The car pulls up to a dingy part of town, but in LA, that usually means every other block. It’s a tall and old brick building with outside fire escapes and an old broken buzzer that probably only calls security now. I make a mental note as my feet hit the pavement that this will have to be a mission from the roof. Apparently, they’re on the top floor. I see lights flashing in the window from that level, which means everyone in the house is most likely gathered around the television. Their lack of better judgment is our gain.
It's a distraction so simple that it’s basically what Vince and Jess use to occupy my niece.Ah, modern technology.I ensure both of my nine-inch blades are tucked securely in my jacket as I motion for the group to walk with me to the fire escape. Knox is in the car, giving us a go-ahead that we’re in the clear to climb, and I whisper as I reach for the rusted bars, “We’re going through the roof.”
“What?” Gallini whispers harshly, and I glare at him as I pull myself up to the first landing.
“Rooftop.” I exaggerate with hand motions as the rest of the boys follow me up. He shakes his head to disagree, but the moment I raise my brows, his chest rises and falls in defeat. We always go with the team leader's plan. Guess who the team leader is. Yeah. I’m not about to fuck this up because Gallini got the bright idea to walk through the front door like a novice.
We are on the second level, and we’ve reached the roof of the building beside it. I have the boys join me with light feet, though I know the business underneath us is empty by now— closed, lights off, not a soul inside. They follow me to the back edge of the building, where the outside design of the bricks sticks out almost like a ladder. No one fights me as I begin to scale the side of the building, heading up three levels, with everyone cautiously and quietly climbing after me like silent shadows of the night.
At the top of the building, I quietly pull myself onto the roof and slowly step across to the side where the flashing window is. There is an air duct, probably dangerous to crawl through, but if I can get underneath the cap quietly enough, we’ll only need to crawl a few feet before we drop out of the vent.
“Screwdriver.” I hold my hand out, and someone places a small one in my hand. I nod without looking back and begin to unscrew the cap. The rust on it starts to squeak, and I feel everyone cringe.
“This isn’t the best—” and a window opens from below. There’s a silence that follows, and my heart begins to pound in the frozen breathlessness between us all. I know the Russians trained their men to be ready for anything, so even a squeak of metal could be the thin line between success and failure. After another moment, the window closes, and I hear the click of the lock.
The silent rush of quiet breaths of relief makes me snap my head in their direction.
“Shut up.” I mouth and silent nods follow. Slowly I take the other four screws off without any more noise, and I lift the cap off, placing it cautiously beside me. Even if we can all make it in here, the chances of us outnumbering them are slim. We need a head count quickly, and the smallest guy on the team just so happens to be Gallini. I look at it the instant I realize this, and it seems he realized it before me, but was hoping I wouldn’t pick on him.
His shoulder slump as I point to the air duct, and he crouches down beside me, slipping into the vent. Before he starts moving without my orders, I grab his jacket collar and pull him up to eye level.
“Get a head count,” I whisper so quietly that I barely hear myself say it. He nods vigorously, so I let him go, and he disappears into the tunnel. After a minute, he crawls back up and holds out both of his hands, all fingers up.
Ten. There are ten men that we have to kill tonight. I look over all twelve of the faces surrounding me, ready and willing to do what it takes. I check the time— one hour until my date. Gotta make this shit snappy; no time to linger.
“Triangle,” I whisper, and their eyes go wide. One of the men, Bates, raises his hand, and I roll my eyes, pointing to him.
“What?” I lean against the vent, so he knows I’m ready to go right now, and he’s taking up our precious time.
“This is a New Era--” Gallini butts in, and I don’t change my over-it expression.
“And these are the Russians.” I say this to all of them because I can tell they agree with Gallini. “We don’t have time. Vince said to send a message, knives only.” I loathe this conversation. Why are we even needing to discuss this? There is a pause between the group, and then Gallini nods.
“If Vince said it, we gotta trust him.”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Vince put me in charge. There shouldn’t be this much fucking back and forth. And for what? To have a guilt-free conscience?Sorry to break it to you, lads, but if you wanted those, you shouldn’t have joined the fucking mafia.
Get in, get out. That’s all we have to do.
We’re shoved in this tiny air vent, Gallini at the front, waiting for my signal as I slowly unscrew the cover from behind him. I hold on to it with one hand so it doesn’t fall, and with the other, I count down.
Three— all eyes focus on me.Two— knowing nods.One— and I pull back the vent as Gallini slinks out. I go after him, holding the cover so it doesn’t make a noise. We are in the dark entryway now, still completely invisible to them. After the last man is out, I see the glisten of eyes turning towards us, not sure what they’re seeing quite yet.
I flash the triangle sign and a nod as we make a formation around the couch. At this point, the men are up, but it’s too late for them because it looks like only one person has a knife. We are quiet in our quickness. A split second, and we’re flying towards them. One of the men on the far end of the— dark blonde curly hair pulled into a bun at his nape, freckles across his skin, and burning rage overtaking his frame— meets my eyes. I leap across the group of my men fighting the Russians with ease.
The triangle is something Vince came up with a couple of years back. He was in a rough spot, and we were really getting shit from all sides of the gangs in LA. It’s neck first, then wrists. Three cuts, barely a mess on you, and little fight from the enemy who bleeds out almost instantly. He’ll be proud I chose his move to nip these idiots before they can plan another move against us.
I lunge again at man-bun, attempting to wriggle his way out of the sectional area. I feel hot blood spray my face as one of my guys gets the biggest one down on the couch, neck slit.
The ankle of man-bun almost eludes me, but one of my guys stomps on it while Gallini cups his mouth, knife to his throat, but I stop him.
“What?” He growls low at me.
“Mine.” I sneer quietly. We can’t let the neighbors know what is transpiring, so we keep it like this. Growling and grunting as we do what is necessary to ensure the Russians have no choice but to join forces with us for this New Era or face the wrath of the San Giovannis.
“Fine.” he grits, and I crawl over the top of him, straddling his body. I replace my hand as Gallini pulls his hand away. Palm only for this shit. I don’t want to lose a finger. This guy is snapping his jaw under the weight of my hand, but he’s not getting anywhere.
The low girthy rumblings of a scream start to vibrate from his chest, and I press a knife to his throat for him to shut the fuck up. He doesn’t until I break the first few layers of skin. I almost feel the pain in my neck. He’s Russian scum. I'm aware of that, but I fucking hate the torture bit of this. I prefer quick and purposeful kills, but that is not a luxury I can afford tonight.