us are mentally preparing, making sure our gear is ready. Everyone carries numerous clips filled with ammunition.

Eitan and one of the men go ahead of the rest of us to find a spot to set off the explosion. We need a diversion to force our way in, and the grenades we’ll be using are the last resource we have left.

Our watches are timed so that no other form of communication is needed. Once we’re in place, I eye the watch on my wrist, adrenaline flooding my system. I haven’t yet let myself think about what Annie is experiencing right now. Has he laid a finger on her? Is she alone? Both thoughts make me ill. I shudder and check my gun once again.

For the last few moments of silence we have left, I close my eyes.

I wonder what my father would say to me right now, if he could. Would he be proud? All I can picture is the little bird in his hand, testing its wings. So pure. So small. So fierce.

Then the beeping from my wristwatch cuts through the air and we exit the van just as an enormous explosion goes off. Windows shatter. Smoke and fire rush out. Thousands of shards of glass and steel shower all around. That’s our cue.

We race along the hidden route to the main complex. But we don’t get too far. Gunshots begin to crack into the air as loud as thunder. Gunshots in movies and video games are merely an annoyance, a tinny pop and crackle. But out here, they’re as good as a hypodermic to the heart. Each one isn’t just loud, it booms and echoes, seeking to deliver death.

We fan out, ducking and dodging, returning fire when we’re able, hiding as we must. It’s a dogged, bloody fight, but we make our way around each corner. Each foot of ground is hard-gained. Already, I can see my men—what’s left of them—sporting bleeding wounds.

We pass the first layer of security, and soon enough, the gunshots come thick again as more of Gino’s soldiers arrive. The industrial complex is a hell zone of zipping bullets and groaning, dying soldiers. Metal shrieks and concrete shatters.

I pop up from behind a concrete pillar, take quick aim, and fire my weapon in rapid succession, killing three men as I move closer and closer toward the blast site. No matter what, I need to get inside. When I tuck into an alcove in the wall of the building, I turn to check my men. No one is dead, but many are wounded. That’s the best we could have hoped for, for now.

I spy an Italian creeping up across the empty lot, knife drawn, ready to slice the throat of one of my soldiers who is focused in another direction. I drop to a knee, brace, and fire. Through my scope, I see a bullet hole bloom in his forehead. He hits the ground in a sickening tumble.

I’m reloading and looking for my next target when I spot a familiar weapon. A weapon that came in on the shipment Gino stole from me and which would end our attack in a matter of minutes.

A machine gun.

“Fall back!” I rush