Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Bullets rained over his head, ripping off chunks of paint and concrete. His hair was full of plaster. Slater was the only one of us not covered in debris from the shoot-out.
One of the gunmen was sneaking toward me from my right. He stepped in some alfredo sauce and slipped, giving me a chance to take the shot. The man’s yelp distracted his accomplice, and Slater fired. A moment later, there was a thud as the man hit the deck.
Julian jumped up, training his gun on the injured man. “Talk, motherfucker,” he snarled, kicking him in the side. “Who sent you?”
I strode over, swearing internally. I’d just assumed that these two goons were here to protect Myers. Until Julian’s question, I hadn’t thought they might be here to target us.
The injured man moaned. “Fuck off!” Pain was written all over his face as he coughed out blood.
Slater, who’d taken care of the other man, appeared, his gun also drawn. “Can I end this motherfucker?” Knowing my friend, it could have been a bluff to get the guy to talk—or it could’ve been a genuine question.
I was torn. It would be nice to blow his fucking head off. He wasn’t an innocent like Maggie. He’d shot at us first. But Julian was right. If there was more to this than met the eye, we needed to know. And the cops already had to be on their way, so we didn’t have much time.
Just as I was about to beat the crap out of him, a buzzing sound came from nearby him. Slater shoved him out of the way and searched the mess of pots, pans, and ingredients until he pulled out the killer’s phone.
His face darkened as he looked at the lock screen. A preview of the text he’d just received showed there.
A text from Roselli.
It read, “Are they gone?”
Son of a bitch.
Julian looked murderous. “Unlock your phone,” he demanded to the guy on the ground.
The asshole looked up at us defiantly.
I pushed aside the rage in my head and spoke in a steady voice. “It’s simple. You unlock your phone, and you go to a hospital where they’ll fix you up. Some pretty nurse with big tits will bring you your meal. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”
Slater delivered the alternative. “Or your family can hold your funeral services on the edge of the river after we dump your body.” He delivered another kick to the guy’s ribs.
After a moment of deliberation that was clearly for show, the man groaned, holding out his hand for the phone. Slater didn’t give it to him but allowed him to use the keypad to unlock it. “Should I just say it’s done?”
“Yeah,” Julian said, looking grim.
Slater and I turned back to the dumb fuck on the ground. Knowing what had to be done next, I shoved the barrel of my gun into his mouth. His eyes widened, but I didn’t allow him to complain.
One more squeeze of the trigger brought the matter to a close. Roselli, that little prick, had double-crossed us. We’d followed his orders. We hadn’t liked it, but we’d done it, and he’d had the nerve to pay someone to take us out. That’s how grateful he’d been to my boys and me. Two seasoned shooters, armed to the teeth were our reward for more than a decade of service to the Roselli family.
“Myers could have been part of this,” Slater commented. “I’ll go get him.”
“You saw him, Slater,” I reminded him. “He was scared shitless when we walked in. Not to mention he wouldn’t let his kitchen turn into a fucking warzone.”
“Shit!” Julian swore, giving the dead man one more kick.
“Boys, I’d say it’s time we lay low.” I holstered my gun.
“What about Maggie?” Slater asked instantly.
“Her, too.”
“She’s not going to like that,” Julian said.
“Who says we’re giving her a choice?” I grunted.
We were quiet, contemplative, and covered in food as we drove away.
Leaving the city would be like leaving behind the past fifteen years of my life. A small part of me was thrilled. Taking orders from Roselli? Nope. Not anymore. Despite this new revelation about Emilio’s past, I still thought he was a hundred times the man his son was.
But this was more than just a professional relationship gone sideways. Roselli hadn’t put a hit out on just Maggie. He had put out a hit on all of us. The Don wouldn’t leave a stone unturned to find us. My only hope was that we would get to him before he could hurt us.
21
MAGGIE
None of the guys had been to the Rusty Bucket for days. I couldn’t help thinking about it as I wiped down the bar, locked the cash drawer, and prepared to leave.
That was a good thing. They were dangerous. They were literally killers. If I never saw them again, that was a win in my book.