Page 91 of My Best Friend's Dad

“Stay close,” he ordered, his eyes scanning the chaos for any threat.

Like a battle right out ofGame of Thrones, both sides charged at one another. For a moment, I stood there in awe, watching as the fight began. The bikers moved with the practiced efficiency of a well-matched unit, coordinating seamlessly despite all of the mayhem.

The two of us stood there for a second until a biker with a mohawk and tattoos lining his arm ran up to us. At first, I flinched, not knowing what to expect.

“Shh. It’s alright. We’re with you,” he said, his voice gruff as he flipped open a switchblade.

“It’s alright, Jenna.” Vincenzo nodded in my direction as the man moved behind us, swiftly cutting the bindings on our wrists.

“Thank you,” I said a bit breathlessly.

“Get ready to fight,” the man grunted, and Vincenzo grabbed my arm and tugged me close. The man that had given us our freedom ran off, diving back into the fight.

A gunshot rang out, the sound so close that my ears rang. One of Ricci’s men fell, clutching his shoulder. The bikers pressed the advantage, their sheer force overwhelming Ricci’s men.

But Ricci wasn’t going down without a fight. He grabbed a gun from one of his fallen men and aimed it at me.

“Jenna, get down!” Vincenzo shouted, shoving me to the ground just as a shot fired.

The bullet missed, but the near miss left my heart racing. I scrambled to my feet, determined not to be a liability. Just as I stood, another of Ricci’s men lunged at me. Vincenzo intercepted him, delivering a sharp punch to the man’s jaw, followed by a swift kick that sent him sprawling to the ground.

The man recovered quickly, pulling out a knife and slashing at Vincenzo. Vincenzo dodged, grabbing the man’s wrist, and twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. He delivered a series of rapid punches, each one landing with a sickening thud to the sides of his head. The attacker fell back, blood streaming from his nose and mouth as his head bounced against the pavement.

He didn’t get back up again.

Vincenzo turned to me, his eyes fierce.

“Let’s go!” he said, grabbing my hand and guiding me toward the bikers. We rushed behind them as they came together, taking a stand as a single unit.

It was then that I noticed that they were all armed. Each biker held a semi-automatic machine gun in their clutches, and they were pointing it directly at Ricci and his men. I took a step backbehind Vincenzo, watching as the tension between both groups rose to the breaking point.

I swallowed hard, my nerves reaching a fever pitch.

“Give it up, Ricci!” Tony demanded, his voice unwavering. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

Ricci’s sneer faltered, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“You think that this changes anything?” Ricci growled.

Vincenzo stepped forward, his grip on my hand reassuring. “It changes everything,” he said, his voice cold and final.

Ricci glanced around, scanning each one of the bikers. For a moment, his eyes met mine, and I saw the desperate calculation flickering there. With a growl of frustration, he raised his weapon, and all hell broke loose.

Tony’s men opened fire, the roar of their semi-automatic weapons filling the night. Bullets tore through the air, the sharp staccato of gunfire blending with the shouts and cries of Ricci’s men.

Ricci’s men returned fire, and the bikers scattered, taking cover behind their motorcycles. I crouched low behind a bike, my heart pounding in my chest as the battle raged on all around me. The barrels of the guns flashed bright in the night, and the acrid scent of gunpowder burned in my nose.

Tony moved like a force of nature, his weapon blazing as he took down one of Ricci’s men. A bullet whizzed past his head, but he didn’t even flinch, his focus cold and unwavering. He was like a machine.

Vincenzo pulled me behind him, shielding me from the worst of the gunfire.

“Stay down!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the noise of gunfire.

I nodded, my hands shaking as I clung to him. I peeked over his shoulder, my breath catching as I saw the sheer ferocity of the fight. Ricci’s men were relentless, but they were no match for the bikers’ coordinated assault.

The biker with the mohawk and tattoos lining his arms charged forward, taking out two of Ricci’s men like it was the simplest thing in the world. He ducked behind a motorcycle, reloading his weapon with practiced ease. Another biker, a woman with bright red hair and a fierce snarl, took aim from the back, her bullets finding their marks with deadly accuracy.

It was terrifying, really. I was glad they were on our side and not on Ricci’s.

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