Page 30 of SINS & Temptation

We’ll be battling our way out to the bitter end, which is why I need the numbers.

Ryder’s voice crackles through my earpiece, husky and certain. “Boss, I count a dozen.”

“Is that because that’s as high as you can count?” Blaze fires back, sarcasm evident.

“Technically, I can count to twenty-one if I use my dick,” Ryder responds, without missing a beat.

Bruno jumps in, amused. “At least it’s good for something. More like twenty and a half.”

Ryder refocuses, the mission at the forefront. “Again, I count twelve. But I’d bet my house, dog, and left ball we’re looking at twice that many at least.”

“No one wants your left ball,” Diaz replies dryly, adding, “Least of all, your wife.” We all chuckle, and part of me is vindicated.

The guys never wanted Diaz here. Not because they doubt her abilities. Badass Diaz is more than capable. And we needed a pilot. But they all worried it would hit too close to home.

Her release from the hospital was months ago, not years. Rushing from one brutal attack into the arms of battle? No one was sure she was ready.

No one but me.

When she looked at me with those ice-cold eyes and threatened to throw a Molotov cocktail at my onyx black Aston Martin if I even dreamed of stepping foot on the jet without her, it was clear she was ready.

And how could I say no? I just got that car.

Besides, I owe her—a debt not many can claim. It was Diaz who uncovered where Kennedy’s kidnappers had taken her. Without her sharp instincts and relentless drive, who knows what might have happened.

We’re more than a team. We’re family. Most of us have known each other since grade school, and three tours in the sandbox only solidified the bond my men have. You couldn’t separate us if you tried.

Some say trust is earned. In our world, real trust is forged through blood, sweat, and more near-death experiences than even Ryder can count.

These men would take a bullet for each other in a New York second. Giving each other shit is just our love language. The way Dante and I crucify each other to our faces while having each other’s backs.

Every fucking time.

Still, even I know the risks of having my brother here. It’s a double-edged sword. Constant fear churns in my gut like acid, a relentless reminder that our lives are always at risk.

Our father’s disappearance taught me that much.

I hate it.

Hate wondering which of us will fall first: one of them or me.

Hate the way my chest tightens at the thought of staying away because it keeps them safe. Out of all of us, I’ve poked the biggest bears and have the largest targets on my back as a result.

But when everything’s on the line, and the possibility of chopping the entry point to Uncle Andre’s most sadistic operation at the knees, there’s no one else I’d trust more than my brothers.

I cover Dante as he peers through a rear-facing window. We’ve had people scouting the area for twenty-four hours—cameras, mics, infrared sensors. But nothing beats firsthand surveillance.

That’s how we knew the shipment was happening tonight. Two guys outside, smoking a joint, while one idiot brags to the other and calls dibs on the youngest of the incoming victims.

His intention is to break her, with everyone watching, by forcing her to count her toes while he shoves his dick up her ass.

My intention is to rid him of that dick permanently.

My men also heard that J. would be doing the delivery himself. Which means Jimmy Luciano’s day of reckoning is today.

Do I trust my men to execute this mission with flawless precision and not fuck it all up to hell and back again?

With my life.

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