35

Chapter 35
Dominic
Arin pounces on me, excitement rattling her bones. “Today’s the day!” she squeals, crawling on top of me as she peppers my cheeks with kisses.
I stir awake with a groan. “Five more minutes.”
“I have to get ready,” she says as she hops off. “Lana will be here soon to watch Felicia, and then I have to head over to the venue to help organize the models and makeup teams. God, what should I wear? A classic black dress, right? Or is that too boring? I’ll figure it out.”
“Dolcezza, it’s five in the morning.”
“And I’ve got so much to do! I need to take a shower, do my makeup, style my hair. Photographers will be everywhere, Dom. Everywhere! I have to make sure my debut goes perfectly, or else—”
I wrap my arm around her waist and easily pull her back to bed, kissing her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her soft lips. “It will go perfectly, Arin. You need to relax.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve got hundreds of guests coming to scrutinize my work.”
“There will be no scrutinizing, only appreciation.” “Dom—”
“Enjoy today, Arin. You’ve done everything you can to prepare for this moment. All your hard work is about to pay off. What you really need to do today is savor every moment. Would you rather spend your debut stressed out of your mind, or having fun?”
She laughs, kissing my lips swiftly. “I hate it when you make sense.” “So it’s an around the clock thing?”
My phone goes off, buzzing away on the bedside table. I have no idea who could be calling me this early in the morning. When I check the caller ID and see Milo’s name, I almost consider turning my phone off entirely. Then again, it could be important.
“What do you want?” I grumble.
“The Russians,” he replies, sounding a bit far away and breathless. “You want… the Russians?”
“No! They’re making their move!”
I sit up, alarmed. I knew I wasn’t being paranoid. The other players in New York have been way too quiet for my liking, and now I see why. “Tell me what happened.”
“They struck the gambling dens sometime around three. I only found out about it now. I’m on my way to see how bad the damage is.”
“I’ll meet you there. Order the rest of our men to be there.” “You got it,” Milo says, hastily hanging up.
Time is of the essence. I’ve never known the Russians to twiddle their thumbs and wait for a counterattack. They’re more of a bulldoze and conquer kind of group. There’s no doubt in my mind that if the Irish—hell, maybe even the Chinese—catch wind that land is up for grabs, I’ll have a real mess on my hands.
Arin shifts beside me, her brows knitted together with worry. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just a, um, business conflict. It won’t take long.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Okay,” she whispers. “Please be safe.” “I promise. I’ll see you tonight at your show, alright?”
I give her one last kiss before getting up to get dressed.
* * *
We arrive twenty men strong, armed to the teeth well within the hour. The gambling den in question isn’t fully operational yet, still under serious renovations in the basement of an old liquor store whose owner had his license revoked. We move quickly, storming inside to find—
Nothing.
“What the hell?” one of my men grumbles, lowering his pistol. “Uh, boss? You sure we have the right place.”
“Milo confirmed the address,” I reply, glaring at my surroundings. Everything is as it should be. No signs of forced entry, no unwanted guests. What the hell was Milo talking about?
The angry screech of tires braking to a halt is what tips me off. This whole damn thing was a trap.
“Get down!” I shout far too late.
A hail of bullets rains down upon us, shattering windows and decimating walls. I hit the floor hard, narrowly missing being shot. Half of my men aren’t so lucky, riddled full of holes before their limp bodies have a chance to land.
The attack lasts for an eternity, the thunderous clamor of bullets rattling my eardrums. A few of my men are alive, but understandably disoriented as the shooting eventually draws to a close. There’s no time to relax, however. This was only the opening act.
The doors to the gambling den burst open, a team of six or so men charging in with their weapons at the ready. They’re dressed from head to toe in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by tinted goggles and cloth face masks. One look at them and I know these aren’t the Russians or the Irish or the Chinese. These men are new players on the block.
Either way, Milo sold me out.
If I get out of this, I’m going to kill him with my own two hands.
The mercs are quick to pick off the survivors, shooting at point blank range. When they finally get to me, I spring into action, a bullet whizzing past my temple as I trap my attacker’s arm in a lock. I twist hard, forcing him to not only drop his gun, but to snap his elbow in the opposite direction. His scream is cut short when I nail him in the face with a hard left hook, sending him flying into his teammate beside him.
I manage to roll out of the way as the remaining four assailants open fire, ducking behind an overturned table. It’s not an effective shield, splinters flying every which way and nearly taking out my damn eye. Two of them try to rush me again, but I’m ready, sweeping their legs with a good, hard kick. Snatching up a piece of broken plaster, I swipe at one of the men, stabbing him in the bicep with all the force I can muster. He stumbles back, disoriented enough for me to kick away his pistol and slam his head into the nearest wall. His body slumps, unconscious.
Only three more to go.
I’m running on pure adrenaline at this point, nothing but the sound of my
labored breathing and the pounding rhythm of my war drum heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of a knife as one of the mercs charges at me, eager to stab. My body is starting to feel heavy, so even though I manage to slide out of the way, the knife still slices through my suit. Luckily, I take no damage.
When the merc pulls away, he notices the special lining of my suit, now exposed.
Kevlar.
When I get out of this mess, I’m going to kiss Arin until she sees stars.
I subdue the man with a hard punch-kick combo, sending him flying into the solid frame of a low banister. His body contorts unnaturally, the hard crack of bones echoing loudly in my ear. There’s only two left, but I’m sore, bruised, and running low on steam.
The last two mercs are smart enough to come at me at the same time, using my exhaustion to their advantage. Their range is too close to fire their guns without harming each other, so they come at me with a flurry of well- placed hits. They strike me across the face, get me in the gut, kick the back of my knees until my legs finally buckle.
I’m winded, seeing spots across my vision. Things are going downhill fast.
One of them rears back, rushing at me to try and drive his knee into my face. My body might be tired of fighting, but my brain isn’t. Instincts take over. I dodge out of the way just in time to grab my attacker by the leg, twisting so hard and with so much momentum that he falls flat on his back, head smacking against the floor with a hard thwack. I keep twisting—harder, harder, harder—until I hear, as well as feel, his hip pop out of its socket. He screams in agony.
There’s only one left. He’s as good as dead.
I clamber to my feet, my knuckles aching and bruised.
“And I thought all those years stuck behind a desk would’ve made you slow,” he says, his voice frighteningly familiar. Even with his face obscured, I’d know my right-hand man anywhere.
“Elio?” I croak.
He yanks off his mask and goggles, smirking with all the cockiness I’ve come to know him for. “Hey, Dom. You’re looking a bit rough.”
“What the fuck?” I hiss breathlessly. “What the hell do you think you’re
doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“I’ve been in hiding,” he says casually, drawing a blade from one of his vest’s utility pockets. “Biding my time.”
“I don’t understand.” “I don’t expect you to.”
Anger boils inside me, bubbling up past the surface. “You traitor. How could you do this? You were like a brother to me.”
“Save me the speech, Dom. You never saw me as a brother, you saw me as a lackey. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t pretend like you cared.”
“But why?”
“Simple. I want to move up in the world, but you and Lorenzo were in the way. Even if I somehow managed to oust Lorenzo, the natural next step would be for you to take his place. It was too much work trying to figure out how to remove you both, so I let the two of you do all the heavy lifting.”
I frown, confusion washing over me in waves. “All the heavy lifting?” “Why stick my neck out trying to get rid of Lorenzo when you could do it
for me? All I had to do was instill distrust in both of you. A whisper here, a whisper there, and the rest took care of itself. When I convinced Lorenzo to order those hits on you, I thought for sure that’d set things in motion.”
My jaw would drop to the floor if it weren’t so sore and swollen. “The shootings… You were the one…”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Tomasso died because of you!” I seethe.
“Collateral damage,” Elio says with a shrug. “If it helps, it was nothing personal. Tomasso was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You son of a bitch!” I shout, lunging at him with all the speed I can muster.
He attempts to stab me with his knife, but not before I connect my fist to his jaw. He stumbles back, wincing in pain. It’s just the distraction I need to nab his knife, swiping at him with such speed that the blade splits the air. The tip of his knife streaks past his temple and ear, cutting off the top. Blood trickles down his face, coating his cheeks in red.
“Fuck!” he hisses, his hand flying to the wounded ear.
“That was for Tomasso, you fucking rat!” I wind back, fully prepared to bring the blade down to finish the job. “And this is for betraying me!”
BAM!
I hear the gunshot before I feel the pain. Turning my head slightly, I see a
figure standing in the doorway, gun trained on me. My body suddenly goes cold, a sharp pain lancing through my ribcage. I don’t think the bullet hit anything vital, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“I’ve got impeccable timing,” Milo says. “Are you alright, little brother?” I stagger back, knife dropping from my hands. The smell of iron lingers heavily in the air. I look between Milo and Elio, too confused to speak. My
body is going into shock. I can’t move, can’t think.
Falling to my knees, I attempt to slow the bleeding, pressing my palm against my wound. It’s futile. I’m losing too much blood. The tips of my fingers are numb, my senses dulling.
Elio steps forward, malice darkening his eyes. He grips my hair and yanks my head back. “Don’t worry, Dom. We’re not gonna kill you yet. Not until you’ve watched us destroy everything you’ve built.”
“And ruin your little plaything,” Milo adds darkly. Arin. They’re going to hurt Arin.
Before I can fight back, darkness pulls me under.