Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“You can say that again,” I mutter, more than ready to put an end to Miguel.
I haven’t been home in two weeks, and I’m exhausted.
Fuck, it feels longer than two weeks.
The drive to the airfield takes forty minutes, and by the time Carlo stops the SUV, I have zero patience for the three-hour flight to Miami.
Hopefully, the fucker doesn’t disappear before we get to him. I’ll lose my fucking shit if that happens.
I climb out of the SUV and stalk to where Angelo, Dario, and Renzo are waiting.
“It’s a good day,” Dario says. “We know where Miguel is. Why aren’t you happy?”
“I am,” I growl.
“Sure as fuck doesn’t look like it.”
“Dario, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. Let’s get this over with so I can take some time off to deal with–” I catch myself before mentioning Gabriella and our upcoming wedding.
I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and losing my temper, I shout, “Get on the fucking plane.”
When I enter the cabin, I take my seat. Angelo sits down beside me and gives me a questioning look. I shake my head so he won’t start asking questions.
I just want to focus on killing Miguel. That’s my main priority right now.
Once all the men have boarded, Dario says, “Franco’s babies are sick. They all have the shits.”
“Christ, poor man,” Angelo mutters. “I’d rather go to war than deal with three babies who all have diarrhea.”
“Can we not talk about shit,” I growl.
“Seriously, who pissed you off?” Angelo asks me.
“Just focus on the mission,” I snap.
The other men know not to push me any further, and after the private jet’s taken off and we’re in the air, Dario inspects the weapons we always keep onboard.
Once he’s done, he takes a seat again and checks his phone.
My thoughts turn to the past two weeks. The hotel burning down.
The attack on my men.
The attack on my men has been bothering me. Tommy said it wasn’t drug dealers but trained men.
If it wasn’t Miguel, then who would have the guts to gun down my men?
Dario lets out a sigh, then Renzo asks, “What?”
“Miguel hasn’t been spotted again.”
Fuck.
With my eyes locked on the oval window beside my seat, I ask, “Where was he last seen?”
“A set of traffic lights near one of his clubs.”
“He’ll probably be there until late,” Renzo says. “Which means we’ll have to wait him out.”
“Or we go in.” Looking at the other heads of the Cosa Nostra, I mutter, “I want this done as quickly as possible. We’ve wasted enough time on this fucker.”
“How do you want to do this, Damiano?” Angelo asks.
I play out a couple of scenarios in my head before answering, “We’ll all go into the club. Our men as well. We’ll walk up to the fucker as a family, and I’ll kill him in front of everyone. It will send a message not to fuck with us.”
Just in case someone else is behind the fire and killing of my men.
“And the witnesses?” Renzo asks.
I wave a careless hand in the air. “Let them talk.”
When we finally touch down in Miami, I feel fucking moody from the flight.
We head to the SUVs Emilio arranged for us and pile into the vehicles.
During the drive, I tap my fingers impatiently on my thigh, and when we pull up to the club, it’s quiet because it’s still early.
We climb out of the SUVs, then Renzo asks, “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go knock on the door,” I mutter.
“You think they’re just going to open for us?” Renzo asks another question.
All the fucking questions are starting to aggravate me, and I growl, “Of course not. I’m not fucking stupid.”
Lifting my arm, I signal for my men to move closer.
I look at Tommy, who’s carrying a grenade launcher, and order, “Blow the door.”
I can feel Angelo, Renzo, and Dario staring at me, but ignore them.
Tommy launches the grenade, and I watch with satisfaction as it blows a hole in the front of the club.
When I stalk toward the hole, my men follow. I pull my Glock from behind my back and take off the safety.
Carlo shoves an extra magazine into my hand before he takes the lead while ordering, “Stay behind me.”
The air is filled with smoke, and I glance over my shoulder, finding Angelo right behind me.
Our eyes meet momentarily, then we reach the end of the hallway. When Carlo sets foot in a dance area, gunfire erupts around us.
“Move!” Carlo shouts, and when he ducks to the left, I follow him, my arm lifting as I return fire to the second floor, that must be the VIP area.
Miguel is definitely here.
We duck into a hallway that leads to a restroom, and with the meager cover, Carlo and I try to pick off the enemy one by one.
When Angelo tries to move forward to help out, I mutter, “We’ve got this.”