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“Where the fuck are you?” Damiano shouts over the gunfire.
“DJ’s booth,” Renzo yells.
The gunfire stops suddenly, and we hear our boss bark, “Get your asses out here.”
We dart up, and as we leave our cover, it’s to see Damiano and Carlo moving up the stairs with Angelo and Big Ricky behind them.
“You watch our backs while I keep an eye on the second floor,” I tell Renzo before we run to catch up to the others.
Everything is eerily quiet as we take the stairs up, and when we reach the VIP area, Miguel’s sitting at a table with his men forming a half circle around him.
“Did you really have to go to all this trouble?” Miguel asks as he stares at Damiano.
“Yes.”
Not giving a shit, Damiano pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table. He gestures for Carlo to pour him a drink.
I move closer while I pull my other Heckler & Koch from behind my back. On guard, my eyes flick from one fucker to the next.
Damiano lets out a sigh. “All you had to do was listen, but no, you had to be stubborn and come into our territory.”
“There’s a lot of money to be made in New York. The deal still stands,” Miguel says, looking a little uneasy.
Carlo places a tumbler of whiskey in front of Damiano, who picks up the drink and takes a sip.
When he sets the tumbler down again, he murmurs, “As good as a thirty percent share sounds, I have to decline.”
My heartbeat speeds up again because I recognize the look on his face.
A second later, his arm flies up, and he takes the kill shot, hitting Miguel right between the eyes.
All hell breaks loose, and the rest of us open fire.
A bullet whistles past my head, and I have to drop my empty Heckler & Koch before tackling Damiano off the chair when a fucker has a clear shot of him.
There’s another sting across my back before we plow into the floor, with Damiano cushioning my fall.
My arm swings through the air as I spin around, ready for action, but the last man goes down from Big Ricky’s bullet.
Slumping back on the carpet, I stare up at the ceiling as I suck in desperate breaths. “Christ.”
Still lying beside me, Damiano lifts his hand and holds his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “You came this close to kneeing me in the balls, fucker.”
I let out a burst of laughter. “I’m pretty sure I took a bullet for you.”
“What?” He sits up and starts checking me for wounds.
“Flesh wound on my back.”
He shoves at me before climbing to his feet. “That’s not taking a fucking bullet.” He glances around the area then asks, “Everyone okay?”
“Yeah, just need to visit the clinic,” Vincenzo mutters. “I took a bullet in the leg.”
Fabrizio moves closer to his friend to help him down the stairs.
“Let’s go,” Damiano orders.
“Someone going to give me a hand?” I ask.
