Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Ivan saunters inside with one of his men. He only glances at his brother before locking eyes with me.
“I like New York,” Ivan mutters in his thick accent. “Good opportunity for drugs.”
I roll my shoulders and slowly move to the right. “Let’s do this, Vargo. I want to be home in time for dinner.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not going to make dinner.”
I’m not just fighting for my territory and the Cosa Nostra.
I’m fighting for a future with Samantha.
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
“If I kill you, I take my brother, and I supply to Castro and Diaz.”
I nod. “When I win, you both die.”
He lets out a chuckle and tries to taunt me as he darts two steps forward before taking one back.
Fuck this.
I lunge forward, and twisting to the side, I deliver a kick to Ivan’s throat. He staggers back while gagging, and with rage tightening his features, he storms me.
His shoulder plows into my chest, and as he lifts me from the ground, I wrap my arm around his neck and knee him in the gut.
I hear the air wooshing from his lungs as he lets go of me and moves away so he can catch his breath.
“Not bad,” he mutters before he comes at me again, and as he throws the punch, I duck while sweeping his feet from underneath him.
Ivan falls hard on his back, and before he can try to get up, I’m on top of him, delivering a blow to his face.
He manages to slam his fist into my side, making pain shudder through my ribs.
As my fist connects with his nose and blood spurts from it, Samantha’s face flashes through my mind.
Determined to get back to her, I deliver two consecutive blows to his face.
Ivan tries to buck me off him, but I grab hold of his shoulders, and lifting myself up, I slam my knee into his chin, making his head whip back.
Climbing to my feet, I take in his bloody nose and where the skin split over his cheekbone.
He pushes himself up, and when he’s back on his feet, he shakes his head and glares at me.
I point to my nose, saying, “You have a bit of blood here.”
Letting out a growl, he storms me again, but having had enough, I lunge myself into the air, and twisting, I slam the heel of my boot against the side of Ivan’s head.
He staggers to the side and drops to one knee. Again, he shakes his head, but it’s game over for him.
I hold my hand up, signaling to Marcello to take out Ivan’s man.
The gunshot is loud, and it has Ivan darting to his feet. “You have no honor!” he shouts at me.
I shake my head as I lock eyes with him. “You came into my city and sent your man to kill me. To kill my woman. You took the life of one of my guards. He was like a brother to me.” I shake my head again. “No, there’s no honor between you and me.”
“Marcello,” I bark, keeping my eyes locked on Ivan as Marcello shoots Miro in the head.
I drink in the absolute devastation on Ivan’s face.
That’s for you, Lorenzo.
While Ivan is reeling from the loss of his brother, I hear gunfire erupt outside. I let out a cynical chuckle as I hold out my hand.
When Marcello places the gun in my palm, I train the barrel on Ivan, muttering, “You’re one to speak about honor.” I pull the trigger, burying a bullet in his gut before moving closer.
He drops down to one knee again, and before he can say anything, I growl, “Say hello to your brother for me.”
I pull the trigger and watch as the bullet hits his forehead. His head snaps back, and a second later, he falls dead to the floor.
“Renzo,” I shout.
“He ran out the door to help the others,” Marcello informs me.
I jog out of the warehouse and find Milo waiting with Uzis. Grabbing the submachine gun, I’m about to head toward the sporadic gunfire when I see Renzo coming back to us.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Damiano’s making the last of Ivan’s men tapdance because he’s bored. Apparently, killing over twenty men isn’t exciting enough for him.” He glances into the warehouse then pats my shoulder. “You have to show me how to do that flying kick move.”
I glance up to where Dario is watching Damiano and Angelo through the scope of his sniper rifle.
“Marcello, give me my phone.”
He places it in my hand, and I dial Dario’s number.
“What’s up?”
“What are Damiano and Angelo doing?”
“Damiano just shot the last Slovakian. Now they’re signaling for our men to head out. Now they’re climbing into Angelo’s SUV. Now they’re driving toward you.”
“Christ, Dario, I didn’t ask for a play-by-play,” I snap. “Get your ass down here.”