Page 97 of His Passerotta

“Maksim,” I hiss to get his attention off the metal cellar door leading outside.

He’s been slamming his shoulder against it for several minutes, and all it’s doing is making noise. I’m kind of glad the door isn’t budging. I have little faith in his ability to keep a promise when salvation is within reach.

He lets out a frustrated groan then stomps to meet me on the stairs. He’s about as subtle as an elephant.

The music shut off several minutes ago, so in comparison, the house feels calm. There are still people milling around in the kitchen, as well as incomprehensible, excited conversation, and I’m hoping they’re distracted enough not to be paying attention to the cellar door. With Maksim… We’ll be lucky to make it from the cellar at all without them noticing our escape attempt.

I creep up the stairs with Maksim’s heavy feet creaking every step behind me, and when we reach the top, he lifts his foot to kick down the door.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, sliding in front of him and taking his arm.

Maksim waves to the knob. “It’s locked, isn’t it?”

My eyes are wide with astonishment at how unbelievably clueless this guy is.

I pull my keys from my pocket and dangle them, emphasizing the tiny lock pick on my keychain. Fumbling with the pick, I turn to the knob and bend to study the lock up close for a moment. I’m just about to work my magic when the gunfire starts.

My back muscles wind tight, jerking me upright as I gasp and fall back into Maksim.

The gunfire sounds distant, like maybe it’s coming from outside, and it’s startling enough that we hang tight for a minute. Neither of us move until a rain of gunfire sounds in the next room.

Corey.

I frantically insert the lock pick, but Maksim yanks me back, clasping a hand over my mouth as he drags me halfway down the steps.

“Let go of me!” I try to yell, but my words are muffled by his hand.

He kneels so we’re out of range if a bullet flies through the door and lines his mouth up to my ear. “That has to be the Bratva. We’re safest if we wait.”

Safest if we wait. Sure, maybe me and Maksim. But Corey… The Bratva will kill Corey without a second glance if Oakland hasn’t beat them to it.

I throw my elbow back into Maksim’s abdomen, hitting just above his wound, and he lets out a pained growl as he releases me.

My feet slam on each board I hit rushing up the stairs, letting anyone who might be listening know I’m coming. I doubt anyone even remembers I’m here, though. Voices shout on the other side of the door, barking orders at one another like they’re in a frantic fight for their lives.

My hands tremble as I insert the lock pick, so it takes me longer than normal to hear the click, but once I do, I fling the door open.

A row of men are at the windows, filling them with barrels that spray bullets into the yard, and several others shuffle through boxes and reload clips as soon as they’re empty. I don’t see Corey. For several seconds, all I can make out is the chaos.

A man at a box whips his head my way, and he scrambles to pick up a gun. My response time sucks, I’ll admit that. I don’t even think about ducking until he points the gun at me, and by that time, it’s too late.

Someone slams into me from behind as the gunman pulls the trigger, and I’m hurled to the tiled floor. The weight lifts, and I roll onto my back in time to see Maksim charge the man with the gun.

He tackles the man to the ground and raises his fist, the glass shard in his grasp. The man lets out a scream as the shard comes down on him, but he’s silenced once it punctures his neck.

“B.”

I whirl to the right of me and find Corey sitting up against the wall. Instinctively, I jerk toward him, but I stop myself and instead crawl to the gun that slid from the dead guy’s hand.

A man with a tattoo of an eight ball on his arm notices Maksim and points the gun his way, but I’m faster by probably a millisecond as I squeeze the trigger. Maksim snatches the gun when Eight-ball crashes to the floor, and he aims it around, his eyes wide as he seeks out the next threat.

In all the chaos, no one seems to even notice us. Eight-ball and Sliced-neck were at the table, but everyone else faces the windows and outside door, or they’re too busy panicking with clips to realize the enemy that’s inside.

Maksim aims the gun at the men shooting out the windows, and I jump to him. “No, don’t!”

He snaps my way when I grab the barrel of the gun. “You’ll draw their attention.”

Maksim eyes me carefully then lowers the weapon and slowly backs toward the wall.

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