Chapter 27 Kill Order
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
“It was a coordinated hit,” Adrian informed me. “Our B8 warehouse was attacked at the same time. The men held their own but lost numbers.”
“And the merchandise?”
“Untouched. They didn’t get anywhere near it.”
It pleased me to hear that. I made a mental note to reward my soldatos. It seemed Primo, the head of Cártel La Sombra, was unsatisfied with hitting my trade routes. Now he came for the nest itself.
The moon illuminated the yard brighter than the lamps ever had, bathing the surroundings in a silvery cast.
Rage simmered in a controlled heat under my skin. Deep down, I’d known this was coming. Known the heiress wasn’t as innocent as she’d tried to lead me to believe, but I’d fallen for her pillowy lips and silky soft folds.
Seeing her in that getaway car was only shocking for the first few seconds. Then I burst out laughing to the surprise of my men, slapping a palm over my forehead at the ridiculousness of it all.
Moonlight glinted off my gun. “We’re going after them.”
“Which party?”
“The ones that dared to attack my home.”
The ones my heiress escaped with. We had unfinished business, she and I. And I very much intended to finish it.
There was only one way left for this to go, I’d force her to sign over the hotel, preferably while impaled on my cock, and send her off on her merry way back to Boston.
Just one week in New York, and she was already rolling with scum like Primo and Orlov.
No sooner had I finished talking, Adrian whistled sharply, rounding up the men and dividing them into two groups, one for backup at the warehouse and the other for our hunting party.
Throughout the action, I stood, leaning against a pillar while Enza and her new assistant, a pale red-haired girl, treated my wounds. Enza worked methodically, directing the shaking girl with grunts and sharp stares when she messed up.
I had no complaints. Pain helped me think. And when the clumsy girl tugged or stabbed the wrong way, I relished the burn that made my muscles spasm.
This meant war. This meant that Orlov Conti in fact had claims on her. Giancarlo had sworn to rein in his son’s involvement with the Mexican cartel, in order to placate my wrath. But it was obvious now that Orlov and Primo gave no fucks about keeping the peace.
All three factions of my enemies had teamed up, including the heiress who’d pretended to need my help, and pretended to want a truce. But a deal was a deal. I had access. And I wanted my prize.
“We’re all set,” Adrian announced. With the blood scrubbed off his face, the bruised purple skin was more obvious, but the grin he sported promised more bloodshed.
At that, I flicked my cigar to the ground, pushing off the pillar to head to my car. Enza picked up her tools without a second glance at her unfinished work, knowing I’d most probably return with more for her to treat.
Giancarlo could pretend a lack of involvement and try to mediate all he wanted. I knew he eyed my position. He was setting his son up to inherit his chair, and mine. But I couldn’t go after him directly, not yet. So I would make an example of his son’s band of thieves.
“Did any of those dogs set foot inside my home, Adrian?” My tone was calm but icy.
“No. The auto turrets got them. The ones it didn’t, I did.”
“Then how the FUCK DID SHE ESCAPE?!”
My voice boomed, wrapping the night with all the rage I’d buried up until now.
My men didn’t meet my gaze, instead focusing intently on their cars and guns. Anything but me.
“That one’s on me,” Adrian started, his voice a murmur. “I went up to scare her, and in the process forgot to lock the door.”
I turned to him, staring him down. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“I don’t remember giving that order.”
“You didn’t.”
“Don’t fucking do it again.”
“Noted.”
I turned around to address the men.
“Cut every last member of La Sombra down. For every single one that escapes, I’m shooting one of you in the head.”
Bloodthirsty murmurs filled the night as guns cocked, silver metal glinted, and cars opened and revved.
I’d just turned to my car when the screeching of tires snapped my attention to the gates.
A black tinted Escalade leading about ten more heavy-duty vehicles flew past the open gates, screaming to a stop in a semi-circle while blocking my path outside.
My men took positions immediately. The turrets fitted to the house beeped, pointing red laser dots at the second wave of intruders.
My jaw ticked.
The door of the Escalade opened, and out stepped Marcus Devries.