But I can't risk Isabella. Even without looking at him, I can feel Dario's hard gaze boring into my back. “I'm fine. It was a little rough getting out, but I'm fine.”
“Good.”
And that's when a gun goes off somewhere outside. It echoes through the cavernous warehouse, loud even through the walls.
“What the fuck?” Dario has his pistol out in a moment, and so does Dad, who was obviously waiting for it. They both stop, aiming at each other. Both of their gun hands are steady, and while I can't see Dad's expression over my head, I imagine he's wearing the same kind of determined scowl that Dario is.
What's going on?
“Put your gun down,” Dad says in the steeliest, deadliest voice I've ever heard come out of him. He was never the cuddliest or warmest of fathers, but he's always spoken to me with love in his voice, even when he was angry. This, on the other hand, is the mob boss voice, the one reserved for enemies of the Family. And apparently, Dario is now one of them. “I've tolerated your advances until now, but if you ever come close to my daughter again, I will end you and your miserable family.”
Another gunshot, this one followed by a scream.
Dario laughs derisively. “You act like you have a chance. I have over fifty men here. Even if you shoot me, you'll never get out of here. I love Alessa. I worship the fucking ground she walks on, and you fucking know that. I couldn't give less of a fuck about whether you approve or not, but I guarantee you, if you hurt me, both you and her are dead before you even get downstairs.”
“You think so?” Dad scoffs. “You overestimate your chances.”
More gunshots and suddenly Dario doesn't look nearly as certain.
The door opens, revealing Nicholas. “Dario. The Eagles, they're—what the fuck?”
Everything happens at once. A puff of smoke appears around Dario's muzzle, just as Dad pushes me sideways. His gun goes off a moment later, a shattering crack that leaves my ears ringing as I tumble into the coffee table. My knee lights up like fireworks as I slam into it, then fall to the floor. Nicholas has barely drawn his gun when Dad crumples and the window behind Dario shatters, the glass shards exploding outward as Dad's bullet tears through it.
And then the room goes eerily quiet.
“Cazzo,” swears Dario, then looks at me. “You stay there. Nicholas, keep an eye on them. I'm going out there.”
Dad groans. Oh God. He's not dead, but for how long? I crawl to him and pull his jacket open, exposing a deep red wound just below his collarbone. “Dad, no!”
“No sudden movement,” snaps Nicholas, but he's looking uncertain. He obviously doesn't like this. Is he as okay with war in the Family as Dario is?
Dad looks at me, his eyes glassy. No no no. “Alessandra, they're here. Your guys. The whole fucking club. They're coming for you.”
Oh my God. They're here?
“Put pressure on it,” orders Nicholas. “But until this is settled, don’t fucking talk!” His tone is harsh, but he keeps looking out the door to see what's happening.
“He's dying!” I snap back. My knee is yelling out in pain and my mind is spinning, trying to come up with a plan, any kind of plan, that might take advantage of the chaos.
“Alessa!” Nicholas snaps. “If you want to live through this shit storm, just stay put and keep your fucking mouth shut. You’ve done enough.” He gestures with his gun, though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t actually want to shoot me.
Still, I keep low and press my hands over Dad’s wound. And that's when I see it, slid under the couch and out of sight.
Dad's gun.
35
BEAR
There's something about the whole club riding together that gets the adrenaline flowing and my spirits up, no matter the circumstances. Seeing the lights come on in buildings as we come rolling by, the roar of over fifty bikes echoing off the walls. We're an army and we're on a fucking mission. It's easy to lose myself in the bassy rumble of a club on the move. It’s like being in the eye of the storm, just waiting for the chaos to start again.
But this time, we are the storm.
As long as we can trust Alessa's dad to come through. Who knows how many men Dario's got, and while we're attacking, they'll be fortified. The more we can get on the inside before they realize we're there, the better. I fucking hate sneaking around, but I fucking hate dying more. And the further we get, the better our chances are for rescuing Alessa without her getting hurt.
Viking, Hawk, Snark and I ride in a V-formation, with Eagle-eye at the front, leading the charge. Then the other officers, like King and Ripper. And then the whole rest of the club, to a man. The Screaming Eagles are out in force, and we're here to do damage.