Phoenix nods thoughtfully. “What’s the plan now?”
I jerk my head towards the data center shrouded in darkness. “We follow this son of a bitch to the meeting and take note of everyone who turns up for it,” I say. “Then we make the real plans.”
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Phoenix remarks.
I chuckle. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” he says. “The look like you want to hurt somebody.”
I shiver. Again, that old oath runs through my head. No one gets hurt who doesn’t deserve it. Then my mind jumps to the girl in the wardrobe.
I shove both thoughts aside and focus on Phoenix once more. “Only the people who would do the same to me if they were strong enough to,” I say grimly.
“Is this going to be like the Lombardi don’s wedding all over again?”
Clearly, his father has filled him in on all the gory details. That’s what he cares about, what excites him. But all I can think of is the blood-drenched little girl who stood in the shadow of the doorway, looking at me as though I could provide her with answers that would make sense.
“It might be,” I acknowledge. “And like the first time, we’re gonna win this battle, too.”
Phoenix smiles. I notice his hands balls into fists of anticipation. He’s still young enough to crave a fight, to go looking for one. I passed that point a decade ago. Now, I only fight when I have to. When I’m forced to.
Occasional battles are necessary to keep morale and to reinforce power in the city. But they come at a price, too. I’m not risking my men unless I have to.
Being a don means thinking of the lives lost on your watch. Not just the battles fought in your name.
I catch a signal coming from our man on the other side of the warehouse.
“He’s coming out,” Phoenix observes.
“Good. Let’s get in position.”
He nods and starts to trot back to his vehicle—when a gunshot shatters the relative silence of the morning.
Phoenix drops to the ground.
I turn my head to the right, catching sight of the shooter. I grab both my guns and cock them at the same time as I raise my arms.
Phoenix is scrambling to his feet, keeping his body low as he ducks for cover behind his vehicle. The bullet missed him, but from the scorched sleeve of his shirt, I realize it wasn’t off by much.
We’ve both got our eyes on the target, a mass of shadows not far off in the distance. I don’t see any other silhouettes near him. The man seems to be working independently. He steps into a slanted beam of light, bright enough for me to make out a few details. He’s got so much facial hair that it drowns out the rest of his features.
But I’m not worried about identifying him. He’s going to be dead shortly.
He’s shooting desperately, both his guns going off in a blaze of mindless violence. Then, behind me, I hear the screech of tires.
And I realize he’s not meant to be a threat—he’s meant to be the distraction.
The Lombardi loyalist we’ve glommed onto is making his escape. I grit my teeth and keep my attention on the fucker between Phoenix and me.
First things first. I hurtle forward, keeping my eyes on the bearded bastard so that I know which way to swerve. It’s a risky move, but I’m fucking pissed now.The fact that my shoulder is hurting like a motherfucker doesn’t help.
I land a shot on his leg and the man goes down with a pained grunt.
One of his guns clatters to the ground, but he keeps a tight grip on the second one. He’s struggling to get it aimed at me, but before he can level the weapon, I’m on him.
I kick the firearm out of his hand and then drop onto his face with the full weight of my body bearing down behind my elbow.
An instant crunch. The trickle of blood. A moan of agony.