Page 124 of The Devil's Deal

Dominic

My menand I arrive at a warehouse. The white, unassuming building stands high, covering a lot of ground. There is not a single window present. Just one blue door.

One fucking door is what’s keeping me from tearing his fucking head off. I hope Miles is with him so I can kill them both.

If his brothers aren’t with him, I’ll find them next, and I’ll give them the same fate. After all, they stood and watched my father and brother die. That was the very last time I ran from the Bianchis. It’s ironic that now, they’re running from me.

Leading the team, I gesture for them to move in, all thirty of them, with more waiting in the van. All of us strapped with vests and more firepower than we could ever need.

One, I mouth, lifting a finger.

Two.

Three.

My other hand is on the door handle, turning it slow, before I swing it open into a barely lit room, weapon at the ready.

Pop.

A bullet whizzes past my head as soon as I march in, hitting the metal wall at the back of me.

My men all storm inside. Then all hell breaks loose.

Bullets fly from all around. I can no longer tell which one belongs to which person. His men are everywhere, on the first level and the second.

From the corner of my eye, I see Dante smashing the butt of his gun on the head of one man before firing shots above at some others.

Carnage spills onto the floor, body after body of Faro’s men fall like poorly orchestrated domino pieces.

Someone hits me on the back of my head, not strong enough to cause me to fall, but enough to piss me off. I veer, kicking the man on his kneecap.

A scream rips out of him, and I stomp on his ankle.

“You chose to work for the devil on earth. Now meet the one in Hell.”

Pop.

The fight in him is gone as blood oozes from the center of his chest.

Another one comes at me, hitting me right in my vest, but I brush it off. When he realizes he hasn’t hurt me, his eyes widen as I lift the gun, firing twice into the chest.

I find Enzo rolling on the ground, shooting bullets at two men as they fire back. They don’t even see me coming, my pulse pounding in my ears, not with fear, but with the need for vengeance filling my veins.

Pop. Pop.

One dead.

Pop. The other one hits the floor.

Enzo stands, shock riddling his face. “Shit, man. You’re on a fucking roll.”

The sound of bullets seems to have stopped, and I look around, finding over twenty of his men lying on the floor.

“How we doing?” I ask my guys.

“Good, boss,” Roger says, appearing beside me. “Considering.”

“Who’s hurt?”

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